Tracks: 1) Tonight Is So Right For Love; 2) What’s She Really Like; 3) Frankfort Special; 4) Wooden Heart; 5) G. I. Blues; 6) Pocketful Of Rainbows; 7) Shoppin’ Around; 8) Big Boots; 9) Didja’ Ever; 10) Blue Suede Shoes; 11) Doin’ The Best I Can.
REVIEW
Allow me to start this with a bit of personal trivia: this re-recorded stereo version of ʽBlue Suede Shoesʼ was the first one Iʼd ever heard (as opposed to the 1956 original), since, for some reason, it was included on my large vinyl compilation (French, I think) of Elvisʼ greatest hits instead of the original — by mistake, probably, since I have no information on the re-recording ever being put out as a single, in France or anywhere else. Regardless, the result of this confusion is that I have always remained more partial to this version, by way of sheer nostalgia; yet it is interesting and instructive to play the 1956 and 1960 versions back-to-back — if only to witness with your own eyes and ears how slightly sloppy, but seductively wild youthful exuberance subtly gives way to intentional restraint and self-consciously «mature» professionalism.
On the original, Elvisʼ voice is a bit deeper and more intimidating, sounding like he is literally jumping at your throat with each line, totally in the throes of rockʼnʼroll power to the point of barely holding it together. Come 1960, the vocal delivery is calmer, more natural, maybe a bit more homely, without any exuberant ad-libbing — you can actually picture him sitting down for this one, rather than girating his hips all over the microphone stand. In terms of actual musical backing, though, the second version has a much clearer and «chuggier» acoustic rhythm track, and Scotty Moore’s new guitar solos are a bit more smooth, complex, and melodic as opposed to the more «string-tearing» techniques of the original. In short, this is as classic a case as any of bartering away a solid chunk of aggressive energy for extra clarity of sound and melodicity — fortunately, not too much, so that both versions can be appreciated. I’d suggest the 1956 version on your headphones when going to work in the morning, and the 1960 version when heading back after a hard day’s work. (Some people might prefer exactly the other way round, though).
If I were pressed into choosing only one out of two for a desert island collection, I suppose I’d have to clench my teeth and forfeit my childhood experience — after all, this is rock’n’roll, not Tin Pan Alley — but even with all that extra smoothness, it is useless to deny that ‘Blue Suede Shoes’ still retains the rock’n’roll edge on the re-recording, and that even with this «maturity adjustment» check, post-army Elvis still understood the magic of rockʼnʼroll better than just about anybody around him, never forgetting what it takes to get a good groove going. If only the same could be said about the rest of this soundtrack! But Elvis, or, rather, the business people surrounding Elvis, had a different agenda in mind: G. I. Blues, his first post-army movie, had to deliver a clean, wholesome image of American military personnel for the whole world to see, and that meant that the music had to comply to «family-oriented» demands — including a nice, long look at Juliet Prowse’s legs that was sure to strengthen traditional American morale, as opposed to degenerate rock’n’roll energy.
One has only to take a look at the list of songwriters engaged in creating the movie soundtrack to see what has gone wrong. Abner Silver, the author of ʽBashful Babyʼ and ʽOn The Beach At Bali-Baliʼ. Sid Tepper, the author of ʽRed Roses For A Blue Ladyʼ (made into a hit by Guy Lombardo in 1948). Sid Wayne and Sherman Edwards, the authors of ʽSee You In Septemberʼ. Ben Weisman, probably the least «square» of this entire lot (it was he who had written ʽCrawfishʼ, after all — one of Elvis’ most unconventional tunes from the early years), but also as far from rockʼnʼroll as possible. Essentially just a roll call for all the clean-cut, Brooklyn-born Tin Pan Alley songwriters to assemble an «easy-listening» set that might be allowed to borrow a trick or two from the rock’n’roll era, but only as long as it was integrated and dissipated in the «classic» values of popular songwriting.
Nine out of eleven songs on this record are locked in this mode, the only two exceptions being the abovementioned re-recording of ʽBlue Suede Shoesʼ and Aaron Schroederʼs ʽShoppinʼ Aroundʼ, a comically-tinged mid-tempo boogie that would have been considered thoroughly third-rate on any of Elvisʼ pre-army records, yet here it is a frickin’ highlight. As usual, it relies heavily on Schroeder’s beloved stop-and-start tactics, and it’s catchy enough, but, unfortunately, the lyrics are so crude and silly this time around ("you got the hugging-est arms, the thrilling-est eyes" is something that probably would have made Cole Porter gag on his Scotch) that it is not easy to understand why this song in particular would later serve as a role model for the Bonzo Dog Bandʼs Elvis parody ʽDeath Cab For Cutieʼ (the one Bonzo Dog Band song that everybody knows because of its inclusion in Magical Mystery Tour — and, by the way, Jan Carson, the hot stripper in that particular movie scene, does bear a bit of a resemblance to Juliet Prowse, now that I think of it!).
Admittedly, if we agree to drop the «traitor!» attitude and give the Tin Pan Alley spirit a rightful chance, then this setlist is not that bad — after all, it is hard to go completely wrong with seasoned pros. There are only two songs here that genuinely make me want to cringe: ʽDidjaʼ Everʼ, an attempt to emulate the spirit of a G.I. marching song that ends up placing Elvis squarely into ʽItsy-Bitsy Spiderʼ mode, and ʽWooden Heartʼ, adapted from a German folk (or army) song and sung in a style with which Elvis himself feels fairly uncomfortable to me. (Iʼd definitely take Marlene Dietrichʼs recording of ʽMuss I Dennʼ over Elvisʼ performance any time: she gives the song, like just about everything she ever sang, a seductively ironic — or was that «ironically seductive»? — reading). Taken together, these two numbers infuse the LP with a made-for-kids feeling that goes starkly against the «mature» image of Elvis in the early Sixties — if anything, it rather gives the impression of an artist descending into infantilism.
Marginally better is ʽFrankfort Specialʼ, a choo-choo train song whose intro bears a (most likely intentional) superficially pleasant, but disappointing resemblance to ʽMystery Trainʼ — unfortunately, Elvisʼ call-and-response session with the Jordanaires here is altogether way too cuddly and clean-cut, while the G.I. lyrical clichés quickly get tiring ("farewell frauleins, don’t you cry, you’ll soon get another G.I." is so 19th century that it probably requires one of those fancy Napoleon grenadier army uniforms to go along with it).
Of all the ballads, Weisman and Wise’s ʽPocketful Of Rainbowsʼ may deserve a special mention, with a seductively winding vocal melody and some interesting signature changes between verse and bridge. On the other hand, while ʽTonight Is So Right For Loveʼ proves that Elvis can sing a reworked Jacques Offenbach every bit as efficiently as he can sing a reworked ʽO Sole Mioʼ, this overblown serenading style in general has always been and will always remain cheap in essence. All I know is, if I were a girl and Elvis started singing this crap under my window, I’d have to send him back to Georgia, ’cause boy that’s just where you belong. (Apparently, if you watch Juliet Prowse’s facial expression during the scene when Elvis sings it in the movie, you might suspect she’s secretly having the same reaction, even if she’s too polite to openly express it).
Granted, G. I. Blues is only a soundtrack, not a proper LP of original material, but soundtracks would soon become a chief component of Elvis’ bread and butter for the next decade, and let us not forget that there was plenty of greatness to be found on Elvisʼ soundtrack albums from the Fifties: Jailhouse Rock and King Creole were both part of the legend, and nobody in his right mind would have to insist on «cutting them some slack» just because the music on those records was somehow subdued to the needs of the movie script.
In comparison, G.I. Blues may hold the dubious distinction of our being able to call it the first openly bad Elvis album — nowhere near as tasteless and corny as things that were yet to come, but the very first Elvis album where the threat of being eaten up alive by the old-fashioned commercial machine, very faintly looming over the horizon ever since the beginning of his RCA contract and gently knocking on the window with Elvis Is Back!, had finally become realized. From now on, the «Elvis Project» would essentially be run by second- and third-rate songwriters from the pre-rock’n’roll era (or even from the pre-World War II era!), adapting their old-fashioned styles to the perceived tastes and values of the rock’n’roll generation — the stage being set for some truly horrendous gastronomic mutations, and Elvis being set up as the business’ leading guinea-pig in the matter. The reasons for his amazing pliability and submissiveness throughout these years are better left to a conglomerate of psychiatrists; ours is merely the fate of disillusioned, if, hopefully, somewhat empathetic spectators to this human and artistic tragedy.
Only Solitaire reviews: Elvis Presley
Not much to say, but I really like "Frankfort Special" for its crazy fast (but clean) guitar.
Yikes, send Elvis back to Georgia?! You're playing with fire, George, better not make any immediate plans for a holiday down South, they'll have you for breakfast! And I deduce you're already primed to destroy BLUE HAWAII if & when you get to 1962. No, please, don't do it, give it one more listen. It's far better than this pap, really it is!! (fellow Blue Hwaiians, please confirm!)