by Jillian Leigh, Ampersandology
I've never been what you call an Elvis "fan." I didn't dislike him or his music, quite the opposite. But he became a kind of cultural-of-course, like the Beatles or, to a lesser extent, Duran Duran: how can you not like them? My biggest respect for Elvis came from his sweetly-intentioned film career--he began wanting to be Marlon Brando but ended up closer to Robert Pattinson. But honestly, I didn't really get the big deal.
Until I stumbled across Elvis in 1956, a photo/essay collection exploring the brief window when Elvis was poised on the brink of superstardom. Photojournalist Alfred Wertheimer followed Elvis around for a few weeks, capturing the 21 year-old in an unguarded candidness that would all but impossible in the months following the session. He wouldn't be able to travel by train a few weeks later, or walk down the street without starting a riot. Wertheimer, working on a hunch, managed to capture the last time Elvis was just Elvis, a kid from Memphis who managed to catch a break.
I looked through the pages of this book, and I got it, man. Elvis is way bigger than Elvis. He's the ripening sexuality of rock and roll, and the lost innocence of a generation. He is also very, VERY pretty.
In Werthetimer's photos, when a boyish Elvis jumps from the train (which has traveled 27 hours to take him home) he waves goodbye to the camera--and with the street empty, fans nowhere in sight, and his triumphant homecoming concert still hours away, it's not hard to imagine that he's waving goodbye to that nameless kid in the process.
I've never been what you call an Elvis "fan." I didn't dislike him or his music, quite the opposite. But he became a kind of cultural-of-course, like the Beatles or, to a lesser extent, Duran Duran: how can you not like them? My biggest respect for Elvis came from his sweetly-intentioned film career--he began wanting to be Marlon Brando but ended up closer to Robert Pattinson. But honestly, I didn't really get the big deal.
Until I stumbled across Elvis in 1956, a photo/essay collection exploring the brief window when Elvis was poised on the brink of superstardom. Photojournalist Alfred Wertheimer followed Elvis around for a few weeks, capturing the 21 year-old in an unguarded candidness that would all but impossible in the months following the session. He wouldn't be able to travel by train a few weeks later, or walk down the street without starting a riot. Wertheimer, working on a hunch, managed to capture the last time Elvis was just Elvis, a kid from Memphis who managed to catch a break.
I looked through the pages of this book, and I got it, man. Elvis is way bigger than Elvis. He's the ripening sexuality of rock and roll, and the lost innocence of a generation. He is also very, VERY pretty.
In Werthetimer's photos, when a boyish Elvis jumps from the train (which has traveled 27 hours to take him home) he waves goodbye to the camera--and with the street empty, fans nowhere in sight, and his triumphant homecoming concert still hours away, it's not hard to imagine that he's waving goodbye to that nameless kid in the process.
(part of a Smithsonian retrospective)
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