Review by Gordon Minto - Elvis: The Man And His Music
Elvis in West Texas is a live recording from Odessa, May 30 1976. When I consider the wonderful gigs Elvis did in Texas back in the mid-1950s - and ponder the verve, enthusiasm and musical dynamism he displayed on a nightly basis - and then listen to this sort of travesty, it almost moves me to tears. Elvis even references his own modest early career, saying, “I played every day of my life for two years...” thus inviting comparisons which can only be unflattering.
A greatly improved sound system and generally hyped-up concert - light years away from what Scotty, Bill and DJ were used to back in the mid-1950s - still doesn’t compensate for what really is a woefully uninspired show.
Paradoxically, it simply heightens the difference. You can tell by his speech (slurred and ponderous: you know, like someone who is drunk trying not to sound drunk) that all is not well. His voice shakes and he also sounds desperately tired but instead of winding his neck in, he chatters a lot, inconsequentially! He is simply going through the motions - even though the audience, as always, seemed to lap it up. For me, though, autopilot doesn’t begin to cover it.
As for the programme, it’s what you’d expect for this era: embarrassingly fast and perfunctory performances of his classic hits, sharply counterpointed by a few songs he appeared to care more about. The usually peppy ‘If You Love Me (Let Me Know)’ sounds strained. He struggles to stay on key - yet this isn’t a challenging song to sing.
Even the maudlin ‘You Gave Me A Mountain’ fails to convince. Then, when singing ‘Fever’, he starts singing but then stops, saying he is in the wrong key! But he isn’t. It sounds tentative and weak, as though he doesn’t know the song.
As for ‘Love Letters’, it’s excruciatingly slow and - well, simply awful. It seems his only inspiration comes from singing ‘Hurt’ - twice, (natch) - before launching into ‘Hound Dog’ like some demented ETA (you, like me, may think there’s no other kind). Perplexing, methinks.
‘Funny How Time Slips Away’ - a beaut of a song from 1970 - is treated in a slipshod, throwaway manner. And while ‘Help Me Make It Through The Night’ steps up a notch or two, it still feels rather sterile, denied any genuine emotional charge.
Even ‘It’s Now Or Never’ - which he claims, is his favourite song of those he recorded - is lacklustre and forced, though, happily on this occasion, he spoils it on his own (there’s no Sherry Nillson squeaking away).
Despite ape-ing the bootleggers, the inclusion of a twelve-page booklet featuring period shots can’t save this release from being a dog.
File under uninspired and/or disappointing.
