He’s not my King

Back on August 16th, 1977 I was six months old and in Maine, I believe. My parents will have to clarify this, but that’s my recollection. Of course, I was too busy filling up my diapers and figuring out how my immediate surrounds worked to understand that a music icon had died, fat, on a toilet, thanks to an overdose. It could be possible, we both, were filling up each other’s diapers at the same time, but I can’t present evidence to support this claim. The fat man was none other than Elvis Presley.

Not fat. Or phat.

Elvis doesn’t need an introduction because he’s known throughout the world. He was a trailblazer when it came to rock and roll, cutting through music’s dense foliage to bring a “new” genre to the mainstream. I used quotation marks with the word new, because his music wasn’t new. Black performers had been singing those songs years before Elvis had come around. Their skin was their sin in a time of unadulterated racism in the United States. Elvis brought their work to light and did so with tremendous flare.

You can’t argue with his success. His sound wasn’t his, but his showmanship certainly was. A true music phenomenon and revered by millions. But I think, 90% of that reverence is superficial hype. Elvis wasn’t that good. He wasn’t that talented. And he isn’t the King of Rock and Roll. I will explain why.

Elvis was a good looking man, before deep fried Twinkies and pain killers caught up with him. Women loved him. In our shallow society, aesthetics often outweigh quality of character and action. Because Elvis was so handsome, it gave women the ability to overlook Elvis’ lack of musical talent.

Elvis had a decent voice.

Okay, now fat. Still not phat.

But, Elvis didn’t write his own music. That’s a mortal sin in the world of rock and roll. Singing, for singing’s sake is not enough and it surely doesn’t warrant a title of King. If you spend time listening to music and studying the English language, you’re going to find some very impressive song writers, such as John Lennon or Bob Dylan. There’s where the gold can be found. Elvis doesn’t stack up.

Another issue I have with Elvis is the fact he essentially wore a guitar, as opposed to play a guitar. He started the sickening trend of singers wearing guitars for the look. Bruce Springsteen does the same thing. It’s an insult to real guitarists out there, it truly is. It’s like some fat ass wearing a Michael Jordan jersey.

“Do you play basketball?”

“No.”

“Take the jersey off.”

Aside from not writing his own music and pretending to play the guitar, Elvis committed the ultimate infraction – he went pop. Elvis only performed rock music for two years, then he jumped record labels to make music that would sell records. It’s wasn’t rock and roll. It was bubble gum. Rock and roll is not bubble gum. It’s whiskey.

I will give him one thing – he died like a rock and roller… on drugs. And he was very weird… very weird. He had carpet installed on the ceilings of his house; he shot his television; he dated a 14-year-old girl when he was twice her age; and he rubbed his mom’s back fat.

How can someone who didn’t write his own music, didn’t play the instrument he carried around very well, and made pop music be the King of Rock and Roll?