On The Rocks

The Worcester Phoenix
May 26 - June 2, 2000

[On The Rocks]

King Me!

Elvis -- the World's Greatest Live Dead Man

by John O'Neill
People generally forget that, once upon a time, a certain bumpkin from East Tupelo, Mississippi, was actually a very talented individual. As to whether or not this hayseed actually created what would become rock and roll is a subject for another day, but Elvis Aron Presley was a performer with a terrific voice, an unparalleled command of song interpretation, and an unprecedented live performer.
Then, with the guidance of his avaricious manager "Colonel" Tom Parker, Elvis became a cottage industry, which resulted in the King of Rock and Roll becoming very famous and very rich. Presley went on to display questionable taste in friends, women, interior decorating, his drug of choice, and finally song selection. By the early '70s, the Big E -- now ground zero for personal, moral, and physical decay -- could be heard slurring abject junk like "Ol' McDonald's Farm" to fat broads with bee-hive hair and hot pants. Luckily, not long after this horrible turn of events, the bloated, drug-addled hillbilly mercifully turned up on his potty very, very dead. And, while alleged Elvis sightings have persisted over the 20-some years since he . . . uh . . . crapped out -- seen pumping gas at a truck stop in Valencia; in line buying scratch tickets at a rural Piggley Wiggley; living happily among tight-lipped neighbors in a nondescript trailer somewhere in Big Sky Country -- we have definitive proof that the King is not only dead, but also plotting his comeback right here in Worcester.
Forget revitalizing that white-elephant of a downtown -- the ill-conceived medical complex, the even more ill-conceived Union Station -- or luring some third-rate baseball league for washouts and never-weres to the seven hills. No, beautiful people of Wormtown, our day of retribution and the cheap, fat spin-off payday is at hand. Dead Elvis is back, occasionally breathing, and ready to put us on the national map. Print up the signs: WORCESTER -- THE RE-BIRTHPLACE OF ROCK AND ROLL!
"Let's see . . . well, I was three sheets to the wind on mint juleps walking down by the graveyard," drawls the Colonel, explaining his brainchild that became Dead Elvis. A Southern gentlemen in the classic sense (meaning he's cordial, affable, long-winded, and often blowing sunshine up your ass) the Colonel (just Colonel) will admit only to being the illegitimate son of a torrid affair between a certain former fried-chicken mogul and a Mrs. T Parker.
"It came to me then. I went and dug [Elvis] up. I got a couple undertakers, Diesel and Cat-Piss Dirtnap -- they're both in the band now. One plays drums and the other one's a pie-annie player -- to help dig him up. I got a voodoo priest and a little mojo and then I put him to work!"
Since re-animating the King from his quarter century of slumber, the Colonel, who manages not only Elvis but also his current backing band, the Knight Crawlers, has found that what should have been an easy road to fame and glory is full of potholes. He and Dead Elvis are learning that no matter how high on the pecking order you once were, getting back to the top is a lot tougher when you've spent the past 25 years six feet under. Times have changed and crowds are fickle. As a result, the Colonel also manages a 24-hour convenience store four nights a week to make ends meet.
"Let me tell you, Mr. Phoenix, we're kinda on the lam, so to speak," he says of his current living conditions and the reason D.E. decided to make Worcester home. "We're takin' what we can get. Livin' above the garage is okay, you bet. It's very cozy, and we don't mind the traffic driving by, or the dogs. Our landlord, Vinnie the Knife, is a lovely man. He'd give you the shirt off his back!"
Dead Elvis has been making his slow but steady comeback working the comedy-festival and Halloween circuit (including a stint last fall at Spooky World and a trip to Nova Scotia slated for August). It's all part of the master plan to re-introduce the admittedly rusty and crusty Presley back into the mainstream. Since many people consider him still among the living, and many more are under the impression he's still dead, the Colonel wants to bring Elvis up to reasonable speed before springing a global assault on the music community.
"Well, I'll put it straight. He's put on a few pounds. His head is full of rags and I had to fill him with sawdust. He's not too good lookin' now. His current condition gives people the heebie-geebies. That boy's dead all right," he solemnly reflects before brightening again with a click of his inner light bulb. "But I got him on a strict diet of popcorn and balsamic vinegar. The talent is still there! His guitar playing is coming along, and he's a fine dancer except for two things -- his feet!"
If the Colonel's optimism seems more smoke screen than truth, it may be because he remembers the time when Dead Elvis was in fact not only alive, but also the number-one entertainer of all time. While the Colonel's a bs artist intent on making a name for himself and his client, he's also a realist who's able to see the daily improvement in the King. And frankly, there has been a drastic change in the man's music since he first slumped off this mortal coil. His first post-living single, "Mustard on My Blue Suede Shoes ("It's killing 'em in Europe," promises the Colonel), is the type of muscular, compact rockabilly that first catapulted Elvis from the white boy with a feel for race music to rock and roll's first superstar. His voice is also back in form as well as his knack for picking solid material. Gone are the stinkers from late in his first life that are as (in)famous as his hits. Dead Elvis returns to his true roots -- albeit with a twist and a nod toward his afterlife -- with "Blue Quaaludes," "Dead Woman Blues," "Can't Stop Haunting You," and "Chunka' Burnin' Drugs."
It's almost as if the now truly immortal singer is making up for his dubious past accomplishments -- the garish excess of Graceland, most of his movie canon, all of his movie soundtracks, and, of course, Lisa Marie. Refreshed if not exactly fresh smelling, Dead Elvis (who is unable to do interviews since it requires "all types of injections and transfusions. Plus he's ornery when he wakes up.") is on a mission to reclaim his throne. And Worcester, a city desperate for a new identity, is about to become the new Memphis.
"We're recording this Sunday night at the Lucky Dog Sayloon. They're lovely people there. They're kinda brain-dead so we fit right in," cackles the Colonel. "That's a compliment.
"Don't worry about Dead Elvis. He's a little rusty, a little rough around the edges, but he'll be comin' into his own soon!"