Reykjavík Grapevine - 07.04.2006, Blaðsíða 39

In Tupelo, Mississippi, for $14, you can enter Elvis Aaron
Presley’s birthplace and get a personal guided tour from a kindly
old lady... a very kindly, very old lady... who really doesn’t care
much about Elvis.
My old lady is called Eleanor, and she is sore and cold from
sitting in the famously primitive shotgun shack that Elvis had
to suffer for his first 13 years, a space so rough that all his later
excesses – overindulgence in food, women, living spaces and
prescription drugs – were attributed to this very shack.
Eleanor, rubbing her elbow and stomping her feet, tells
me that she thinks Elvis might have been born near the iron-
ing board. “People are so impressed by the ironing board. It
reminds them of his surfing movie, Blue Hawaii.”
I step over and look at it. Everything in the cabin is five
feet from everything else. The whole of the cabin is three
rooms, kept tidy but still miserable enough. The outside walls
are the only things that are original anymore; even the ironing
board I’ve been asked to admire is a replacement ironing board.
Tupelo is the single worst museum I have ever seen – even for a
birthplace museum, it is pretty bad.
A matronly guide, Eleanor tells me that I look tired and
thin, likely because I have yet to agree that the ironing board is
indeed like a surfboard. I say I’ve been travelling in Mississippi;
I’m just arriving from Oxford and Clarksdale.
“Clarksdale?” she says, seemingly warming up.
Yes, the home of Ike Turner, Muddy Waters and Son
House, Clarksdale. I realise that the old woman has been play-
ing possum – she’s a music junkie. Why else would one sit all
day in a clap-trap cabin talking about Elvis
“I’ve always wanted to go to Clarksdale and see Morgan
Freeman. He’s such a lovely actor. He was so wonderful in that
film Driving Miss Daisy.”
I come to the conclusion that I did not enter Elvis’s birth-
place with the proper reverence and have therefore ruined the
dialogue. I decide to stick around in the cabin, talking with
Eleanor, until someone else comes in, so I can see their rever-
ence – so I can understand what you do when you’re near Elvis
history.
Eleanor talks for ten more minutes. I realise she’s starting to
get creeped out. She tells me the full, virtuous history of Elvis
buying back the home he grew up in and donating it to the city
to be used as a museum in 1956 when he was 21 years old. She
makes some tea in the microwave that is located in her little
sitting station. We talk about Iceland. Finally, another person
enters.
“You going to the Rotary Christmas show tonight, Elea-
nor?”
It’s Eleanor’s relief, an equally amiable old woman.
“I don’t know that I feel up to it. You’ll never guess where
this young man is from,” Eleanor says, trying to pleasantly brush
me off. The new host, who has a more Southern name, Maggie
Anne, sits down at her guide station, folds her hands and asks
me to tell her all about where I’m from. I get the impression
there won’t be any visitors any time soon.
No Wonder You’re Lonesome Tonight
Without Elvis, we wouldn’t be here. As authentic as we’d like
to be, the three of us cruising through blues country were only
exposed to blues because of the charismatic white guy who
introduced blues and rock to the masses. Still, we openly loathe
him and can’t stop making jokes about how bloated and stupid
the King was before his heart stopped while he was on the
toilet. We love what inspired him, we love what was inspired by
him, but we just can’t get over Elvis himself.
Which explains why we decide against going into Grace-
land, despite recommendations from a few extremely authentic
bluesmen in Clarksdale who said we just had to see Elvis’s plane
and cars. Instead, we drive straight to the Graceland Outlet
Store, just across the street from Graceland, more crowded, if
the parking lot is any indication, and $28 cheaper.
The manager of the Graceland Outlet understands why
we’re skipping Graceland: it’s because of the new management;
the people who do American Idol now run Graceland, and Elvis
fans are complaining.
“Sure. I love Elvis, but can’t stand corporate giants,” I tell
him.
“Still, you should go. People just pay it. It’s Graceland.”
I promise that I’ll go soon, but first ask for a tour of Elvis
merchandise, and a description of Elvis discount fans.
“There are just a lot of nice crazy people,” he tells me. “I
mean, one woman came in with a tattoo of Elvis on her back
– her whole back. I thought that was a little much. And a lot of
guys come in and tell me that they’re Elvis, but they’re nice.”
I consider asking which psychology book rates a tattoo as
more crazy than multiple personality disorder, but settle on just
asking what discount item the typical man who thinks he’s Elvis
buys at an Elvis outlet store.
The typical man or woman who thinks he or she is Elvis
and visits the Graceland Outlet buys the following: 1) Elvis
Gold Record 45, in frame, of Are You Lonesome Tonight? for
$49.95, 2) Elvis folding camping chair, 3) Elvis salt and pepper
shakers for $9.95 and 4) Elvis throws, the Love Me Tender
series. But by far the most popular item is the Elvis Tour 2003
t-shirt, available in sizes M-XXXL, he tells me.
He points out the XXXL size when he explains the popularity,
but refuses to be too much more specific. He leaves to help a
customer with Elvis golf balls.

He Sings, Too
It’s easy to hate Elvis, and I realise, as I purchase a handful of
postcards of fat, bloated, Las Vegas Elvis just before his death,
that more merchandise seems set up for those who mock the
man than genuinely admire him. You don’t see heart-shaped
postcards of John Lennon after a rough night out – I own three
of Elvis after a rough night, then week, then year.
In an act of penance, we drive to downtown Memphis and
walk to Sun Studios. The greatest appeal of Sun Studios as an
Elvis tourist attraction is that Sun is significant with or without
the King. The first studio to record rock n roll, a single by Ike
Turner called Rocket 88, Sun also put BB King on vinyl, along
with Carl Perkins – arguably the Beatles’ greatest influence.
Johnny Cash was discovered by Sun, as was Jerry Lee Lewis. It
is still a functioning studio, remarkably easy to book, if you’re
interested, though there is one drawback – while you can record
in the same booth as so many masters including, more recently,
Beck and U2, you must also realise that Maroon 5 has recorded
three tracks there, possibly undoing any magic once in the
room.
The Sun Studios tour, led by young local Memphis musi-
cians who slip in references to their own music as much as pos-
sible, is the polar opposite to Tupelo. (Our guide’s band was El
Dorado and the Rachets, in the punk blues genre.) If you love
music, you’ll love the tour. If you like shiny things and are easily
bored, you’ll still enjoy the tour – it’s interactive; you get to do
things like grab the microphone Elvis and Johnny Cash sang
into, rub the piano Jerry Lee Lewis played on. In fact, you’re
encouraged to touch things that seem like they’d be impossibly
valuable on eBay, if not in the real world, and make a fool of
yourself.
What do you learn? That when rock and country were find-
ing their mass audiences, they were being created by a bunch
At the Kings’ Feet in Memphis
By Bart Cameron | Photos by Gúndi
>>> continues on next page
PART 4 OF 4Touring the American Egypt
“The typical man or woman who
thinks he or she is Elvis and visits
the Graceland Outlet buys the fol-
lowing…”
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