Leave it to me to come south towards the Gulf when a category two hurricane was coming to town. I was told that we wouldn’t really feel anything but not far from Memphis, Tennessee is hurricane Isaac bee-lining its way towards our neighbors, Louisiana and Mississippi. As I sit comfortably on a shuttle bound for Sun Studios, after spending the first half of my day at Graceland, I rummaged through the recent experiences of my time so far. With a mixture of sadness and longing to be back at Graceland, I was also excited to see Sun Studios from the inside.
After a blast of hot air stepping off the shuttle, I made my way inside the adjacent building to the actual studios and purchased a tour ticket. This building was used as a gift shop and cafe, dressed in a retro 50's style to match and pay tribute to the peak of the studio's glory days in the music world. This part of the building was never actually part of the studios itself but bought later to accommodate the tourists wanting a place of refuge while waiting for a look inside the single studio next door. Here tourists could buy vinyls and CD's of their favorite Sun stars and slurp on a coca cola. I already had a bunch of these artists in my collection but I caved to a t-shirt showcasing the famed Sun logo.
When our guide began the tour we filed like school children to a room above the shop, where she told us the beginnings of Sun Studios as Sam Phillips started it in '52. Our guide was a funny girl in or around her mid-thirties. I suppose you would have to throw in a little humor when doing a forty-five minute tour consisting of no more than three small rooms, or anyone not a huge fan of the studio's stars would become bored out of their minds. However, if you are a huge fan, like myself, the guide could have been standing in a corner picking her nose and I would have loved the tour. Just being in the vicinity of the studio next door was thrilling. The energy of the place was intoxicating. About twenty of us were crammed in this first room above the gift shop, as our guild traveled along a glass showcase surrounding the walls. Behind the glass were pictures of Sam Phillips, the studios first recorders, retired sound mixers and pictures of his stars in order of success, like a three-dimensional time line. When she stopped in front of Elvis I went a little crazy with the picture taking. As if what I saw at Graceland wasn't enough to quench my thirst. Apparently, it only ignited the flame. At this point of the time line, the guide began to tell the history of Elvis at Sun Studios. Before this tour, the story I knew all my life, and I'm not sure where I got this information exactly, but it was known to me that when Elvis was somewhere around fifteen years old, he walked into the studio one day, deciding to record "That's All Right Mama," as a gift for his mother on her birthday. What I found out, through my ever so intelligent and dream-crushing guide, was that Elvis actually walked in at eighteen wanting to audition for Sam for the sole reason of being discovered. Sam wasn't even there that day he recorded "My Happiness" and "That's When Your Heartache Begins," but greeted by his assistant. AND, his mother's birthday wasn't even for another seven months! It actually took Elvis another year of hanging around the studio before Sam gave in to a last chance session, having "Scotty" Moore and Bill Black come in as instrumentals, which almost ended in nothing, when Elvis picked up his guitar and just started playing "That's All Right Mama" and the other guys joined in. Sam recorded the song and viola. The next day Sam took a demo of "That's All Right Mama" to a popular local DJ, and the rest is history. My face dropped and I stopped taking pictures to register this new information. Dang it woman. Don't you do it...don't you tell me another thing that could possibly shatter my idea of Elvis! (If that's even possible.) This has been a life long love affair that I've had with this man. Let me live a lie if there is anything else! For whatever reason, I had it in my imagination that this humble and quiet little southern boy came in off the street to record a song for his sweet mother as a gift. Then unbeknownst to him, finds out he has talent and becomes an overnight success. I mean it doesn't change anything really. I still love the man. In fact, I give him a lot of credit for chasing his dream. That's certainly an encouraging story. However, I really enjoyed the sweeter version that seemed to paint him in a more sensitive light. I suppose that's probably why that story was made up in the first place. Sheesh, maybe ignorance really is bliss.
When the timeline ran the full extent of it's course, our once liked guide lead us back down another set of stairs leading to the side entrance of the studio's office. Oh man, I was finally inside Sun Studios. This was excitement on a Graceland level. The office was small but full of light facing the west with high ceilings and a large glass window cut into the wall, separating the office and the recording studio on the other side. At the desk, I could imagine Marion Keisker, Sam Phillip's assistant and true "discoverer" of Elvis, sitting at her desk watching the boys of Sun Records play their music through the window while taking messages for Sam on the phone. How lucky was this woman, to have had a front seat view of the making of some of the world's biggest music legends? I'm sure if it weren’t for her brilliant assistance, Sam Phillips would have still been recording weddings and funerals for the rest of his career. I'll have to admit, it usually takes a woman's touch in most matters. What can I say? It's the feminist in me.
Ushered into the next and final room, also the one and only studio, the twenty of us huddled in amazement. With our mouths slack, taking in every feature in the room while we listened to our guide drop little know secrets of the legends as they were passed on to her. I knew that nothing in the room, other than a single microphone that Elvis used to record, and the structure of the building itself were the only original things about the space, but it was special to be able to be in the same space that such great people once stood. I don't know if I believe in ghosts. I've never seen one. But if they do exist, I wonder if these guys who have passed on too many years ago still like to spend time in this space and others like them. It felt so charged with a vitality and fond devotion. Maybe it was just what I was feeling myself or the other nineteen people in the room with me. Our guide pointed two things out in the room that had us all inching closer to those spots. One was a small hole in the original flooring that Bill Black created with extensive use of his upright bass. That's right, I took a few pictures of this tiny hole in the ground. The other spot, marked with a black 'X,' was where Elvis would stand when he sang in the studio. In the back of the room, I could see everyone's eyes go doublewide and bend in unison to take a closer look. It looked as if they were all choreographed to do it on cue. Somehow without my notice, one woman in the group standing at one end of the room, managed to inch her way to the other end, while our guide continued her soliloquy of the tour, and before I knew it, I found her straddling the 'X' like a lineman for the Patriots. Well, we know who's taking the first picture, now don't we?
As the story goes, according to the guide, Bob Dylan once walked in off the street, not saying a word to anyone, came into the room, bent down on all fours and kissed that 'X.' Then he stood up and walked right back out the door. I've always liked Bob Dylan, but after that story, I had a lot more respect for the man. Any friend of Elvis,' is a friend of mine indeed. So, I decided to take back all the angry thoughts I had about our guide after this. She redeemed herself. I forgive you. Don't make me regret it.
When the tour was over, we were all allowed to take pictures with Elvis' microphone where 'X' marked the spot. I sat back to watch everyone self-consciously take their turn positioning themselves in front of strangers. I wasn't planning on taking one myself, but someone offered to take a picture of me, so I did. I'll never show it to anyone because I think I look ridiculous, but I have it for me. I was the last one to leave, staying behind so that I could capture the room empty of people. Capture its energy or the feeling it gave me to be there. I'm not sure. But, it was all I would be able to take with me. My memory will hold on to the details for as long as possible, but in too soon a time, that too will fade, like so many other things. I was here though. I know what it is like to stand in Memphis, Tennessee, at Sun Studios and walk through Graceland. I will never regret it. I would only regret not ever coming here.
Before the day was over, I took the shuttle back to Beale Street to finish the night the way I felt, with a little bit of the blues. I went with my friend's suggestion from my first night in Memphis and made my way over to Rum Boogie Cafe. At Boogie's, I realized, you can find the original STAX sign that adorned the first STAX recording studio, the same place where Otis Redding, another of my favorites, made his claim to fame. Looking up at that sign, I had me some fried green tomatoes for the first time. They were just as good as I imagined. Honestly, anything deep-fried is good. Later in the evening, I listened to some of the best blues I've heard in a long time. The man leading the small group went by the name of Dr. Robert "Feelgood" Potts. Mr. Potts was known in the area for his superior harmonica playing and smoky tone of voice. He wore three harmonica belts across his torso like he was Rambo wearing bullet belts. The Blues Rambo of Beale Street I decided to entitle him. My friend from the other night made good on his suggestion. I sat at the cafe listening to the Dr. "Feelgood" Potts for the next two hours and bought one of his older CD's after asking him which he enjoyed recording the most. Mr. Potts then handed me his "Going Down To Memphis" album, which I've nearly memorized the lyrics to already. I thanked the man and shook his hand. Before I walked out the door he gave me a shout out by the name of "New York City." I smiled back at him as I left; glad that it was dark in the cafe because I'm sure my face was the color of crimson red.
Rum Boogie was a perfect ending to my Memphis experience. I only wish I had one more night in this city, but riding the ferry over the Mississippi River will have to wait for another trip, or another state. Early the next morning I had to leave for an early flight back to New York. But before taking the shuttle back to the airport, I took one last look at Memphis from the balcony of my hotel room, feeling a warm breeze brush my face. Thankfully, it was about as much of hurricane Isaac as I was going to get on my stay. Leaving Memphis, felt strangely like I was leaving home for the second time. I'm not really sure why I felt that way. I was only there for less than three days. I suppose it could have just been the success of the entire trip. Finally seeing Graceland, Sun Studios, and doing it all on my own was a large feat for me. It's a good thing I had the window seat on the first flight leaving Memphis though, because I couldn't stop a few tears from streaming down my face. For some reason they only fell on the left side of my face where I could hide it from the guy next to me. He probably saw me anyway. Maybe he thought I was leaving a loved one behind. In a way, I was. I suppose now I know what people mean when they say they left their heart some where, because I sure left my heart somewhere in Memphis. Maybe it was at the lobby of the Heartbreak Hotel before running after my shuttle. Who knows? Guess I'll just have to go back and get it. Elvis' 40th anniversary during Elvis Week sounds as good a time as any, but until then...
Long live the King!
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