Just over a week ago Lisa Marie Presley, who has died aged 54, took part in the annual birthday celebration for her father at Graceland in Memphis. In front of an online and physical audience outside the Presley family-home-turned-tourist-attraction, Elvis’s only child cut a piece from a massive birthday cake and led the singing of a cheery rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’. As if all concerned believed him right there, living and breathing and celebrating with them. A sadly comedic scenario, showing on one hand the humility of a troubled woman, and on the other a confirmation of the relentless consumerism around a man dead many decades. The Elvis production line, still cranking out myths and merch, never stops.
Those curious few minutes reminded of Greil Marcus’s work Dead Elvis, in which the author imagines fans and critics alike hacking away at the rock n roll legend’s corpse, forming them into readymade burgers to be devoured by the masses for the highest and lowest bidders. A metaphor the Marcus scenario might well be, but one feeling uncomfortably accurate to the state of play since 1977 and before, come to that. Elvis was on a gruelling treadmill for years, albeit attached by golden handcuffs.
If Elvis was the first global popstar, then Lisa Marie was an early offspring to wrestle with the consequences of fame, money and associated baggage. With early deaths in the Presley family – his twin Jesse stillborn, Elvis dead at 42, his mother Gladys at 46, Lisa Marie’s son Benjamin age 27 by suicide three years ago – there’s ample temptation to romanticize, and grab at simplistic solutions. And so predictably it has come to be. To say Lisa Marie died of a broken heart and the Presleys have weak hearts, so y’know…is an easy get-out. Conspiracy theorists wasted no time in suggesting anti-vax ridiculousness. We don’t know the cause of Lisa Marie’s demise – not that it’s our business anyway – but her relatives did not experience natural, inevitable deaths.
The truth is brutal and uncomfortable. Elvis’s mother had a heart attack brought on by liver failure due to alcoholism, Elvis’s death given the family friendly cause cardiac arrhythmia – simply that his heart stopped – brought on by a substantial addiction to prescription barbiturates. And we can add a major eating disorder into the mix as well.
The Luhrmann film shows Presley’s rise and horrific downfall, concluded akin to a Shakespearean tragedy, adding to the percieved glamour of an early death. Lisa Marie’s fate had a slower burn; father dead when aged 9, the burden of inheritance and the Presley brand. She achieved modest success as a singer and songwriter, and wrote some songs with the king of Sheffield cool Richard Hawley. Marriages to fellow musicians and celebrities didn’t work – indeed, a brief union with actor Nicolas Cage ended quickly with a stubborn suspicion Lisa is said to have she was considered by him as a rare piece of Presley memorabilia. She struggled with addictions. The essay she wrote about the realities of bereavement after her son died was a revelation. It carried no surprises to those who have lost a spouse or child; her stories of friendships lost, the inevitable isolation and loneliness not so much chimed as rang and reverberated through every bone.
There is a unique sadness with a young death, fame adding an intoxicating twist. Take the bad taste notion of the 27 Club – those dying at a tender age as if it’s a cool, authentic goal. Mention singer and songwriter Tim Buckley and wince as son Jeff is gleefully brought up too, along with the tale of his own early departure. Well done fellas, living out the tragedy so we don’t have to. There was a venue – thankfully short lived – in Liverpool named the 27 Club. Northern cities are typically more grounded. On John Lennon’s birthday in October and the anniversary of his murder in December the National Trust switch on the light in his teenage bedroom, an understated yet touching act. Miles away on every level from the Memphis circus. But we take part on the macabre too; the protoype for Elvis’s original gravestone was brought Liverpool back in 2003.
The fun side of Elvis fandom – the collection of anything with his beautiful face on, is enjoyable and frothy; I’m an enthusiast myself. It’s important to remember however, whilst we can poke fun at tacky Elvis fancy dress and enjoy cheap plastic tat with his name on, that Elvis was not a joke. What happened to him is not a joke either, and that ridiculousness occurs in any fandom; watch football fans turn against men minutes earlier named heroes. Competitiveness is omnipresent, with top trumps and bragging rights. With Elvis, failing to journey to Graceland and pay homage is seen as a lack of dedication. In a UK fan magazine which ran for decades, the editor would gaslight and goad fans, reprimand them for failure to carry out their duties – for example, to request songs be played on the radio. He then published the irritated replies slagging him off, in the next issue. The Baz Luhrmann Elvis biopic last summer hinted at a dependency Elvis had with his own fame, an interesting take and one not convincing much, but fandom and stardom are complex concepts and as the world turns, the concepts shift. After the movie came out a conversation with a muggle sprang from the query, what did Elvis do? Apart from sing. Did he help people or something? Because singing wasn’t enough. As if Elvis Aaron Presley an indisputable influence in music and popular culture was an X Factor or Britain’s Got Talent wannabe hungry for a lucky break. One who simply needed justification to be.
At what would have been Elvis’s 88th birthday last week Lisa Marie cut a sizeable slice from the giant birthday cake, bringing a slick of the thick sweet icing briefly to her lips without taking a convincing bite. A new exhibition in the big house was thoroughly plugged, and as coincidence would have it a jet plane bought by her father a year before his death was being sold at an auction in Florida for $260,000 on behalf of a Saudi Arabian company. There’s nothing like a heart tugging anniversary to add that extra ker-ching. Commenters on the auctioneer’s Facebook speculated the plane could be sold for parts or converted into an Airbnb. Graceland’s way of marking the day seems classy by comparison. And yet Lisa Marie stood yards away from her blood family’s graves, on display for strangers to gawp at, and joked that the faithful fan-pilgrims in the crowd each year were her sole reason to get out of the house. As she shared the sobering anniversary with business partners, nameless faces in the crowd taking selfies and passionately insisting love one couldn’t help thinking, what a complete head fuck.