Sun Studios founder Sam Phillips

DATE August 16, 2002 ACCOUNT NUMBER N/A
TIME 12:00 Noon-1:00 PM AUDIENCE N/A
NETWORK NPR
PROGRAM Fresh Air

Interview: Peter Guralnick discusses Elvis Presley's early career
BARBARA BOGAEV, host:

This is FRESH AIR. I'm Barbara Bogaev, sitting in for Terry Gross.

On today's archive edition of FRESH AIR, we pay tribute to Elvis Presley, who
died 25 years ago today. We'll hear interviews with Sam Phillips, the man who
discovered Elvis, and two members of his band, drummer D.J. Fontana and
guitarist Scotty Moore.

First, we'll hear an interview Terry recorded with Peter Guralnick, the author
of what is generally acknowledged to be the definitive two-part biography of
Elvis. Terry spoke with Guralnick in 1994 after the first volume, "Last Train
to Memphis," came out.

When Elvis was 18, he went to the fledgling Sun Records in Memphis, where, for
3.98 plus tax, you could make your own record. He recorded a ballad, thinking
it would give him an in at Sun Records, but no one paid much attention. So he
hung around the studio for several months, hoping to get Sam Phillips, the
founder of the company, interested in making another recording. In 1954,
Phillips finally called him in to do a session.

Mr. PETER GURALNICK (Author): What he sang for Sam that day was almost
entirely ballads. It would be songs by Dean Martin, songs by Billy Eckstine,
songs by The Ink Spots, but nothing whatsoever resembling rock 'n' roll. And
I think at the end of the day, there was a feeling of great frustration on
Elvis' part. I mean, just terrible disappointment. And on Sam's part, there
remained a kernel of the idea that `This kid is different. He has a different
sound. There may be something. What is there?' you know. `There's something
there that can be gotten.' And out of that, eventually Sam put him together
with Scotty Moore and Bill Black, and said, `Why don't you guys try
something with him and see what happens?'

TERRY GROSS: Scotty Moore, the guitarist, and Bill Black, the bass player.

Mr. GURALNICK: That's right, yeah.

GROSS: So the three of them come back into the studio and they ended up,
instead of doing more ballads, they end up putting out a single that on one
side has "Blue Moon of Kentucky," which was a Bill Monroe tune, something out
of bluegrass, and on the other side had "That's All Right," a kind of rhythm
and blues thing by Arthur Crudup. How did they end up with that selection,
considering Elvis had been pegged as a ballad singer?

Mr. GURALNICK: I think nobody was more surprised than Sam Phillips, Scotty
Moore or Bill Black. I mean, they came to this out of sheer desperation, I
think, on Elvis' part. Elvis met Scotty, he went over to Scotty Moore's house
on a Sunday, Sunday, July Fourth, as far as I can determine. On Monday night,
they went into the studio. They really just ran through a bunch of songs.
They ran through the same kinds of songs that Elvis had done for Sam Phillips
in the studio previously. On Monday night, they went into the studio and you
can hear some of the early attempts like "Harbor Lights" or "I Love You
Because," which were just pure ballads. Eventually they were brought out
years later by RCA.

But it was evident by everyone's account that the session was completely
falling apart. They were no more on the verge of success than Elvis had been
in his initial tryout. And they took a break, and I think it was just in a
moment of sheer desperation that Elvis--everybody's drinking Cokes, and all of
a sudden, Elvis just starts flailing away on the guitar and singing "That's
All Right (Mama)." When Elvis started playing "That's All Right," Scotty
and Bill fell in and started playing along. And I'm sure it was very ragged,
but Sam Phillips opened up the control room door and he said, `What are you
guys doing?' and they said, `I don't know.' And Sam said, `Well, whatever it
is, let's back up and do it again.'

GROSS: Well, let's hear Elvis doing "That's All Right."

(Soundbite of "That's All Right")

Mr. ELVIS PRESLEY: (Singing) Well, that's all right, Mama. That's all right
for you. That's all right, Mama, just any way you do. That's all right.
That's all right. That's all right now, Mama, any way you do. Well, Mama,
she done told me, Papa done told me, too, `Son, that gal you fooling with, she
ain't no good for you.' But that's all right. That's all right. That's all
right, Mama, any way you do.

GROSS: I guess you really have to give Sam Phillips credit for hearing what
it was that made Elvis Elvis and not trying to fashion him into, you know,
somebody else's mold.

Mr. GURALNICK: I think you have to give Sam Phillips enormous credit not only
for hearing, which is unique enough in itself, but for waiting...

GROSS: Right, right.

Mr. GURALNICK: ...for not imposing himself on Elvis or on Elvis' style.

GROSS: In your book, you really treat Sam Phillips with enormous respect.

Mr. GURALNICK: Yeah. I think it's one of those remarkable accidents of
history, that a person of such unique talent as Elvis should be thrown in with
a person of such equally unique gifts as Sam Phillips. I mean, you have
really the meeting of--in Sam Phillips, you have someone who's as close to a
genius as anyone I've ever met, and you have a person of just unswerving
vision and dedication to the music. What's also interesting about the Elvis
Presley story is that when Colonel Parker comes into the story, you have a
person of an entirely different kind of genius, but you have someone who, in
terms of entrepreneurship, in terms of marketing, in terms of--as focused, as
driven and as single-minded as Sam Phillips was with respect to the music, and
you had an enormous conflict.

GROSS: When Parker brought Elvis to RCA, how did that change his sound?

Mr. GURALNICK: It changed his sound a great deal, only because nobody at RCA
knew how to record him. The Colonel had no interest in music. I don't mean
to say he had no interest in music. I think he was a passionate advocate of
Elvis in every way, and if Elvis had recorded in Lithuania, then the Colonel
would have sought the best way to record Lithuanian spoken--you know,
Lithuanian language records. But it's a mistake to see him as influencing
Elvis' sound per se. What really influenced Elvis' sound was that Sam
Phillips had evolved a method and he had also worked out a way of pushing
Elvis--pushing is perhaps the wrong word, but of either inspiring Elvis or
creating a climate in which Elvis could find his own voice and find his own
style.

At RCA, Steve Sholes was the person who essentially signed Elvis to RCA.
Steve Sholes was almost a--he was a person who noted down the times. He was
an A&R person. He suggested songs, but most of the songs he suggested Elvis
found inappropriate. And he didn't have either a great deal of creative way
to contribute to Elvis, nor did he know Elvis, which was a very important
point for somebody who sought reassurance. I mean, Elvis sought reassurance.
He was looking for some form of approbation, and Steve Sholes didn't have it
to give.

GROSS: Peter, I'd like you to choose one of the RCA sessions that Elvis
recorded that you think shows something about what changed for him at RCA when
Sam Phillips wasn't around to help Elvis keep discovering his Elvisness.

Mr. GURALNICK: I think a good example--and it doesn't have anything to do
with the technical side--is his recording of "Blue Suede Shoes." The reason
that he--I'm sure that the reason that he recorded it was because it was such
a huge hit for Carl Perkins. RCA was nervous that they had signed the wrong
artist by getting Elvis rather than Carl, and probably this was Steve Sholes'
idea. But the thing is, if you listen to the recording that Elvis did, which
I loved at the time and continue to love, it never gets the groove. He never
gets past the point. It's taken too fast. It's evident, as Elvis later said,
that he simply didn't feel that he could beat Carl Perkins' version. But more
than that, it just never grooves in on that inner--you listen, for example, on
a "Million Dollar Quartet" and you'll hear him talking about Jackie Wilson's
version of "Don't be Cruel," and he sings it over and over and over and over
again, and I think that's how he heard a song. He would hone in on it. And
with "Blue Suede Shoes," it stops several steps too short.

GROSS: Why don't we hear "Blue Suede Shoes"?

Mr. GURALNICK: Great.

(Soundbite of "Blue Suede Shoes")

Mr. PRESLEY: (Singing) Well, it's one for the money, two for the show, three
to get ready, now go, cat, go. But don't you step on my blue suede shoes.
Well, you can do anything, but stay off of my blue suede shoes. Well, you can
knock me down, step in my face, slander my name all over the place, or do
anything that you want to do, but huh-uh, honey, lay off of them shoes. And
don't you step on my blue suede shoes. Well, you can do anything, but stay
off...

GROSS: When Elvis started producing himself at RCA after his early sessions
there, what changed for him?

Mr. GURALNICK: What changed, I think, was that he was driving the session.
It was at the July 2nd, 1956, session that produced "Hound Dog" and "Don't be
Cruel" that he really took over the reins for the first time altogether. And
the thing was that I think it was at this point that he was giving--directions
may be the wrong word, but he was leading the musicians. He was suggesting
where he wanted to go, he was suggesting voicings, he was saying--when Steve
Sholes said at the end of take 18 or something that `I think we've got it
now,' Elvis said, `No, let's keep going,' and he went on for 31 takes. He
allowed his own artistic vision to take precedence for the first time, and
essentially here he was at 21, he was running his own sessions.

GROSS: Why don't we listen to "Don't be Cruel"?

Mr. GURALNICK: OK.

GROSS: Do you think this is a good record for him?

Mr. GURALNICK: I think that, for the first time at RCA, he was singing in his
own voice. I think that it's very different than the Sun records he made.
It's much more of a pop record. But this was the direction in which he had
been looking to evolve from the moment he first stepped into a studio, so
that while it may not be as much to my taste as "Mystery Train," say, it's a
moment in which he's discovered his own Elvis voice once again.

(Soundbite of "Don't be Cruel")

Mr. PRESLEY: (Singing) You know I can be found sitting all alone. If you
can't come around, then please, please telephone. Don't be cruel to a heart
that's true. Baby, if I made you mad, something I might have said, please
forget my past. The future looks bright ahead. Don't be cruel to a heart
that's true. I don't want no other love. Baby, it's just you I'm thinking
of. Mmm. Don't stop thinking of me...

BOGAEV: Peter Guralnick speaking with Terry Gross in 1994. He's the author
of "Last Train to Memphis" and "Careless Love: The Unmaking of Elvis
Presley." We'll hear more from him later on today's show.

Coming up after this break, Elvis' drummer, D.J. Fontana, and Sam Phillips,
the founder of Sun Records.

This is FRESH AIR.

(Soundbite of song)

Mr. PRESLEY: (Singing) Well, I heard the news. That's good rockin' tonight.
Well, I heard the news. That's good rockin' tonight. I'm gonna hold my baby
as tight as I can, and tonight she know I'm mighty, mighty mad. I heard the
news. There's good rockin' tonight. I say, `Meet me in a hurry behind the
blonde.' Don't you be afraid to...

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Interview: Sam Phillips discusses his part in making rock 'n' roll
music popular and his work with Elvis early in his career
BARBARA BOGAEV, host:

Sam Phillips discovered Elvis and produced his first records, the records many
consider Elvis' best. That would be enough to ensure Sam Phillips an
important place in music history, but he's done even more. He founded Sun
Records in Memphis, which launched the careers of Jerry Lee Lewis, Carl
Perkins, Johnny Cash, Roy Orbison and Charlie Rich. Before Phillips started
his own record label, he produced the first records of bluesman B.B. King
and Howlin' Wolf. As Peter Guralnick says, `Phillips has left a remarkable
legacy, both of black blues and the white adaptation of it which became rock
'n' roll. He's written one of the most astonishing chapters in the history of
American popular music, and for this we can only be grateful.'

Sam Phillips sold Sun Records in 1969. He still lives in Memphis. Terry
spoke with him in 1997.

TERRY GROSS: A lot of listeners have spent a lot of time over the years
wondering, how would music history have been different, how would Elvis have
been different if you never sold his contract to RCA? I wonder if you lose a
lot of sleep thinking about that, if you spend a lot of time thinking about
that yourself?

Mr. SAM PHILLIPS (Founder, Sun Records): I have not lost one wink of sleep
about it. I did give Elvis advice that he really should produce his records
when he left Sun because Elvis had an excellent ear. Corporate vice
presidents of major labels I don't think at all were into the idea of `Let's
find something that truly is new and different.' I knew that there were a lot
of things that RCA put out on Elvis due to a lot of the motion pictures and
everything that he was making that really weren't the best material in the
world for Elvis to do.

If I had have had Elvis right on up until the day he died, I couldn't have
kept Elvis, ultimately, from being a tremendous force in music and influence
on people even if I had have tried. I do not regret whatsoever any of the
things that took place between the time I sold Elvis and all of this that we
have even today. And you say, `Well, you mean all that money and that total
effect that has been had around the world?' I feel like I was absolutely a
part of that, and I don't care anything about claiming any credit for it, but
I was a part of it because I recognized that Elvis Presley was unique, as I
did so many, many other people that had no opportunity whatsoever.

GROSS: When artists like Elvis Presley and Jerry Lee Lewis were getting
played on the radio and it was just scandalous to a lot of people, you know,
the kind of--the power and the sexuality of the music terrified a lot of
adults, PTAs, church groups. What did you make of all of the fuss about early
rock 'n' roll, a lot of which you were responsible for? I mean, did you think
it was funny? Did you think it was scary? What did it mean to you?

Mr. PHILLIPS: No, I really did not think it was funny, but I can understand.
They thought that this was absolutely going to be the end of the world, and I
saw it and I felt it, but at the same time, I thought, `This is just really
one of the things that we will have to endure in order to find out whether or
not what we feel about it is right, and if it's not right, then all they say
is not going to kill it. If it is right, it will make it.'

GROSS: Were you attacked personally in any way?

Mr. PHILLIPS: Not personally, no. I mean, physically, but personally, oh,
yeah. My name was called quite frequently across the country and especially
in churches. And I'm a good old Southern Baptist, whatever that is, but, you
know, that really, really--not that I wasn't cognizant of the people's real
concern about this, but they had forgotten that the toughest time in a
person's life, and I think any psychologist in this world will tell you this,
is during the teen-age years of anybody's existence. And teen-agers did not
have, before rock 'n' roll and rhythm and blues--they did not have any type of
music they could call their own once they got over four or five years old
until they were well into their 20s and were considered adults. So I just
felt that this was a vast field that had been overlooked by just about
everybody, and that if we had a white person that they could justify maybe a
little bit to their parents that `Well, you know, it's a white boy,' or
whatever, maybe the actual feeling of resentment might not be quite as steeped
in the racial aspects of it.

BOGAEV: Sam Phillips. More about Elvis in the second half of our show.

I'm Barbara Bogaev, and this is FRESH AIR.

(Announcements)

(Soundbite of "I'm All Shook Up")

Mr. ELVIS PRESLEY: (Singing) Well, bless my soul, what's wrong me? I'm
itchin' like a...

BOGAEV: Coming up, celebrity and its consequences. We continue our look back
at Elvis with his biographer, Peter Guralnick, and with his first guitarist
and manager, Scotty Moore. And David Edelstein reviews the new film "Blue
Crush."

(Soundbite of "I'm All Shook Up")

Mr. PRESLEY: (Singing) Yeah, yeah, yeah. Well, my hand is shaky and my knees
are weak. I can't seem to stand on my own two feet. Who do you think when
you have such luck? I'm in love. I'm all shook up. Ooh, ooh, ooh. Ooh.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Well, please don't ask me what's on my mind. I'm a little
mixed up, but I'm feelin' fine. When I'm near the girl that I love best, my
heart beats so it scares me to death. When she touched my hand, what a chill
I got. Her lips are like a volcano when it's hot. I'm proud to say that
she's my buttercup. I'm in love. I'm all shook up. Ooh, ooh, ooh. Ooh.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. My tongue gets tied when I try to speak. My insides shake
like a leaf on a tree. There's only one cure for this body of mine. That's
to have that girl that I love so fine. When she touched my hand, what a chill
I got...

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Interview: Peter Guralnick discusses the latter part of Elvis
Presley's life
BARBARA BOGAEV, host:

This is FRESH AIR. I'm Barbara Bogaev, sitting in for Terry Gross.

Today is the 25th anniversary of Elvis' death. Let's hear more from Peter
Guralnick, the author of what is generally acknowledged as the definitive
Elvis biography. The second volume of Guralnick's two-part bio is called
"Careless Love: The Unmaking of Elvis Presley." Guralnick describes it as a
sort of celebrity and its consequences. The book begins with a 23-year-old
Elvis starting his Army service in Germany in 1958 and ends with his death in
1977 at the age of 42. This was a time when Elvis went from being a rock 'n'
roll pioneer to a movie matinee idol and a flashy Vegas performer. Terry
spoke with Peter Guralnick in 1999, after "Careless Love" came out.

TERRY GROSS: When Elvis was in the Army, he was stationed in Germany, near
Frankfurt. You describe his Army experience as very difficult for him. What
made it so difficult?

Mr. PETER GURALNICK (Author): Well, I think there several things that were
difficult. One is that if you think about Elvis, you've got to imagine an
only child who has virtually never slept away from home. I mean, he was not
only an only child, but an adored only child. And the idea of--from the very
fact that when he's in the Army, both in Texas and then in Germany--he lives
first with his parents in Texas and then with his father and grandmother in
Germany--you can see how close-knit his sense of family is and, in a sense,
how self-protective he is in terms of living within a world with which he's
familiar.

But I think the other thing was that he had had his sense of certainty so
disrupted by his mother's death. His mother's death was more than just losing
the person he was closest to in the world. It also almost removed the sense
of purpose with which he had proceeded so certainly up to this point. I mean,
in his mind a great deal of the reason for his success, a great deal of what
he was working for, was to buy his mother a house, to give his parents things
that they had never had. And it all worked out. It was as if it was meant to
be, it was fated. And then to have taken away from you at the height of that
success the very person for whom it's all meant really called into question a
lot of basic beliefs.

The last thing, which is just as pertinent, is Elvis' identification with his
audience. And there was a terrible fear. There was a sense that he had
achieved the pinnacle of success, and now he had this terrible fear that it
was all going to be taken away from him, and not taken away from him simply in
the terms of material success, but in terms of this connection he had with the
audience, with his fans. And a lot of, you know, stars talk about the fans,
the fans, but in Elvis' case there was no differentiation between himself and
the fans. He saw himself as coming from there and as never leaving there.
And the nightmare that he had to the very end of his life--I think he told a
reporter about it just weeks before he died and it was one that came up--I
think he told Freddy Beanstalk(ph) about it in 1960. The dream that he
continued to have was of everyone deserting him, of his being all alone, of
the Colonel, his manager, gone and of the fans having left him there all by
himself. And, you know, whatever you think of it, that was his fear.

GROSS: Although the Army cut him off from everything that had been his life,
it was in the Army that his life was changed in ways that affected his future.
For example, in the Army he was introduced to amphetamines by a sergeant when
they were on maneuvers. What was the sergeant's intentions?

Mr. GURALNICK: Well, I think you've got to look back not only on that time,
but on this time. I think that, you know, amphetamines were so commonplace
that it would be virtually impossible to escape them, whether you were talking
about a college environment, you were talking about the Kennedy
administration, where Dr. Feelgood--I forget the name of the doctor in New
York who eventually, I believe, went to jail and lost his license--but who was
giving amphetamine shots to, you know, the rich and famous. And within the
world of country music, certainly, and perhaps in the world of popular music,
they were just so commonplace you'd be hard-pressed to find who didn't take
them--truck drivers, you know.

And so when Elvis discovered amphetamines, here you've got this hyperactive
kid who Scotty Moore talked about having to stop the car on the highway
between gigs just to give Elvis a chance to work off some of his energy. He'd
just run up and down the road. And so you've got this hyperactive kid. He's
given amphetamines. He's told that they're good, they'll keep your energy
high, they'll keep you focused when you're on all-night maneuvers, they'll
help keep your weight down. And he bought into it totally.

GROSS: I want to play another record here, and this is a track that he
recorded at what I think was his first recording session after coming back
from the Army. And this is a song called "It Feels So Right," recorded in
1960, which you describe as being `exuberantly dirty.' And it's a really good
track with, as you point out, `really dissonant chords that matched its sexual
message.' Anything else you want to say? I've already quote you a couple of
times, but if there's anything else you want to say about this track before we
hear it...

Mr. GURALNICK: No. I like those quotes.

GROSS: So let's just hear it then.

Mr. GURALNICK: OK. Great.

GROSS: This is Elvis from 1960.

(Soundbite of "It Feels So Right")

Mr. ELVIS PRESLEY: (Singing) Step in these arms, where you belong. It feels
so right, so right, how can it be wrong? There's something in the way you
kiss that makes me want to hold you tight. I know that nothing can be wrong
that feels so right. Each time we touch...

GROSS: That's Elvis Presley recorded in 1960, right after he came out of the
Army.

My guest is Peter Guralnick, and he's just finished the second of his
two-volume biography of Elvis. Volume two is called "Careless Love."

Peter, I want to ask you a little bit about the entourage that Elvis had
around him. And he started this entourage, I guess, after he got out of the
Army, you know, friends, bodyguards, people who were always around him. What
did he need it for? What did he get out of it?

Mr. GURALNICK: I think he got a sense of reassurance. He got a sense of
having his own values validated in a way. He felt a sense of comfort around
them and he wasn't challenged. I think that it amounted to the same thing as
what many stars do. He created a portable world around him so that wherever
he was it was home. And he had done this, to some extent, before he went into
the Army. He had had, you know, two or three guys around him. His cousins,
Junior and Gene, frequently went out with him. George Klein, the deejay from
Memphis, went out with him sometimes, and different friends. But it became a
much more institutionalized thing, and grew and grew to the point where he had
between 12 and 14 guys with him frequently in the '60s.

But what it meant was that he never had to go outside of that world, and he
never had to worry about being approved of. He never had to worry about being
challenged. And I think it reduced his world to a considerable extent. I
think many of the guys would agree that it got old very quickly, and that had
Elvis been more outgoing, in a social sense, it would have created a more
challenging and a more satisfying life for himself.

GROSS: Did you learn anything new about the details or the circumstances of
Elvis' death?

Mr. GURALNICK: No. I think they have been fully explored, and I think the
book "The Death of Elvis" is probably as authoritative a work as we're ever
going to get on all the circumstances surrounding his death.

GROSS: It's such a kind of ugly death for such an idol to have, you know, to
be found dead in the bathroom with his pants down around his ankles lying in a
pool of vomit. It's really so sad.

Mr. GURALNICK: It is. But, you know, I'm not sure that all death isn't ugly.
I mean, you can't prettify death.

GROSS: Right.

Mr. GURALNICK: And I think the thing that I found most effective and the
thing that surprised, I guess, as I wrote about this--and obviously I knew
what there was to right about; I mean, I couldn't change the details of the
story--but what affected me most as I wrote about it was Elvis' father's
reaction. I just found it so moving and so overwhelming in a sense. And I...

GROSS: What was his reaction?

Mr. GURALNICK: He was just so devastated. And as Elvis' body was being taken
out by the ambulance attendants, Vernon is being held back and saying, `I'm
coming, son. I'll join you,' you know, `I'll join you.' But there's this
sense of the whole purpose of his life--I guess I came to have a feeling for
Vernon that surprised me. I mean, this may have been the greatest turnaround
in my feelings, because when I started writing the book, the first volume, I
probably had the same view as most people that here was this kind of shiftless
guy who quit his job--you know, never was too enthusiastic about work, quit
his job when his son made it and, you know, lived off of the fruit of the land
from that point on.

And I don't have anything like that feeling at this point. I feel as if
Vernon worked very hard all his life. He retired every debt. He did
everything he could. He sought so many jobs to support his family. But then,
after Elvis' success, he did everything that he could, everything that was
humanly possible to protect his son. And you see in that last scene how all
that he has done has come to naught. He couldn't protect his son, either from
himself or from those around him.

BOGAEV: Peter Guralnick speaking with Terry in 1999. He's now working on a
biography of Sam Cooke.

Coming up, we'll hear from Scotty Moore, Elvis' guitarist from 1954 through
the '60s. This is FRESH AIR.

(Soundbite of music)

Mr. PRESLEY: (Singing) Well, you were right. I'm left. She's gone. You
were right. I'm left all alone. Well, you tried to tell me so, but how was I
to know that she was not the one for me?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Interview: Scotty Moore discusses his experience of being Elvis'
first guitarist and first manager
BARBARA BOGAEV, host:

Scotty Moore is the self-effacing musician who was Elvis' first guitarist and
first manager. Moore played with Elvis from 1954 through the '60s. As Peter
Guralnick writes, `Guitar players of every generation since rock began have
studied and memorized Scotty's licks, even when Scotty himself couldn't
duplicate them.' Terry spoke with Scotty Moore in 1997. They talked about
the song "Mystery Train." The bass player was Bill Black.

TERRY GROSS: Now did you and Bill Black work out the rhythm on this or was
this a groove that you just happened into together?

Mr. SCOTTY MOORE (Guitarist): Well, Bill would just naturally fall in and
slap bass and, you know, put the rhythm in there. He might not hit every note
dead on, but that rhythm would always be there. We always went for feel. If
it felt good, if there was some little bauble or something, the note wasn't
quite true or something, it didn't matter, because once you get that feel and
you keep trying, it'll just go downhill. You reach that peak and it's gone.

GROSS: OK. Well, this is "Mystery Train." Elvis Presley, my guest Scotty
Moore on guitar.

(Soundbite of "Mystery Train")

Mr. ELVIS PRESLEY: (Singing) Train I ride, 16 coaches long. Train I ride, 16
coaches long. Well, that long black train got my baby and gone. Train, train
coming 'round and 'round the bend. Train, train coming 'round the bend.
Well, it took my baby, but it never will again. No, not again. Train, train
coming down, down the line. Train, train coming down the line. Well, it's
bringing my baby 'cause she's mine all mine. She's mine all mine.

GROSS: What would you say is your most copied guitar solo from the Elvis
records, or one of the most?

Mr. MOORE: Probably "Heartbreak Hotel" maybe. I don't know. I mean, I've
never been asked that before. Should we do a survey? Write in, folks, and
tell me. I don't know.

GROSS: Well, why don't we go for "Heartbreak Hotel."

Mr. MOORE: OK.

GROSS: Tell me your memories of this session.

Mr. MOORE: Well, of course, that was the first one on RCA, and they were
trying to get basically the same sound that Sam had gotten
(unintelligible). And they had this big, long hallway out in the front that
had tile floor, so they put a big speaker at one end of it and a mike at the
other end and a sign `do not enter,' and they used that. That's where it
ended up with that deep real room echo instead of the tape delay echo that Sam
had used. It's hard to hear, there is a little tape delay on it, but either
their tape machine didn't match his--so it's just very slight. And then they
ended up just with the acoustic echo. Room echo, at that point, was sound
effects they used in the movies. They weren't using them for recording. And
then here comes this and it's so drastic, but it worked for the song. When he
sang, you know, `at the end of Lonely Street,' it's so distant.

GROSS: Well, all right. Let's hear it. 1956, "Heartbreak Hotel."

(Soundbite of "Heartbreak Hotel")

Mr. PRESLEY: (Singing) Well, since my baby left me, well, I found a new place
to dwell. Well, it's down at the end of Lonely Street, that Heartbreak Hotel,
where I'll be, I'll be just so lonely, baby, well, I'm so lonely, I'll be so
lonely I could die. Although it's always crowded, you still can find some
room for brokenhearted lovers to cry there in the gloom. They'll be so, you
make it so lonely, baby. Don't make it so lonely. Oh, they're so lonely,
they could die.

Now the bellhop's tears keep flowing and the desk clerk's dressed in black.
Well, they've been so long on Lonely Street they'll never, never look back.
That can make it so, don't make it so lonely, baby. Well, they're so lonely.
they're so lonely they could die.

Well, now if your baby leaves you and you've got a tale to tell, well, then
take a walk down Lonely Street to Heartbreak Hotel, where it will be, it will
be, don't make it so lonely, baby, where you will be lonely. You'll be so
lonely you could die.

GROSS: Tell me, you know, in the years after Elvis' death there have been
cult groups that have risen around him, people who swear that they've seen him
even though he's been dead and so on. Everybody knows what I'm talking about.
What goes through your mind when you see the way even in death he is
worshiped? I mean, you knew him as a man, not as a god.

Mr. MOORE: Yeah. Well, they're misguided. And what you--thought it would be
sarcastic to say, you know, get a life, but it's OK to like somebody, but you
don't idolize them like that, you know. And he wouldn't have liked that. He
really wouldn't. And he didn't like being called the King either.

GROSS: He didn't?

Mr. MOORE: No. He said there was only one king, and it was the man upstairs.

GROSS: Do you feel bad that Elvis died during the period when you weren't
really in touch so you didn't have a chance to maybe talk about things with
him that you might have liked to talk about before he passed?

Mr. MOORE: Well, yes, in one way. But in another way he was so vain I could
never see him growing old gracefully.

GROSS: That's interesting.

Mr. MOORE: In fact, the guys, we used to talk about it, you know, say,
`What's he going to do when he gets about 60?' you know. `What if he goes
bald?' you know, just all kinds of stuff like that.

(Soundbite of laughter)

GROSS: Well, Scotty Moore, I'm really glad you're playing again, and a
pleasure to have the chance to talk with you.

Mr. MOORE: Terry, it's been a pleasure and enjoyable.

BOGAEV: Scotty Moore in 1997.

Coming up, a review of the new surfer girl movie "Blue Crush." This is FRESH
AIR.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Review: New movie "Blue Crush"
BARBARA BOGAEV, host:

"Blue Crush" opens this weekend. It's a surfing movie that just might have
wider appeal. That's because, says critic David Edelstein, you don't have to
catch a wave to experience the sound and color of the roiling surf. The movie
does it for you.

DAVID EDELSTEIN reporting:

`I'm going to be the best surfer in the world.' You have to imagine a little
girl saying that. It's the opening of "Blue Crush," the voiceover of young
Anne Marie against these giant Hawaiian waves they call double overheads. You
pick up a lot of surf terminology from this movie. Before the credits roll,
the now grown-up Anne Marie, who's played by Kate Bosworth, wakes up her beach
shackmates. And when they say, `It's too early,' she says, `It's double
overheads.' And they say, `Double overheads!' And they jump up and head for
the beach, and they gaze with religious awe on those great blue giants and
they ready themselves for the crush.

My daughter's 20-ish baby-sitter said her friends have been readying
themselves all summer for "Blue Crush," the surfer chick flick. The posters
went up in early June of three tough-looking bikini babes clutching their long
boards, with Michelle Rodriguez from "Girlfight" and with blond Kate Bosworth
in the center looking sultry and hard and a little bit spooked. She's spooked
because three years earlier Anne Marie got slammed into a reef while surfing
in Oahu's Pipe Masters competition. The pipe flattened Anne Marie. She
nearly drowned. In her dreams she relives that head bashing over and over.

In seven days she'll take on the Pipe Masters again against the best female
surfers in the world, with TV and sponsors looking on, with people who can
save her from a life of dead-end chambermaid jobs. The resolution won't
surprise you, but the journey just might. "Blue Crush" isn't tongue-in-cheek
like that cheerful cheerleader picture "Bring It On." It's based on an
article by Susan Orlean about an impoverished but obsessive female subculture,
and it's serious. As directed by John Stockwell, who made the surprisingly
decent Kirsten Dunst teen pic "Crazy/Beautiful," it's a very odd combination
of indie grit and studio flash, of feminist pep talk and rock 'n' roll
montage.

"Blue Crush" is a fair description of how the movie operates. It batters you.
It flips you end over end. It isn't good exactly. The characters are
commonplace and bland, and the movie sticks too close to formula. But it's
vivid, and it may strike a chord with young women who long to see the terms of
the go-for-it genre redefined.

The go-for-it picture means something different with male and female
protagonists. It's still about facing your greatest fears, but for men it's
often a matter of measuring up to your dad's expectations and beating the
pants off your sneering opponent. The women's go-for-it picture says your
dad's expectations are irrelevant. It's not about vanquishing your opponent;
it's about finding the power within yourself and thereby connecting with a
sort of feminine over-soul.

That sounds New Agey, but surfer flicks have a history of transcendentalism,
and this movie isn't exactly subtle in the choices it lays out. Anne Marie's
dad is gone, and her mother has abandoned the family for some sort of
quasi-prostitution gig in Vegas, and Anne Marie may follow suit. The turning
point in the movie comes when a visiting quarterback starts buying her sexy
dresses and lets her lounge in his hotel suite. Will Anne Marie meet her
destiny out in the tube masters or will she become, in effect, a tube
mistress, the quarterback's trophy squeeze, what the movie calls a `pro ho'?

That dilemma is only possible when you cast a cover girl blonde as your
athletic heroine, but it does have some larger resonance. It stands for the
ways in which most women in this culture, like it or not, have to come to
terms with the fantasy of being saved. I wish I could tell you the movie
resolves the issue in a brave or even in an interesting way, but it ducks it
because the dreamboat quarterback turns out to have been raised in a house
full of girls, so he poses as a lover, but he comes to act like the world's
most supportive brother.

In the Pipemasters climax, it's Anne Marie against the wave, with the people
on shore holding their collective breath.

(Soundbite of "Blue Crush")

Unidentified Woman #1: Superclean west-northwest swell. Pipe and back door
both open.

Unidentified Woman #2: Yeah.

Unidentified Woman #3: Just be patient. Don't get too anxious. It's
four-wave sets with 20-second intervals. Take your time.

Unidentified Woman #4: Don't take the first wave of the set. Third wave
looks the best.

Unidentified Announcer: Here comes Kenley(ph) taking off. Steep drop. Takes
the bottom turn.

Unidentified Woman #1: She's fierce, man.

Unidentified Announcer: She's covered up. Oh, takes it out.

Unidentified Woman #2: I'm way out of my league.

Unidentified Woman #1: Hey, no worries. Just go out there and have fun.

Unidentified Woman #2: Fun.

EDELSTEIN: You can hear the waves in that excerpt, and that roar is
overwhelming when the camera moves into the surf. But I'd have liked "Blue
Crush" better if just one surfboard ride had been left unmolested by MTV
montage. No film has ever brought you inside the wave in a way that's so
trippy. The pipe is almost literally that. It's when the crest of the wave
curls over and makes a tunnel that's always a second or two from folding in on
itself, and the camera rockets through that spiral in a way that makes your
stomach gyrate.

I've never surfed, but I did jump out of an airplane once. I remember the way
my senses went into an uproar when I left, and that's what these sequences
feel like, a sensual uproar. The characters in "Blue Crush" are pipsqueaks,
but played against 30-foot-high waves and what the ads call 60 tons of
pressure, they have a mythic scale. Cowabunga.

BOGAEV: David Edelstein is the movie critic for the online magazine Slate.

(Credits)

BOGAEV: I'm Barbara Bogaev. Terry Gross returns on Monday.
Transcripts are created on a rush deadline, and accuracy and availability may vary. This text may not be in its final form and may be updated or revised in the future. Please be aware that the authoritative record of Fresh Air interviews and reviews are the audio recordings of each segment.