14 January 2003


I just finished up Peter Guralnick's two-volume biography of Elvis Presley. It was fascinating and engrossing, not just because of one guy's triumphant (and eventually tragic) life but also because of the way it gave a snapshot of mid-century Memphis and the way the music business progressed from the fifties to the seventies. I'd recommend it to anyone who likes Elvis or is remotely interested in rock and roll.

And the story, in the end, is so fucking sad. From his childhood to the day he dies, Elvis never wanted to be alone. He wanted his family or his women or his friends to be right there every second of the day. And how did he did? Alone on the toilet. They didn't find him for hours, and the coroner said he'd tried to crawl a bit before he died. I guess, by keeping people around him, he was trying to forestall what he must have guessed was coming. His girlfriend was asleep in the room next door and didn't hear a thing. Sad.