If you go to a museum lecture about Elvis, I feel that it is fair to expect one of two things:
The talk in question had neither, only a multitude of anecdotes, a lot of pictures and lots of cheap shots. It did have wine and cheese though, so perhaps that makes it better.
So instead I find myself listening to Aloha from Hawai’i and, for some reason, Big Girls Don’t Cry. But perhaps that latter choice has more to do with Dirty Dancing and its wonderful soundtrack than with anything that happened yesterday. The late lustrous Patrick Swayze aside, I do still find the movie better than it has any right to be, and the soundtrack one of the best I know.
Still, there is nothing quite like early, early Elvis. It occurs to me – again – that fifties music is inexpressibly filthy in all of its blatant reference. Baby let’s play house – ah, wonderful, as explicit as possible, and a little violent.
Favourite about moving to the US: the discovery of new music. Through the Spouse – Johnny Cash! Through the first radio station to best my old favourite StuBru back home, WTMD. It perpetually amazes me how much more involved I am with Baltimore than I ever was anywhere else – all the volunteering, shows, theatre, tai chi and general events. At the same time I am less (socially) involved in my work than ever; one wonders why that is, and I suppose I should say that it seems mostly because the organisational tendency towards social control makes me very wary.