Vernon Presley, father, Elvis, Colonel Tom Parker. Google image
...the king of rock and roll with the velvet voice. Elvis Aaron Presley. Not MJ, despite the desperate attempts to link the two...(that makes me 'throw up a little in my mouth'...)
Jet-haired southern poor boy who rocked the music scene with his blend of black sound, blues, rock and roll, and pelvic prestidigitation. Who loved his mama, Gladys. Who loyally stayed with a manager, Colonel Parker, when he should have moved on*. Who made the female hearts of the world reach therapeutic cardio rates. Who captured the heart of a three year old little girl from the West, a baby who held a radio wire and acted as a human antenna for her teenage sisters as they did dishes. (Me, in case I was too cryptic)...
I loved his voice. I loved his lyrics. I loved his messages.
He made me think of life outside our dirty chaos-filled home. I thought of love and promise and happiness. I still have that feeling when I hear his music. Like there is more out there to see, to feel, to touch, to taste.
Happy birthday to you, Elvis. And thanks for the sounds, the dreams, the life-long crush.
*It is a fact that after Elvis' death an official investigation found that "both Colonel Parker and RCA acted in collusion against Presley's best interests. Colonel Parker was guilty of self-dealing and overreaching and had violated his duty to both Elvis and to the estate." --from Elvis Info Net and official estate documents
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