In flagrant breach of commandments set down by pop cultural arbiter Quentin Tarantino, the Bemolution manages to like The Beatles and Elvis Presley at the same time.
1994’s Pulp Fiction sees John Travolta as Vincent Vega argue that the human race can be neatly divided into people who like one and people who like the other to a profoundly fucked Uma Thurman. It makes for some nice pseudo-philosophical Tarantinoan film rhetoric. And while it’s obviously rubbish, liking the two equally is another story.
Treasonably, the Bemolution prefers Elvis. The Beatles were seminally important to the later development of vital, astonishing, boundary-shattering music, especially thanks to their later experimentalism – and of course, some of their tunes are sublime. But the overriding tone of their music is a bit too sunnily vacuous, a bit toothless Summer Of Love, for our gloomier palette (typically, our favourite Lennon/McCartney track is ‘Eleanor Rigby’).
And there’s just something about the boy from Tupelo – early, earthy, rockabilly Elvis, mind you, not the barbiturate-addled self-parody that galumphed around Vegas.
Here, then, is one of the Bemolution’s favourite Elvis songs – a taut, almost funky duet with capacious-lunged jazz singer Kitty White recorded for Presley’s 1958 musical King Creole, his last project before he began his national service with the US Army.
Who else could extoll the virtue of freshwater crustaceans with as much sensual heft? Listen to it and impotently dream of a universe where stonking musical numbers spontaneously erupt with strangers in the street.
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