In August we noted the passing, thirty years ago, of Elvis Aaron Presley.
As much as I wish that he were still with us, I have regretfully given up hope that he is. But there are plenty of others who cling to the belief and have done so for some time. The fever has died down a bit since his 70th birthday but there are still plenty of people who refuse to accept that on that fateful August day in 1977 Elvis’ mighty heart gave out while he was sitting on the crapper in a big nappy (although that seems to be a contradiction) with a deep fried squirrel or something sticking out of his mouth. People seem to want something more.
Why Elvis? Why not his stillborn identical twin, Jesse Garon Presley? There is nothing much wrong with him. He even sort of rhymes. But no one seems to be insisting that Jesse slipped quietly off to enjoy an anonymous existence blackening catfish and making hominy grits.
No, it is Elvis who is constantly being spotted sniffing around for jobs changing tyres or mopping floors in supermarkets everywhere from John O’Groats to Perth Western Australia (assuming you go through America rather than across Europe and Asia, though I imagine there are sightings in Germany too).
As far as I can tell the only other persons in respect of whom there has been such an enduring myth of a falsified death are Hitler and Mr. Olivia Newton-John, so I assume that it is not a reflection of a widespread and abiding love of the object. It must be something to do with fame. Just what it is I do not know and possibly one of the readerboat might have a suggestion. Actually, didn’t one of Alby Mangels’ mates try it on too?
But that is not where we are going.
I was thinking about Elvis’ unlikely comeback a few years ago, courtesy of some old footage and some recordings that had not previously been released (or if they were, they weren’t popular). In a macabre vision of the other side of the veil, we were treated to Elvis jigging around as though he were still with us. Thus he got a couple more hits under his belt – from beyond the grave. It was a bit spooky but we all knew where we stood.
Contrast the Beatles. Their disintegration was at least as drawn out as was Elvis’, if not significantly more so. They retreated to the studio well before they called it quits, and slowly drifted apart until it all ended seemingly over a period of months during which they didn’t speak to each other, unless it was to ask Ringo to make another cup of tea.
The final rupture was odd and unsatisfying. The public were yearning for more. History tells us that they didn’t get it. Sure, there were the annual “Long Lost Beatles Tapes Found!” type headlines and we even got “Free as a Bird” (I think it was), a release that amply showed us why these tapes had been shoved behind the sofa or given to the cleaning lady for her baby to play with.
For a long time after they had disbanded, there were rumours that they were going to re-form and were planning a new album or a concert tour. There were also regular suggestions that the possibility of a contribution to the greater good might overcome John and Paul’s mutual loathing and that they would perform at a charity concert or something.
More interesting were the constant rumours that the Fab Four had actually already reformed and had either released a new album or performed unannounced at the Coober Pedy Town Hall or somewhere.
Rumours like these seemed to surface every few months during the early and mid seventies. They would go ‘round like wildfire because people wanted to think that the magic was not over.
Of all of them, my favourite was the Klaatu one.
Klaatu released an album in the mid seventies which for some reason was widely thought to be the Beatles. This meant that it got far more attention than it might otherwise have attracted.
I can’t remember what happened to quash the rumour. Possibly the revelation that the band was a Canadian three piece “art/pop” outfit (ie hat wearing beardy-weirdies from Calgary or somewhere) was enough to dissuade the most enthusiastic believers.
Klaatu did have one big song, “Calling Occupants (of Interplanetary Craft)” although in a development that must have been awfully embarrassing, the Carpenters did a cover version which was much more successful.
They broke up after a while and in another odd Beatles like development, have been haunted by rumours that they are planning a comeback. In their case the rumours of a planned reuinion are true. They do want to get back together. In their case the actual comeback seems to be prevented by lack of discernable interest from anyone else.
Anyway, if that was the best of those rumours, I think the worst was to come a few years later. Those of you who had a lot of time on their hands during the Eighties might remember Doctor and the Medics who did a cover of someone or other’s hit, “Spirit in the Sky”.
I believe that the rumour surrounding that group may not have been worldwide like the Klaatu one. In fact I would not be surprised if it was restricted to one or two adjoining Adelaide suburbs.
The rumour was that Doctor and the Medics were in fact none other than The Bay City Rollers.
Yep, you got it. Derek and Eric and Woody and Alan and Les.
This was a great rumour. Doctor and the Medics were a glam band with all makeup on them doing a cover of an old song. Just between ourselves, it was OK and had the sort of beat that the kids could dance to.
The Bay City Rollers were a different proposition. What they lacked in makeup they more than made up for in tartan and as far as I can recall sang songs that sounded as though they just found them somewhere. Like in a skip or somewhere.
They were a big hit with girls of about 10 to 14 years of age who would get around in “Roller Strollers” -baggy jeans cut off midway down the shin and with a sort of broad tartan stripe down the leg. Classy.
Still, the rumour arose and lasted ages. I think it was because it could easily have been Derek or Alan under that makeup. Or Les. Or Woody or Eric.
But it wasn’t.
It would be remiss of me to leave any discussion of the Rollers without recalling that Peter Nicholls’ sister was supposed to have been found climbing up the drainpipe of the Royal Coach Motor Inn when they were in town. It seems that she was hoping to get into their room for some reason.
It seems unlikely that a big act would have stayed there, particularly in the same room, but who am I to argue with rumour?
