A true southerner, he always bypassed the North of the States: a visible danger awaited there - malicious chuckles and idiotic sneers of those who could not stand Memphis Bill Street.
Such a street.
It would take a long time to explain this.
Blues.
viscous, like ice cream.
Clothing stores where it's hot from the price tags.
Four color shoes.
Tricolor suits.
Ties, elegantly highlighting the stupidly low southern night.
They collect the stars with their hands, throw them into a cocktail, then lazily pull through a straw - the light that came to us from nowhere, perhaps in that knows where - there has been nothing for a long time.
But here is a cocktail - the stars do not melt in it.
They just disappear with the dawn.
It is difficult to catch the transition: the night leaves, slamming the lid of the magic box.
The sun triumphantly occupies the sky, incinerating everything around, forcing itself to be honored, worshiped again and again - pulling the fan cord there, under the ceiling, exhausted in the streams of the icy wind of stupid air conditioners that do not understand anything in the life of the South.
It would be better if lemonade poured out of them and everyone would drown in it, slowly sinking into oblivion ...
New York was dangerous for them.
This couple, Elvis and Parker, the colonel and the king, they knew well where and how they would be received.
And who will extend their hand to them out of friendly participation, and who will rummage through a protruding pocket.
This is America - there is no time for sentimentality.
Love anyone who forbids you, but pockets ... You must watch your pockets.
And for your reputation.
Damn reputation.
In fact, you can't buy it at all.
Parker was a charlatan.
Talented and from God.
Dexterous to the elusive flicker in the eyes.
Presley was from another planet.
Talented and from God.
Charming to the point of trembling in the knees and complete unconsciousness - why were we screaming so frenziedly there?
"We want Elvis!!!"
Everyone wants Elvis...
And he would, right, be alone.
July 1 and 2, 1956 do not count.
They were lured by the dexterous, with some kind of infectious clucking laughter, Steve Allen.
Here he was really lucky - he intercepted Elvis first.
Allen was only 35, not like the bison Ed Sullivan, who turned 55 in 1956. He wore luxurious suits, slurred words like whiskey in a bar for the rich, and with his arrogance put everyone and everyone in their place in seconds.
Well, to hell with him.
Allen was much nicer.
True, Elvis, in order to knock the crest off the wave of frightened puritans, had to put on a tailcoat and bow tie, sing almost motionless, grabbing his muzzle and not thinking of showing at least a fraction of the basset's emotions.
It was almost a shame, but predictable, with high ratings.
With high ratings.
Basset was terribly scared from the roar of Elvis, and he had to stroke him and continue to roar Hound Dog.
Poor dog - to fall into such and such a vise.
The next day they recorded at the New York RCA studios - three hits, which are now blowing their heads off for the first time to bow ... What?
The real, the one that comes like the light of stars that have fallen into the cocktails of the South, from the unthinkable, invisible to us far ...
Elvis defeated Hound Dog in 28 takes.
It is strange how he managed not to lose his voice from such and such a roar.
True, he himself was pleased - the little thing was a success.
Don't Be Cruel, oddly enough, also managed 28 takes and turned out to be mischievous, tenacious and cocky - almost a challenge, but just a conversation.
The third thing was Anyway You Want Me, and it came out easy with that.
Steve Scholes, then recording boss of New York RCA, said: “He sang as if it were the anthem of a state unknown to me, and all my hair was moving - both on my hands and on my head.
The devil... He knew how to sing!
Then they got on the train, Elvis returned to Memphis and at dinner he said to his adoring mother Gladys: "You know ... These damn New Yorkers can't change me."
And Gladys only nodded her head in the affirmative, simultaneously pouring several glasses of cold water to the female fans who were waiting at the house in the hope of an autograph.
He always gave autographs.
Be patient and show no displeasure.
After all, he was one of them and always remembered it.
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The evening of the performance was stuffy.
The 14,000-strong crowd hummed furiously like wild bees: they were thirsty for Elvis.
He came out, bowed, gave everyone and everyone a dazzling smile on the verge of a nervous breakdown and shouted: “These New Yorkers can’t change me!
Today I will show you the real Elvis!”
And yes.
He, of course, was not in an idiotic tailcoat and was not holding a basset by the muzzle.
He kept the audience, red-hot to the limit, ready to demolish everything in its path, but completely controlled by him - the future king of kings.
South.
Does not forgive betrayal.
He always remembered this too.
And that evening, July 4, 1956, too.
75 people.
On three planes.
With two complete sets of stage scenery, costumes.
Technicians, stage masters, musicians, the whole “Memphis mafia” are the closest friends and bodyguards.
He had to do it, even though he didn't want to.
It was supposed to appear in New York's Madison Square Garden.
Did he go over in his mind the idiotic situations of New York in 1956?
The need to fit in, to look clumsy and ridiculous?
A stupid need to please a respectable public?
Now he liked it.
To myself?
However, it didn't matter.
He is back.
Three years ago.
It was a resounding, unprecedented success.
He reigned on an empty throne.
He opened the way to all those who made their way with him to the stars - in the 50s.
Many were already gone ... Rock and roll turned out to be not at all a harmless walk.
Elvis Aaron Presley is the king of rock and roll.
You have to behave like a king.
Restrained.
With exceptional dignity in relation to rebellious subjects.
Who knows them there, in this New York.
There are only the best in his orchestra.
Diamonds.
The Sweet Inspirations - dark-skinned female vocalists, already crowned with world fame, singing sweeter than angels at the gates of heaven.
The lowest bass of the States, the Guinness book record holder - Donnie Sumner and his quartet The Stamps.
Kathy Westmoreland is a "little girl with a very beautiful high voice", a real gem that perfectly sets off Elvis' baritone.
James Burton is one of the best country guitarists in the world.
All with solo albums.
Everything and everyone is a thing in itself.
And yes!
The luxurious orchestra of Joe Guergia.
The colonel planned four concerts - Friday evening, Saturday afternoon and evening, Sunday afternoon.
June 9, 10 and 11, 1972.
Elvis has been on a strict diet for a week now.
Now there will be a press conference.
Journalists will again ask if he was hungry as a child.
No, he did not starve, although they lived more than poor.
He also took vitamin E...
More than poor...
The house in Tupelo is now only good for lawn mowers, and he somehow grew up there.
They set up a museum in it.
Elvis cannot understand his attitude to this fact: the house where the three of them, with their mother and father, lived from almost nothing to at least something, was turned into a museum by the local authorities.
80 thousand tickets sold.
And the colonel was afraid to shoot the show on cameras.
Both of them are uncomfortable in this huge city, but the royal position obliges ...
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For two weeks New Yorkers waited for his coming.
The beds were lined up around Madison Square Garden.
It was necessary to sleep somewhere while waiting for tickets!
Some kind of madness...
And surprisingly smooth sound.
They say it's a special roof.
It may turn out that way.
He remembers every song he sings, he remembers the blinding barrage of photo flashes - people in the South live much more modestly ...
He remembers.
Perhaps the best and greatest of his shows.
He is pleased.
Satisfied and the colonel.
Too bad they didn't make a movie.
Although...
How many more will there be.
The newspapers howled the next day.
And yet, Chris Chase on the pages of The New York Times has surpassed everyone ...
“When he grabbed the microphone and his right hand cut through the air, time seemed to stop and everyone was 17 again. It was a lesson in absolute dominance, because we all just watched the unfortunate opening comedian who could not control anyone, including himself, and now Elvis, alone, controlled us all!
He moved continuously and sang, he radiated incredible energy... When the girls threw a handkerchief to him, he wiped his forehead with it and threw the handkerchief back!
Gift of the earthly god!
Concluding the concert, he raised and spread his arms, revealing a sparkling golden cloak like wings, one of a kind, he looked like a prince from another planet ... "
New York, the arrogant city with its nose arrogantly turned up to heaven, fell at his feet.
The vinyl disc of the Saturday night hit the stores eight days later.
Elvis continued to live as if nothing had happened.
All this happened exactly 40 years ago.
If your evening is free, listen to the album Elvis: As Recorded at Madison Square Garden, the June 10th 1972 Saturday evening performance - the infinitely pure and bewitching light of a star that, perhaps, has existed only in our minds for a very long time.
Ladies and Gentlemen!
Elvis Has Left the Building.
Thank You and Good Night.
The point of view of the author may not coincide with the position of the editors.