Yet, The King did play in one country other than the United States — Canada. Given how easy cross-border travel used to be, one might expect almost as many gigs in Moncton as Montgomery but this was anything but the case. On April 2, 1957, Elvis played a pair of shows at Toronto's hallowed Maple Leaf Gardens, then did a matinee and an evening set the next day in Ottawa. Shows in Montreal, Canada's biggest city at the time, ended up being cancelled due to complaints that he was a bad influence on youngsters. Returning north of the border on the last day of August, he played his final Canadian show in Vancouver at Empire Stadium. And that was that. The nation's two largest Anglophone cities and its capital, all within the space of a few months in 1957 when Elvis was still just twenty-two years old.
Given the tour itineraries of most well-known bands nowadays, this is pretty typical. (I've long considered pitching an article to The Beaverton with the headline 'British Group on Forty-Date North American Tour Surprised to Learn Canada Has More Than Three Cities') It probably wasn't a whole lot different back then either. What's more surprising is that he never returned. Elvis would go on to play four shows apiece in cities like Denver and Seattle over the years but he never even played in Toronto a second time. That said, just four gigs in major American cities isn't all that much either. The army, a longtime Vegas residency, living until only his early forties and Hollywood commitments will conspire to do that.
John Lennon famously summed up the decline and death of his idol by remarking that "he died when he went in the army" (a subject of Elvis' life that is bound to come up soon enough in this space). Harsh but it reflects how it was felt that military service tamed him. Quite right too since that's precisely what conniving manager Andreas Cornelis van Kuijk Colonel Tom Parker had sought. Doing two years in the army as a real soldier rather than a performer for the troops was meant to make the rock 'n' roll rebel a respectable figure with the parents and authority figures who had once condemned and/or dismissed him. But what if this was already beginning to happen?
Some purists love nothing but the Sun recordings (because there's always someone out there who can't tolerate anyone becoming popular) while many are just as content listening to the phenomenal batch of pop hits from 1956: "Heartbreak Hotel", "Hound Dog", "Don't Be Cruel", "Lawdy Miss Clawdy". I'm not the biggest Elvis fan in the world but I'll give my due to these, along with a handful of singles spread over the sixties and the brilliant 1969 album From Elvis in Memphis. But bland, pointless recordings were becoming more common only a year into his incredible run. With the push to become a Hollywood star, it was only natural that what he really excelled at would take a backseat, a trend that would commence almost immediately and only become more apparent following his discharge from the US military.
Luckily, there was still a bit left from that early rush. "All Shook Up" remains a favourite and with good reason. Yet the thrill of old had already begun to fade. Elvis' voice has never been as silky smooth which ought to be evidence enough that things were changing. Lost in the mix is Scotty Moore's guitar and you'd be forgiven for assuming (as I did) that he decided to let Hoyt Hawkins do the heavy lifting with a nice shuffling piano part. Hawkins' vocal outfit The Jordanaires earned their keep on "Blue Christmas" and on some of Elvis' gospel recordings but they aren't needed here; if anything, their presence is a distraction from The King's sexed up vibe. Though not exactly slick, there's a warmth to the production that suggests professionalism had begun to triumph over passion and spirit. Context, though, is everything: listening to it alongside "Don't Be Cruel" and "Blue Suede Shoes" does it no favours; on the other hand, playing it next to some of the dismal soundtrack material that would follow only convinces you that this is vintage Elvis.
"All Shook Up" enjoyed a run of eight weeks on top of the Billboard's old Top 100 and another seven in the UK but only managed a single seven-day run up in Canada. This was likely the result of timing: had CHUM's Weekly Hit Parade been established earlier, it would have almost certainly had a lengthier stint on top. But it reflected Elvis' own experiences in Canada during that year: they both arrived with a bang only to depart just as rapidly. Only there'd be far more Elvis singles to come even if The King himself never bothered making a return trip.
Score: 7
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Can Con
The Diamonds: "Little Darlin'"
Here's an oddity within Canada's first official Top 50 chart: a total of sixty records appear on it. Call me overly literal but shouldn't this then be considered a Top 60? You'd think but for a quirk from the time which counted the same song recorded by multiple artists in the same chart placing. Thus, Fat's Domino's "I'm Walkin'" shared the number nineteen spot with Ricky Nelson's "I'm Walkin'". Meanwhile, "Sittin' on the Balcony" had a three way split at number twenty-three by Eddie Cochran, Don Cornell and Johnny Dee respectively. (This crazy chart system affected a certain number one hit/hits which will be dealt with when we eventually get to it/them) Having more room, however, didn't provide more opportunities for Canadian acts as Toronto's The Diamonds' were the sole homegrown representative present. If it's too dismissive to label the kind of doo-wop they favoured in "Little Darlin'" as "dated" then let's be charitable and say it's a "period piece". Good as this type thing goes but nothing terribly remarkable either. Even had Elvis phoned it in, he still would've deserved a number one over competition of this quality. But well done all the same! (Finally, "I'm Walkin'"? "Sittin' on the Balcony"? "Little Darlin'"? What on earth did the letter G do to offend so many songwriters back in the fifties?)
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