Lately I've been re-reading Peter Guralnick's masterful pair of Elvis biographies Last Train to Memphis and Careless Love. Well, skimming is much more accurate. With an awful lot of The King to cover in this blog in the weeks and months ahead, I feel it's incumbent to re-familiarize myself. Nevertheless, plundering them for anecdotes has reminded me of just how brilliant Guralnick's account is which only makes me want to plow through his books again. (Which is more than can be said for Albert Goldman's judgemental, malicious and, worst of all, horribly boring 1981 biography; say what you will about his scandalous John Lennon book but at least it's a good read)
It is midway through Last Train to Memphis that one of the looming signs of Elvis' creative decline emerges. Where Sam Phillips of Sun had provided him with suitable material and the near-unlimited resources at RCA managed to acquire some of the best songs available, Colonel Tom Parker's insistence that songwriters sign restrictive exclusivity contracts beginning in 1957 meant that first-rate compositions could dry up. Elvis had previously received misleading co-writing credits on some of his earlier hits but from this point on songwriters had sign over a third of their royalties instead. Parker knew that the chance to write a hit single for his famous client would have been too tempting to resist no matter the clauses.
It was at around this time that the quality of songs at Elvis' disposal began to take a bit of a dip. Songwriters such as Otis Blackwell were no longer feeding material to the cash cow. In his place was a team like Kal Mann and Bernie Lowe. They weren't without talents of their own — the former had been one of the co-writers of the monster smash "Hound Dog" a year earlier — but they lacked a killer composition to hand over. Instead, they took an anecdote about The King having a fondness for cuddly toys and wrote an engaging, if rather empty, song about it. At one minute and forty-seven seconds, "(Let Me Be Your) Teddy Bear" is brief even by the standards of early rock 'n' roll but the swift running time only reinforces what an insubstantial piece of work it is.
The one real saving grace is the recording. Elvis sings it beautifully, the tune is a boogie-woogie blast and The Jordanaires provide a pleasant backing that avoids stepping on toes. Yet, it's still awfully forgettable by his early standards. The frenetic energy of old had been replaced by a contented, relaxed sound. Playing the new song for a close friend, his companion "flipped over it" and proclaimed it a "damn hit". Well, no kidding. Elvis having the imperial phase to end all imperial phases alone ensured it would be a smash. And it didn't hurt that its melody borrowed heavily from "Don't Be Cruel".
Flipping the record over, listeners could take in a far better song, the title track to Elvis' latest film Loving You. I don't begrudge it not being the single since it's slow and even a little moody but there's no question which of the two was composed by a truly excellent songwriting team. Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller didn't exactly hit it off with Elvis at first but they were quickly becoming The King's most reliable hit makers. They were said to have been impressed by the singer's dedication in the studio with Leiber even describing him as a "workhorse". Their material proves that Elvis could rise to the occasion when presented with a challenge, even if having a conniving, greedy manager and an increasing posse of yes men surrounding him would eventually become obstacles. Other songwriters would come and go but at least they would remain for a while so as to keep an eye on quality assurance. Very few others seemed to care.
Score: 5
~~~~~
Can Con
Priscilla Wright with Don Wright and His Orchestra: "Me and My Bestest Feller"
With a certain Ottawa-born schoolboy on the rise to the top (spoilers!), it's down to London, Ontario's Priscilla Wright and her dad Don to provide us with an alternate piece of Canadian content. "The Man in the Raincoat" gave her a US hit a year earlier but she had to make do with a much more modest success with "Me and My Bestest Feller". Fans expecting something similar to the sophisticated "...Raincoat" may have been disappointed but this one's cute and charming in its own way. Priscilla (incidentally, a name that would one day have a strong association with Elvis Presley) is more girlish rather than brash and confident as she had previously been. Having her musician/composer/academic father be in charge meant a beautiful orchestral sound to back her. The composition is no more meaningful than bloody "Teddy Bear" but the producers and sound engineers really earned their fees.
No comments:
Post a Comment