Jan Müller follows in Elvis’ footsteps – from the perspective of a friend and mega fan.
In a recent column, I mentioned my childhood neighbor. Some of you wanted to know more about him. That’s why we’re going back in time:
No quiffs, no creepers and no match in the corner of his mouth
I. A Friday in the fall of ’81. School is over. He throws the bag in the corner of his room and turns up the stereo. “You ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog / Cryin’ all the time / You ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog / Cryin’ all the time / Well, you ain’t never caught a rabbit / And you ain’t no friend of mine”. 25 minutes Elvis. Then he does his schoolwork. Math, German and English. English is most important to him.
He owns 38 Elvis LPs, including 4 best-ofs. Also 19 singles, two VHS cassettes, a flexi disc and two 8-track cartridges, which he cannot play. When he has finished his homework, he packs his school bag for next Monday. His notebooks are neat, his school bag is clean and he doesn’t look out of place either. No quiffs, no creepers and no match in the corner of his mouth.
He goes into the living room and puts the VHS into the recorder: “Aloha From Hawaii”. “So I turn my back / Turn my collar to the wind / Move along in silence / Trying not to think at all / I put my feet in front of me / Walk the silent street in front of me”. He looks at the screen: from the stage it flashes in white, red, green and yellow: ELVIS ELVIS ELVIS ELVIS. Elvis kneels on stage, his white suit glittering.
He knows every detail of the performance in Honolulu. His mother comes into the living room. “You haven’t eaten anything yet, boy.” He feels uneasy. He turns off the TV and goes back into his room. There he goes to the window. The wind blows through the copper beech trees at the old gas station. He goes into the hallway and puts on his waterproof anorak. “How the web was woven / In my soul, don’t you know / How the web was woven / Can’t get loose, can’t let go.”
Elvis was out of control at the end, his sister claimed
II. He gets his bike from the basement. He has attached small battery-operated speakers to the handlebars so that he can listen to his music on his tours. “Sad Sack was sittin’ on a block of stone / Way over in the corner weepin’ all alone / The warden said, Hey, buddy, don’t you be no square / If you can’t find a partner use a wooden chair.” The boys on the mopeds on the corner laugh at him, but they don’t chase him. Nevertheless, he now pedals harder and shifts into third gear. The wind blows through his hair.
A fly bounces off his glasses. He passes the Lattenkamp. The outdoor pool is already closed. He drives through the bullet trap and along the Eppendorfer Moor. “I’m leaving town, baby / I’m leaving town for sure / Well, then you won’t be bothered with / Me hanging around your door / But that’s all right, that’s all right / That’s all right now mama, anyway you do.” He buys a Fanta at the kiosk in Groß Borstel. Elvis was out of control at the end, his sister claimed. She also stated that Elvis died of fatty heart disease. She has no idea. “Do the chairs in your parlor seem empty and bare? / Do you gaze at your doorstep and picture me there? / Is your heart filled with pain, shall I come back again? / Tell me dear, are you lonesome tonight.”
He will be close to Elvis
III. When he arrives at the airport, the sun has almost completely set. His hands are narrow, the palms soft and slightly sweaty. He turns up the speakers and watches the machines start up. He will soon be traveling to Memphis. He will be close to Elvis. “I couldn’t say a word for thinking of you / All I could do was standing there paralyzed.”
Why is it always this Elvis?
IV. A woman on a Dutch bike rides past, he averts his gaze. Did she notice his music? He waits until the song is over. He turns the tape over, rewinds to the beginning and presses play. Then he bends the dynamo to the front wheel and heads home. It’s starting to rain.
He takes the shortcut back through the arcade colony. The damp sand crunches under his tires. Crows fly over him. “When my blue moon turns to gold again / When the rainbow turns the clouds away / When my blue moon turns to gold again / You’ll be back in my arms to stay.” “Why is it always this Elvis?” his father asked him in the summer. He hadn’t answered. But it flashed in his head: “He was the king, he is the king.”
This column first appeared in Musikexpress issue 4/2024.