Ricky

There are more things I don’t remember about the school project I did on Elvis Presley than things I do remember. I don’t remember how the project came to be, but I have a vague recollection we had to write a biography of a famous person. I knew nothing about Elvis but found a weighty biography on him on our bookshelf at home, so figured my work was pretty much half done.

The book was called Elvis and the Colonel, by Dirk Vellenga and Mick Farren. I assumed it must be about Elvis’ intimate relationship with Colonel Sanders (one of the few things I did know about Elvis was that he was fond of fried chicken). I remember enjoying the book. It had a good mix of music, rock stars, army action, parties and sex – they should hand it out to all teenagers to encourage them to read. I don’t remember the mark I got for my project (there’s a surprise) and I pretty much instantly forgot everything I read in the book. But I’ve always had a soft spot for Elvis because of that book. Elvis sounded like quite a dude.

I think that’s partly why I’m excited about an exhibition currently showing at the Bendigo Art Gallery, called Elvis: Direct from Graceland. While I acknowledge conspiracy theorists are currently having a moment, I’m sceptical Elvis himself will be making an appearance, but by the sounds of it, the exhibition will have the appearance of a Graceland garage sale.

His Vegas jumpsuits will be something to behold, but we’re also promised a glimpse at his childhood crayon box (drawings too, please!), his military uniforms and the bongos Priscilla gave him during their first Christmas together (what was she thinking?). His red 1960 MG convertible will also be there, and I’ll be disappointed if the public aren’t offered a chance to do a “mainy” of Pall Mall in the car. Come on, organisers, it’s what Elvis would want!

Elvis mania does spread beyond the gallery walls, though, with the Bendigo region putting on more than 30 Elvis-inspired experiences, including the “Shake Rattle & Roll Tram,” where Bendigo’s tram becomes an Elvis-themed cocktail party (if you’ve ever wondered what it would be like to dance on a moving tram while holding a beverage, here’s your chance).

There will also be an Elvis trivia night, and just between you and me I’m feeling quite confident about my chances. In preparation for the event, I asked my partner to quiz me at home. The first question she asked was easy: What year did Elvis die?

“1970!” I blurted out. She gave me that look of pity I’ve seen so many times. I tried again. “1975?”

“Higher,” she said.

“1980?”

“That was John Lennon. Lower.”

I got bored and gave up. “The correct answer,” she revealed with a sigh, “is he didn’t die. He lives. But I would have also accepted 1977.”

Oh well, maybe Elvis trivia isn’t my strong suit. Having fun in regional cities is something I can manage, though. The past two years (and still counting) have been rubbish for both the arts and the tourism industries, so it’s nice to find an event that supports both, and gets me out of the house.

I wish I could find my old school project. What did 16-year-old me make of the most famous person in rock’n’roll? To be honest, I would have probably liked Elvis more if he’d been into grunge. But maybe this little trip to Bendigo will deepen my appreciation for a man who had talent and charisma on a scale you don’t find anymore. A man who pushed an idea as far as it could go; who lived like there was no tomorrow, until there was no tomorrow.

“How old was Elvis when he died?”

Answer: the same age I am now.

Ricky is a writer and musician who can’t help falling in love with regional Australia.