"Cop Land" is Overkill.

Show: FRESH AIR
Date: AUGUST 15, 1997
Time: 12:00
Tran: 081501np.217
Type: FEATURE
Head: Last Train to Memphis
Sect: News; Domestic
Time: 12:06

BARBARA BOGAEV, HOST: This is FRESH AIR. I'm Barbara Bogaev.

Tomorrow marks the 20th anniversary of Elvis Presley's death. On today's archive edition of FRESH AIR, we pay tribute to the King of Rock and Roll. Our guest is Peter Guralnick, author of the "Last Train to Memphis," which may be the definitive story of Elvis' early years. It's the first in a projected two volume biography.

Guralnick says he wants to rescue Elvis from his detractors, his admirers, and the dreary bondage of myth. Terry spoke with him in 1994. They started their conversation with the story of Elvis' first recording. When Elvis was 18, hoping to get discovered, he went to the fledgling Sun Studio in Memphis where, for $3.98 plus tax, you could make your own record. This is the one he made.

(BEGIN AUDIO CLIP, ELVIS PRESLEY IN EARLY SELF-MADE RECORDING)

ELVIS PRESLEY, SINGER, SINGING: Evenin' shadows make me blue
When it's where a day is through
How I long to be with you
My happiness

Every day I reminisce
Dreaming of your tender kiss
Always thinking how I miss
My happiness

Million years it seems
Have gone by since we shared our dreams
But I hold you again
There'll be no blue memories then

TERRY GROSS, HOST: Elvis recorded this hoping that it would give him an "in" at Sun Records. He wanted this to be his audition. So what did Sam Phillips, the founder of Sun Records, have to say when he heard what Elvis had done?

PETER GURALNICK, AUTHOR, "LAST TRAIN TO MEMPHIS: THE RISE OF ELVIS PRESLEY": Pretty much nothing -- not at that time. I mean, I think on Elvis' part, it was an unrealistic hope and what he got out of it, ultimately, was he got a two-sided acetate. The other side was "That's When My Heartaches Begin." And he went home with it and he played it himself. His parents played it. I'm sure everyone marveled at it. He played it for his friends. And he stored it away eventually.

What this probably led to was a revamping of his thinking, and all through the fall of '53, he continued, at least as Marion Keisker (ph) remembers it, who -- Marion Keisker was Sam Phillips' assistant, the office manager at Sun Records. And Marion recalls him coming in over the fall and Sam also has memories of Elvis over the succeeding months.

He came back in again in January of '54, made another acetate, and again nothing happened. And it wasn't until the spring of '54, I think until May of '54, that he finally got a call from Sam Phillips, and this came about as a result of both Marion Keisker and Sam Phillips noting about Elvis that he was a good ballad singer and that maybe someday, and I'm sure this was also promoted by Elvis' return visits to the studio, just to check in, see what was going on.

But each of them had noted that Elvis was a good ballad singer, and eventually he got a ballad called "Without You," which he had picked up at the Tennessee State Prison over in Nashville. He didn't have a singer for it, and he called Elvis back in.

GROSS: And so Elvis comes in because Phillips thinks that he has the right voice to record this ballad, and then Phillips doesn't like the way Elvis sings it.

GURALNICK: That's right, and again, the interesting thing in terms of this whole issue of cultural theft is that the ballad that he recorded does not resemble in the least anything to do with black music, the African- American tradition. It may very well be a black singer who is singing it, but it could as easily be Dennis Day as the Ink Spots.

And Elvis' attempts at it haven't been preserved, at least not as far as anyone knows. But it was obvious that they didn't get anywhere with this ballad. Sam evidently asked Elvis to try other songs. Elvis probably threw in every song he knew, which were mostly -- but what he sang for Sam that day were -- was almost entirely ballads. It would be Dean Martin's -- songs by Dean Martin; songs by Billy Eckstein; songs by the Ink Spots. But nothing, again, nothing whatsoever resembling rock and 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 -- there's something there that can be gotten.

And out of that, Sam put it -- 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?"

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

GURALNICK: That's right. Yeah.

GROSS: So the three of them come back into the studio and they end 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 (ph).

How did they end up with that selection, considering Elvis had been pegged as a ballad singer?

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 4th 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. There was no -- 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 was 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."

(BEGIN AUDIO CLIP, "THAT'S ALL RIGHT")

PRESLEY SINGING: Well, that's all right, Mama
That's all right for you
That's all right, Mama
Just anyway you do
'Cause that's all right
That's all right
That's all right, now Mama
Anyway 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
Well, that's all right
That's all right
That's all right, now Mama
Anyway 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.

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

GROSS: Right.

GURALNICK: For not imposing himself on Elvis or on Elvis' style. This is really a -- at least a two-tiered story and probably more because I think that Scotty and Bill had a great deal to contribute as well. But the thing is that Elvis was a person of such broad musical intelligence. He was someone of so many different musical interests.

Marion Keisker described how on the first acetate, he went through 12 different styles in the course of one song. And I think you can hear him straining on some of the ballads that came out from those Sun years, for -- you just hear all these different voices and all these different gropings, in a sense, towards his own style.

It was with -- but with That's All Right and Blue Moon of Kentucky and then rolling on from there, you can hear someone discovering his own voice, instantly. It's almost as if it came to him instantly. And it was his voice. It was not the voice that Sam Phillips -- it was no imposition in it. It was not Sam Phillips saying "hey, you should record a blues." But it was Sam Phillips waiting until that moment happened and then saying: "that's it."

GROSS: My guest is Peter Guralnick, author of a biography of Elvis Presley called Last Train to Memphis. More after a break.

This is FRESH AIR.

Back with Peter Guralnick, the author of Last Train to Memphis: The Rise of Elvis Presley.

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

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 his -- 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 another -- of an entirely different kind of genius, but you have someone who in terms of entrepreneurship, in terms of marketing, in terms of -- is as focused, as driven and as single-minded as Sam Phillips was with respect to the music. And you have an enormous conflict.

GROSS: Colonel Tom Parker had already entered the record world by the time he took over Elvis' contract. What did he see in Elvis? What did he want Elvis for?

GURALNICK: I think he saw him as a phenomenon that was happening. He witnessed it. He set up a tour early in '55 and he saw the phenomenon happening on that tour. He saw Elvis taking the show from his star act, Hank Snow, whom he was managing exclusively and with whom he was in a booking agency partnership. He saw the thing building.

And just as Sam Phillips had recognized the potential in terms of music -- just as Sam Phillips had recognized the musical potential, Tom Parker recognized the sale -- not just the sales potential, but the phenomenological potential. I mean, this thing was happening the way that nothing had happened before and it was happening with a speed that had, you know, that nothing had ever happened before -- at least not in his experience and not in most people's experience.

So from, really, from late spring of '55, he was clearly in the picture in terms of trying to wrest the management contract from Bob Neal (ph) and get the recording contract from Sam Phillips.

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

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 Lithuanian, the Colonel would have sought the best way to record Lithuanian-spoken, you know, Lithuanian language records.

But he -- 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 -- not -- "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 Schulze (ph) was the person who essentially signed Elvis to RCA. Steve Schulze 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 -- and he didn't have either a great deal creatively 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 Schulze 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 Elvis-ness.

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 (ph). RCA was nervous that they had signed the wrong artist by getting Elvis rather than Carl, and probably this was Steve Schulze's idea.

But the thing is, if you listen to the recording that Elvis did, which I loved at the time and continue to love, he never -- it never gets the groove. It -- 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, he -- it just never grooves in on that -- that inner -- you listen for example on the million dollar quartet, and you 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 -- was just by he would hone in on it.

And with Blue Suede Shoes, it just -- it stopped several steps too short.

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

GURALNICK: Great.

(BEGIN AUDIO CLIP, "BLUE SUEDE SHOES" SUNG BY PRESLEY)

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 on my face
Slander my name all over the place
Well, do anything
That you want to do
But no, oh, honey, lay off of them shoes

And don't you
Step on my blue suede shoes
Well, you can do anything
But stay off of my blue suede shoes.

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

GURALNICK: What changed, I think, was that he was driving the session. It was at the July 2, 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 that it was at this point that he was given -- "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 if -- when Steve Schulze said at the end of take 18 or something, that "I think we've got it now, Elvis." 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.

GURALNICK: OK.

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

GURALNICK: I think for the first time, he was -- 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 -- while it may not be as much to my taste as "Mystery Train," say, it's a moment in which he has discovered his own Elvis voice once again.

(BEGIN AUDIO CLIP, "DON'T BE CRUEL")

PRESLEY SINGING: You know I can be found
Sittin' home all alone
If you can't come around
At least 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 still you I'm
Thinkin' of

Mmmm, don't stop....

GROSS: Your books ends with Elvis in the Army, boarding the ship that's going to take him overseas to Germany. And there's a lot of press and fans and so on there. In fact, let me play a little bit of a press conference held right before he set sail.

(BEGIN AUDIO CLIP, PRESS CONFERENCE HELD PRIOR TO ELVIS PRESLEY DEPARTURE FOR ARMY DUTY IN GERMANY)

SOUNDBITE OF A CROWD

REPORTER: Here at the Brooklyn POE where Elvis Presley, Private Elvis Presley of the United States Army is due to embark for Germany today. And let me tell you just a little of what the hubub is like here. We've been, as I say, waiting for the past two hours for Presley to come in. There was some delay with his train.

Now, Elvis moves over and is going to sit down behind the desk. The microphones will be brought in. More pictures will be taken. Elvis apparently enjoying the whole thing very much. He's been in smiles since he walked into the room.

UNIDENTIFIED PRESS REPRESENTATIVE: Now, Elvis, if rock and roll dies out between now and the time you get out of the service...

ELVIS PRESLEY: I'll start with this.

LAUGHTER

UNIDENTIFIED PRESS AGENT: Was there a question back there?

PRESLEY: I beg your pardon.

PRESS AGENT: May we have that gentleman over there?

PRESLEY: If rock and roll music were to die out, which I don't think it will, I would try something else. I would probably try -- I would really probably go in for the movies then and would try to make it as an actor, which is very tough 'cause you got a lot of competition.

GROSS: Peter, would you describe to us a little bit about what that day was like for Elvis?

GURALNICK: It's a perfect example of the dutiful Elvis carrying out his sense of behaving correctly in public while feeling utterly forlorn and lost inside. I think there was a sense on his part -- his mother had just died. Here he was on display. He's feeling as if -- as he tells -- as he has told all of his close friends, or many of his close -- as he has told many of his close friends, he feels as if his career is gone at the moment of greatest triumph, the most terrible things have happened to him.

And yet here he is on stage in front of all these people -- all these adults -- who really don't particularly wish him well -- presenting a smiling, dutiful exterior image, saying all the things that he should say; never breaking his composure; never breaking -- and expressing his patriotism and a sense of duty.

It's a remarkable -- it's not simply a remarkable performance. I mean, it expresses some of his very best qualities and it also expresses some of the qualities which, in a sense, crippled him.

BOGAEV: Peter Guralnick speaking with Terry Gross in 1994. His book, "The Last Train to Memphis" is the first in a projected two-volume biography of Elvis Presley.

I'm Barbara Bogaev and this is FRESH AIR.

Dateline: Terry Gross, Philadelphia; Barbara Bogaev, Philadelphia
Guest: Peter Guralnick
High: Author Peter Guralnick has written the first of a two part biography of Elvis Presley, retelling the story of the King's childhood "soberly, thoroughly and unsensationally." "Last Train to Memphis: The Rise of Elvis Presley," tells much of the story through quotes both from Elvis and people who knew him then. It attempts to portray Elvis' human side, rather than the mythical figure he has become.
Spec: Music Industry; Elvis; Last Train to Memphis
Please note, this is not the final feed of record
Copy: Content and programming copyright 1997 WHYY, Inc. All rights reserved. Transcribed by FDCH, Inc. under license from WHYY, Inc. Formatting copyright 1997 FDCH, Inc. All rights reserved. No quotes from the materials contained herein may be used in any media without attribution to WHYY, Inc. This transcript may not be reproduced in whole or in part without prior written permission.
End-Story: Last Train to Memphis
Show: FRESH AIR
Date: AUGUST 15, 1997
Time: 12:00
Tran: 081501np.217
Type: FEATURE
Head: That's Alright, Elvis
Sect: News; Domestic
Time: 12:42

BARBARA BOGAEV, HOST: Scotty Moore, the self-effacing musician who was Elvis' first guitarist and first manager, 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."

Scotty Moore has collected memories of his years with Elvis in a new book called "That's Alright, Elvis" and he has a new CD called "All the King's Men" that also features drummer DJ Fontana.

Terry Gross spoke with Scotty Moore last month. She asked him to share some memories about the 1955 recording session of "Mystery Train."

SCOTTY MOORE, MUSICIAN, AUTHOR, "THAT'S ALRIGHT, ELVIS": It was a slow R&B song.

TERRY GROSS, HOST: That Junior Parker had recorded before.

MOORE: That Junior Parker had, yeah. And we ended up just getting the tempo up more, and I changed the rhythm thing around, and I've always loved it. It's just a fun thing to do. We still -- I still use that as playoffs and stuff on things I do.

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

MOORE: Well Bill would just naturally -- he had a -- he as a natural, 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.

GROSS Mm-hmm.

MOORE: If it felt good; if it was some little bobble or something -- note wasn't quite true or something -- it didn't matter 'cause once you get that feel and you keep trying, it will just go down hill. You reach that fake and it's gone.

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

(BEGIN AUDIO CLIP, ELVIS PRESLEY, ACCOMPANIED BY SCOTTY MOORE, PERFORMING "MYSTERY TRAIN")

ELVIS PRESLEY, SINGER, SINGING: Train arrive, 16 coaches long
Train arrive, 16 coaches long
Well, that long black train
Got my baby and gone

Train, train
Coming 'round the bend
Train, train
Coming 'round the bend
Well, it took my baby
But it never will again
No, not again

GROSS: If you're just joining us, my guest is guitarist Scotty Moore who we just heard on Mystery Train. And he's written a new autobiography called That's Alright, Elvis.

When did you start realizing that Elvis was really catching on in a very emotional way with his fans?

MOORE: I would say that after we did the first couple of TV shows with Tommy and Jimmy Dorsey.

GROSS: Mm-hmm.

MOORE: After we went to RCA. RCA, before that, most of our shows and stuff had been all in the Southeast and -- there had been some, granted, that starting to see the hysteria and so forth, but it really didn't come home to us 'til we did those shows -- that national exposure.

And then it just seemed like the floodgates opened up, you know?

GROSS: Now how did you feel about this? One the one hand, it's like really good news for the group that this singer was so popular. On the other hand, he was getting so much of the attention. Did you feel envious of the attention that he was getting?

MOORE: Oh, no, no. That never even crossed our minds. No, that we hoped would mean bigger paychecks, bigger paydays, you know, for everybody.

GROSS: Did it?

MOORE: Nope.

LAUGHTER

Mine did grow a little bit, but not very much. That's kindly what I'm saying with the title of the book. The pay raises, the perks and stuff as he got bigger and bigger and bigger didn't come along for the band. And I'm just saying "that's OK." It's not -- we were being paid a fair wage, as fair as the man on the street with an everyday job.

GROSS: Right.

MOORE: You know. Two hundred bucks a week back then wasn't bad at all. But then you take -- as he got bigger and we had to get into these bigger hotels and people expect you to take them to dinner and we bought our own clothes; paid our own hotel bills out of what we were making. And I was in -- you know, hey, something should come from some other source, you know. I mean, that was the thing.

We weren't really arguing about that we didn't have enough to pay the bills at home, but there was all this other stuff that was really expected of you that you couldn't afford.

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

MOORE: Hmm.

GROSS: Or one of the most...

MOORE: Probably "Heartbreak Hotel," I'm thinkin'. I don't know. I mean, I've never been asked that before. Can we do a survey?

LAUGHTER

Write in, folks, and tell me. I don't know.

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

MOORE: OK.

GROSS: Tell me your memories of this session?

MOORE: Well, of course, that was the first one on RCA, and they were trying to get, basically, the same sound that Sam was getting -- had gotten some interest.

And they had this big long hallway out in the front that had the 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 -- where it ended up with that deep, real-room echo instead of the tape-delay echo that Sam had used.

Now there is -- 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 they ended up just with the acoustic echo.

And I'll give them credit -- they didn't -- I don't think they knew, or maybe they didn't think about it, but 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 said, you know, at the end of Lonely Street, and it's so distant.

And I'd like to say this, if you don't mind, that in speaking of these technical things, one thing that Sam did that I don't believe he realized when he was doing it and I didn't 'til years later, that I got into engineering -- he pulled Elvis' voice back close to the music. You know, all the Sinatra and all those things where the voice is so far out in front. And he more or less used Elvis' voice as another instrument.

GROSS: Into the mix.

MOORE: Even to the mix. But didn't bury him like a lot of the rock things, you know, later.

GROSS: Right.

MOORE: But you still -- closer.

GROSS: Now, your solo on Heartbreak Hotel -- is that something you had prepared before the session? Or is it something you had worked out?

MOORE: No, no.

GROSS: No?

MOORE: No, everything we ever did was just -- just spur of the moment.

GROSS: Did you learn the song at the session? Or did you know it before that?

MOORE: No, learned it at the session.

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

(BEGIN AUDIO CLIP, ELVIS PRESLEY, ACCOMPANIED BY SCOTTY MOORE, PERFORMING "HEARTBREAK HOTEL")

PRESLEY SINGING: Well since my baby left
Well, I found a new place to dwell
It was down at the end of Lonely Street
That Heartbreak Hotel, where I would go...
I be just so lonely, baby
Well, I be so lonely
I'll be so lonely I could die.

Although it's always crowded
You still can find some room
For broken-hearted lovers
To cry there in the gloom

It'll be so
It'll make you so lonely, baby
It'll make you so lonely
They're so lonely, they could die

Now the bell hop's tears keep flowin'
The desk clerks dressed in black
Well, they been so long on Lonely Street
They never, never look back

And make you so -- they make you so lonely, baby
Well, they're so lonely
Well, they're so lonely they could die

Well, if your baby leaves you
And you've got a tale to tell
Well just take a walk down Lonely Street
To Heartbreak Hotel

Where you will be
It'll make you so lonely, baby
Where you will be lonely
You'll be so lonely, you could die

GROSS: That's Heartbreak Hotel. My guest, Scott Moore on guitar, and he's written an autobiography which of course includes his years playing guitar with Elvis Presley. It's called That's Alright, Elvis.

Did you see Elvis undergo a personality transformation as he became more and more famous? You know, a recording star, a movie star, a heart-throb, an icon?

MOORE: You know, the years I spent with him, he seemed to take it in stride.

GROSS: Mm-hmm.

MOORE: Yeah, I saw all of the things changing around him, you know, with the movies and such. And he became more secluded as he gathered his entourage around him because he didn't feel like he could go out and -- and didn't want to cause a scene, you know, in just going to like the famous restaurant or something.

But as far as personality changes and stuff, I didn't become aware of any until after I left him, and then he started -- in the '70s. And I don't know the inside, and I've heard, of course, and read a lot of stuff. But it still amazes me 'cause just a few months before he died, I saw some footage and -- when he was so bloated.

GROSS: Mm-hmm.

MOORE: And I said there's something desperately wrong. 'Cause he was very vain and there's no way that he'd go out in front of people like that.

GROSS: Did you feel like he...

MOORE: I don't think -- I don't think he could see himself in the mirror at that point.

GROSS: Mm-hmm. Did you feel like you didn't recognize the person he had become?

MOORE: No, I didn't.

GROSS: Did you communicate with him at all during that period?

MOORE: No, and it's -- it was not because of any conflicts or anything. It's just that with this entourage around and there was two or three of those guys that were really good guys, but still he could call me a lot easier than I could get through to him. You make -- you know what I'm saying -- you make a call, you know, if he ever gets it or not. And so I just left it for him.

GROSS: But he did not call, though.

MOORE: You never know what was really -- what he's being told.

GROSS: Right. Tell me, you know, in the years after Elvis' death, there've 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 -- the way even in death, he is worshipped. I mean, you know him as -- you knew him as a man, not as a god.

MOORE: Yeah, well, he wasn't -- they're misguided. Don't want to be sarcastic and say, you know, "get a life," but it's OK to like somebody, but don't -- you don't idolize them like that, you know? He wouldn't have liked it. He really wouldn't. And he didn't like being called "the king" either.

GROSS: He didn't?

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?

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

GROSS: Hmm. That's interesting. But like you were saying, if he was so vain, and yet he managed to allow himself to balloon the way he did.

MOORE: That just astonishes me. I don't know. I'll never understand that.

GROSS: But you can't imagine an aging Elvis.

MOORE: No, I mean if he hadn't got into that situation...

GROSS: Right.

MOORE: ... no, I never could. In fact, the guys -- we used to talk about it, you know, we said: "what's he gonna do when he gets about 60?" You know?

LAUGHTER

"What if he goes bald?" -- you know, and just all kind of stuff like that.

LAUGHTER

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

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

BOGAEV: Guitarist Scotty Moore, speaking with Terry Gross last month.

Dateline: Terry Gross, Philadelphia; Barbara Bogaev, Philadelphia
Guest: Scotty Moore
High: Guitarist and record producer Scotty Moore, was Elvis Presley's first guitarist and manager and one of the early influences of the rock guitar sound. He has co-written an account of his work with the King of Rock'n'Roll, entitled "That's Alright, Elvis." He also has a new CD out of collaborations he and drummer DJ Fontana did with various musicians including Keith Richards, Tracy Nelson and Cheap Trick, among others. The CD is entitled "All the King's Men."
Spec: Music Industry; Elvis; History; Books; That's Alright, Elvis
Please note, this is not the final feed of record
Copy: Content and programming copyright 1997 WHYY, Inc. All rights reserved. Transcribed by FDCH, Inc. under license from WHYY, Inc. Formatting copyright 1997 FDCH, Inc. All rights reserved. No quotes from the materials contained herein may be used in any media without attribution to WHYY, Inc. This transcript may not be reproduced in whole or in part without prior written permission.
End-Story: That's Alright, Elvis
Show: FRESH AIR
Date: AUGUST 15, 1997
Time: 12:00
Tran: 081503np.217
Type: FEATURE
Head: CopLand
Sect: Entertainment
Time: 12:55

BARBARA BOGAEV, HOST: Ever since John Travolta resurrected his film career in "Pulp Fiction," movie stars have been using small independent films to help change their image. The latest to try a makeover is Sylvester Stallone, who moves out of the action hero business in his new movie "CopLand."

John Powers has this review.

JOHN POWERS, FRESH AIR COMMENTATOR: Back in the '60s and '70s, Hollywood was fond of making movies like "The Longest Day," or "The Towering Inferno" that tried to convince viewers they were seeing something special; by filling even the smallest roles with well-known faces. Every time you looked in a foxhole or opened an elevator door, you'd see somebody like Richard Burton or Robert Vaughan acting his head off.

The new movie CopLand practices the same overkill. It's an essentially small film, almost crushed by the weight of its cast. The scene is Garrison, New Jersey -- a small town dominated by off-duty New York cops who in a classic case of a white flight have taken their families out of the city and tried to create a small, safe utopia across the bridge.

These cops control everything, including the local sheriff, Freddie Heflin (ph), played by Sylvester Stallone, who let himself get pudgy for the role. The overweight Freddie always dreamed of wearing NYPD blue, but he could never make it because he was deaf in one ear. And so he wound up in Garrison, dealing with speeders and treed cats and doing the bidding of Harvey Keitel's character Ray Donman (ph), a crooked New York cop who essentially runs the town.

Even when an internal affairs detective played by Robert DeNiro asks for his help, Freddie tries not to see what's really going on. But eventually, things get so out of control in Garrison that he's forced to start acting like the real sheriff he always yearned to be.

Of course, when Freddie and his deputy start doing their jobs properly, the locals don't like it. At one point, Keitel gets stopped for speeding by Freddie's deputy Cindy, who's played by, of all people, Janeanne Garafalo (ph).

(BEGIN AUDIO CLIP, "COPLAND")

ACTRESS JANEANNE GARAFALO, AS DEPUTY SHERIFF: Hi, could you turn your engine off for me?

ACTOR HARVEY KEITEL, AS RAY DONMAN: I got the air on.

GARAFALO: You on the job?

KEITEL: No, we're comin' from Forest Hills, honey. I'm John McEnroe. That's Jimmy Connors.

GARAFALO: Is your license in there? Can you pull it out for me please? This is a school zone.

KEITEL: Listen Miss Betts (ph), you're new, right?

GARAFALO: Yes, I'm new here, but I'm not new on the job. I was a municipal deputy in Elmira.

KEITEL: Freddie, Freddie. As the officer in Garrison -- when the car you're gonna tag has got a "PDA" sticker, I'd advise you to think to yourself: hey, that's one of the good guys. I think I'll go catch me a bad guy.

POWERS: CopLand was written and directed by James Mangold (ph), whose come up with a clever, sharp script. I'm tempted to call it an "eastern," because Mangold has so obviously transported to New Jersey the themes of the old Hollywood western.

You have the beleaguered sheriff who needs to prove himself. You have the town run by evil gunmen who spend their time at the local saloon. You have the flawed side-kick, in this case a cokehead cop nicely played by Ray Liotta. And naturally, you have the final showdown out on the streets.

Although this is the purest formula, it's a formula that still works. We want to see how Freddie will redeem himself. But while the movie holds us, that's all it does. We keep expected it to kick into high gear, but Mangold's directing lacks the confident snap of the best westerns or crime pictures.

His first movie, "Heavy," was a clumsy little number about an overweight pizza cook. It had the cramped look and feel of a low-budget independent film. So does CopLand, which unfortunately is an expensive movie, crawling with famous actors that Mangold's not able to control.

The worst offender is Stallone, who's like a black hole at the center of the movie. After years of playing action heroes in rubbish like "Judge Dredd" and "Daylight," he's obviously hoping to humanize his image with Freddie, whose sweetness and underdog vulnerability hark back to the character who made him, Rocky Balboa.

But in the years since "Rocky," Stallone's ego has grown larger than a head on Easter Island, while his acting has grown far less expressive. Freddie should be a "can't miss" role, but Stallone's talent has been so corrupted by success that he can't play an ordinary guy anymore. He's clearly forgotten what it's like to be an outsider looking in.

And so rather than make Freddie a man of feeling and depth who regains his pride, he shambles through the movie seeming faintly half-witted, like Lenny in "Of Mice and Men."

There's nothing behind those Bassett hound eyes except infinite vanity in his desire for our love. He's living in star-land, not CopLand.

BOGAEV: John Powers is film critic for Vogue.

Dateline: John Powers; Barbara Bogaev, Philadelphia
Guest:
High: Film critic John Powers reviews "CopLand"
Spec: Movie Industry; CopLand
Please note, this is not the final feed of record
Copy: Content and programming copyright 1997 WHYY, Inc. All rights reserved. Transcribed by FDCH, Inc. under license from WHYY, Inc. Formatting copyright 1997 FDCH, Inc. All rights reserved. No quotes from the materials contained herein may be used in any media without attribution to WHYY, Inc. This transcript may not be reproduced in whole or in part without prior written permission.
End-Story: CopLand
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.