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Lorenzo Semple III’s photo of Elvis performing in Asheville, North Carolina, in July 1975.
The anniversary of Elvis Presley’s death was Wednesday. He was 42 years old when he died. For me, this has been the summer of Elvis.
It all started Friday, June 24, in the back row of the Isis Theatre on the opening night of the new flick, “Elvis.” I haven’t cried that much in a movie since “Julie & Julia.” Tom Hanks, as Elvis’ conniving manager Col. Tom Parker, looked eerily like my departed dad, throwing a monkey wrench into my emotional gears. Walking away from the theater down Hopkins Avenue in a cerebral daze, I had a remarkably in-depth conversation with a local Sikh about Elvis Presley’s music and his cultural impact. God, I love Aspen. I’ve been telling everyone who’ll listen to go see the movie.
We talked about some YouTube footage I’d seen of Elvis Presley visiting Aspen in January 1969 with his wife Priscilla and their toddler daughter Lisa Marie. The footage is old. It’s hard to discern that they are in Aspen. But there’s one tell: a guy on a snowmobile leading their group wearing a cowboy hat. He jumps up on a snow machine like it’s a farm animal, and performs a rodeo-type, duck-dive maneuver into fresh powder, like you see the kids do these days on videos.
I’ll bet you my cowboy boots, my Leadville 100 belt buckle and my favorite embroidered western shirt that the lone snowmobile wrangler is none other than Rick Deane. Generally not one to bloviate, I’d reckon that if you kindly asked him he’d confirm in the affirmative. And, it turns out, Elvis was a sled-neck! Who knew? There are documented stories of him doing the same thing in Vail later in his career.
The King of Rock ’n’ Roll probably flew into Aspen on his private plane just like everyone else in the entertainment industry does. My son Oliver is a plane spotter, and he’s photographed one of his private jets — now owned by someone else and considered a collector’s item — landing here as recently as this summer.
I had the unlikely chance encounter of going to first grade with Lisa Marie Presley at John Thomas Dye School in Los Angeles, the year before we moved to Aspen. The pleasure meant little if anything at the time, but later in life I connected the dots. I have a vivid memory of her mom waiting in the carpool line to pick up Lisa Marie after school. There was Priscilla Presley, standing outside of her white Mercedes two-door — with a matching white outfit of white boots, white skirt, a big hat with a scarf tied around her neck and oversized dark sunglasses. I remember thinking to myself, “This mom is different than the other moms,” as I walked past and got into the back of our green Volvo station wagon.
In the mid 1990s I was working for the Aspen Skiing Co. in the sales department. One lunch break, I was saddled up at the sandwich bar at Johnny McGuire’s, eagerly watching Terrance make my favorite gut bomb — the Olympian. You could almost feel the zit forming on your nose as you ate the thing. I picked up an Aspen Daily News and saw the bombshell news that Lisa Marie had just separated from Michael Jackson.
“Holy s---” I exclaimed in front of the crowd of artery-clogging sandwich fans. I then launched into my immediate plan to get her to marry me and live in Aspen. Hey, I was going through a divorce. I really did visualize us riding the gondola together, skiing and living in Starwood or Red Mountain. I couldn’t decide which would be better. The people in the place looked at me like the fool I was, and one guy even sarcastically wished me good luck. By the way, I tried to get in touch with her and made it as far as her publicist. Who knows, maybe she just would’ve liked to ride snowmobiles like her dad?
I have a picture of Elvis from a July 1975 concert in Asheville, North Carolina. I keep it on top of my guitar amp and space out into it when I play sometimes. He’s wearing his famed “Chief” jumpsuit. Now you know why I wear a one-piece ski suit and used to have sideburns. I’m not sure what song he’s singing, but I fantasize that it’s “See See Rider” (aka “C.C. Rider”), the opening number of a grueling 23-song set. I marvel at live footage of Elvis.
Lorenzo Semple III’s photo of Elvis performing in Asheville, North Carolina, in July 1975.
His story reminds me of Jerry Garcia’s. The live concert videos of Elvis offer a generous fishbowl view into his psyche, his condition, his symbiotic existence of struggle and fame. The Grateful Dead and Elvis Presley played a few of the same songs live in concert (“C.C. Rider,” “Promised Land,” “Johnny B. Goode”).
Elvis’ live band was smokin’ hot. The bombastic “2001 Space Odyssey” intro still gives me goosebumps. With all the girls constantly screaming and completely losing their minds, some of the earlier recordings remind me of Cheap Trick’s “Live at Budokan.” Ron Tutt, Elvis’ drummer, even played in the Jerry Garcia Band and performed “That’s Alright Mama,” an old blues song that was Elvis’ debut single. The simple, three-chord tune is considered by many critics to be the first rock ’n’ roll record.
When I was a roadie for Def Leppard’s “Hysteria” Tour in the late 1980s, our production manager, Charlie Hernandez, put up a 3x5 velvet tapestry of Elvis Presley in the production office at every single show as a fitting, respectful acknowledgment from the wild, wild world of rock touring that Elvis helped forge for us. Watching video footage of Elvis in the later years of his life, it’s incredible to see him sitting at the piano, sweating buckets, slurring his words, looking ashen, a roadie holding his microphone for him, feeding him lines if need be. But the rub is this — he still performs surprisingly well. The charisma and talent are conspicuously evident.
I’ve always wanted to go to Graceland. I never saw Elvis live, but my parents did. One of my biggest disappointments is that I missed my old classmate Lisa Marie playing here at the Double Diamond one night in Aspen in the early 2000s. I would’ve loved to have heard her perform the song “Lights Out” she wrote about her dad.
My Elvis playlist includes “Promised Land,” “You Were Always on My Mind,” “Bossa Nova Baby,” “Never Been to Spain,” “In the Ghetto,” the “A Little Less Conversation” remix, “My Way” and “Bridge Over Troubled Water.” Elvis was the king of the power ballads that hopelessly tangled your heartstrings.
Thanks for the memories, Elvis. I’ll be sure to swing by the Elvis shrine on Ajax and say hello next time. Your spirit still lives here in Aspen.
Contact Lorenzo at suityourself@sopris.net or instagram.com/lorenzosemple3/.
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