Inhibition, Prohibition, Exhibition

- by David Neale

Inhibition

When Elvis shocked conservative USA in the mid 1950s, he did so largely because of his total lack of inhibition, something not expected from a white public image. In spite of the depravations of his childhood, having grown up relatively, if not extremely poor, he had the enormous advantage of apparently having no cultural inhibitions, no racial inhibitions, no musical inhibitions whatsoever forced upon him. As a result, when most other whites would balk at openly visiting black theatres in Memphis, Elvis just went on in as if it was the commonest thing in the world. Nowadays we might think that it is the commonest thing in the world, but back in the USA of the early fifties, especially in the still often segregated Southern States, it was not exactly the thing to do at all! Even in the few interviews with Elvis that remain from that time, he is totally uninhibited in his praise of black musicians, such as Arthur Crudup, and totally bemused by suggestions that his moving to music is in any way vulgar or a bad influence.

Elvis showed his total lack of inhibition best when he performed. Written accounts exist of numerous such performances, but we are also lucky enough to have recordings of several early TV performances and just a few live appearances, where it is clear that Elvis lacked the presumably cultural inhibitions showed by contemporary white artists, such as Pat Boone, whose movement was as good as non-existent and whose delivery was as bland as possible, and even Carl Perkins, who seemed to want to move, but just wasn't able to allow his body the total freedom, the lack of inhibition, necessary! Elvis, on the other hand, just let himself go, if, indeed, there was any conscious thought at all about what he was doing. More than likely, he was just allowing the music to take him where it wanted to go, making no effort at all to control himself. Because of this, he looks incredibly natural and supple in those early, grainy films, jiving around the stage, giving no impression of choreography or planning.

His lack of inhibition at that time is also to be heard in his recordings: the freedom of the Sun material and the brashness of the early RCA numbers. Listen to "Ready Teddy" and dare say that he was giving a performance -- no, he was giving himself! As professional pressures increased and making music gradually became more a job than a pleasure, this lack of inhibition gradually faded, so that, while Elvis's RCA material from 1958 is still of superb quality, the performances are measured, controlled, yes even inhibited. This is not to say that the performances were of less value -- Elvis had become a professional, giving the polished performances that we hear in such numbers as "Such A Night," "All Shook Up," both from 1960, and innumerable others, but these numbers would surely have sounded totally different had he recorded them a few years earlier.

Only on extremely rare occasions would Elvis ever again display a total lack of inhibition in his recorded work, and almost all such instances are heard in recordings that were never intended for release. And after 1958, the world never again saw a truly uninhibited Elvis on stage.

Prohibition

In 1958 Elvis entered the US armed forces. He was effectively prohibited from performing or recording, although he did manage to get to a recording studio on a brief early leave and continued to make private recordings wherever he happened to be during his army stint. Really, however, this was the start of Elvis's "prohibition."

Tom Parker probably rubbed his hands in delight when Elvis went into the army, hoping that the stint would knock any rebellion that might remain out of "his boy." And indeed, when Elvis came home in 1960, it looked as if the tiger had been tamed: the songs were sweeter, the movements more considered, less natural, the dress more formal. Under the surface it was clear that the old Elvis was still there and he even emerged now and then, pushing his head just above the oppressive veil, as can be heard on some of the tracks on "Elvis Is Back," and seen in some of the scenes in "Flaming Star."

Parker, however, did a fine job of suppression and prohibition, "guiding" his charge to such paltry efforts as "Clambake" and "Paradise, Hawaiian Style." Artistic merit counted for little in Parker's book; all that mattered was income and the only way he knew of ensuring his income ("his income," note -- Elvis was merely the conduit) was to control what Elvis did and this necessarily involved prohibiting him from doing what he wanted to do. Parker even became involved in Elvis's private affairs, prohibiting Larry Geller from having contact with Elvis and telling Elvis that he should not read the books advised to him by Geller. Perhaps I'm wrong -- perhaps Elvis was pleased to go along with Parker's machinations, but it is very hard to believe that someone with Elvis's talent and artistic capabilities would not have preferred to do something more adventurous.

Indeed, it seems that after several years, even Elvis had had more than enough of the continued prohibition of his artistic development. He first recorded "How Great Thou Art" and then went on to do the television special "Elvis" in 1968, shouting at us so that we would be sure of hearing, "If I Can Dream," perhaps his most underrated song. In that wonderful number Elvis seems to be calling out not just for a better world, but for a chance to live his own dream. After recording the song, he told Steve Binder that he would never again sing something he did not totally believe in -- he wanted to remove the prohibitions imposed on him. If only he could have achieved that goal!

Exhibition

A large part of the entertainment industry is, of course, concerned with exhibition: any artist on a stage is exhibiting their qualities, or lack of them, to the audience. Performing is a form of exhibitionism, after all. But Elvis took exhibitionism to as yet unknown levels (with the possible exception of Liberace).

It all started so well with the early Las Vegas seasons in the late 1960s: Elvis looked good and dressed well on stage -- flashy, certainly, but never excessively or to the extent of self-parody. As the years went by, however, and Elvis became bored with the seemingly endless tours and Las Vegas seasons, the excessive took over. Parker again must take a large amount of responsibility for this, for it seems that Elvis had to earn in order that Parker could maintain his gambling habit -- Elvis was once again a conduit.

The idea of the jumpsuit wasn't a bad one, and it might well have been sensible apparel for a performer, but gradually the jumpsuit seemed to take over: it became a symbol, a display in itself, so that when we now look back at the pictures of Elvis performing, we recognize the jumpsuit design as if it were an important part of the performance, rather than a mere attribute! Indeed, Elvis and the jumpsuit, the overly bespangled version, of course, have almost become synonymous to the general public, as witness the jumpsuit-attired caricatures who appear not only at Elvis festivals (more's the pity), but in advertisements, as wacky car mascots, and in numerous films.

By about the time of "Aloha From Hawaii," Elvis had become as much an exhibit as a performer. It mattered little what he sang any longer, all that mattered was Elvis: roll up, roll up and see the bespangled Elvis -- Parker had returned to the carnival with a prize exhibit for his freak show, only this time it wasn't chickens dancing on a hot-plate, but Elvis moving on stage. And as long as the money kept coming in, what did it matter that "his boy" was clearly ill? "The show must go on," was Parker's motto, which translated as, "The money must come in," of course, and on and on it went, to the stage when it was painful to watch that sick human being, squeezed into a still more gaudy jumpsuit, struggling to remember the songs he had sung so many times before, yet giving his everything in an attempt to please the crowd who had come to watch the exhibition.

Sad, so sad.

 

June 2003