First page of the Elvis archive.

some good things have happened in memphis

Posted by jessica on Sep 26, 2009 with No Comments
in Performance, Thoughts and Feelings
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This.

Was.
Just.
Amazing.
Sun Records, here in downtown Memphis, a mile away from my hotel.

And it is responsible for the music that we have today. This is where 18 year old Elvis Presley walked in off the street and spent four dollars to make a record for his mother’s birthday.

Or so he said.
Turns out it was springtime and Mrs. Presley’s birthday wasn’t till fall, but that is what the young charmer told the secretary in order to get in her good graces and gee, did it work. It worked so well in fact, that she laid that little country song aside for Sam Phillips, the owner, to listen to, hoping to give the young man a break. A young man who would spend his hard earned money on recording a song for his momma’s birthday.
Awwwwwwww.
And here’s the kicker: I listened to that song today. The first recording Elvis ever made. And boy did he have some warbly vibrato and no it didn’t impress Sam Phillips one bit, much to the chagrin of his secretary. It was country in a time when the blues were hot.
But still, I heard it.
And don’t you worry about young Elvis. He did just fine. Because a year later he went back into that recording studio, sang song after song at Mr. Phillips’ insistence, but nothing was working. It wasn’t until Sam Phillips told Elvis, the bassist, and guitarist to take a break at midnight, leaving them to their own devices that some magic finally appeared. Elvis started singing a song he had heard, That’s All Right, just joking around really, and the musicians started playing along. Sam Phillips heard it in the booth and knew they’d found what they were looking for.
The hottest radio station in Memphis, Red, Hot, and Blue, played it soon after and something intractable started. 49 people called in requesting that song by the unknown Elvis, and the DJ played it fourteen times in just three hours.
So yeah, like I said, Elvis did just fine.
And remember that scene from the Johnny Cash movie, Walk the Line? He’s doing his salesman thing when he happens to spot a recording studio, and walks in just like that?
Yep, here it is.
I was so excited. Such history. Such dreams realized.
And then there were so many more. B. B. King, Jerry Lee Lewis, and Carl Perkins, to name a few.
And how about those Irish boys who can’t stop making beautiful albums?
They came here to record three songs for Rattle and Hum. And on that wall is the 12 track they used.
They knew that whatever happened within these walls was something they wanted to be a part of.
Smart guys.
And Sun Studio remains the only recording studio that is a national monument in the country. It gives tours through the day, but is still a working studio at night. The most recent artist to record here was John Mellencamp. And this place still has the same white tiles that soundproofed the room back when Elvis Presley stopped in for a visit, after being signed with RCA Records. Sam Phillips called in Johnny Cash, Jerry Lee Lewis, and Carl Perkins too. And what do they do?
An impromptu jam session, of course.
And what does the always-thinking Sam Phillips do?
Press record, of course.
You can buy it, too, aptly called the Million Dollar Quartet.
And here I am, standing on the X that Elvis stood, grabbing that same mic that he grabbed.
Just, wow.

on why a small component of my present reality is dumb while most of it remains awesome.

Posted by jessica on Jul 20, 2009 with No Comments
in I Lift My Eyes Up, Loved Ones, Thoughts and Feelings
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This is dumb.

I’ve been looking forward to coming home for this glorious stretch of three weeks that have nothing whatsoever to do with a leotard or heels or a 5, 6, 7, 8! and well, the fact that I am now laying in bed with a 100 degree fever, all hot and heavy and sporting a case of under-the-weather-edness that makes my limbs feel like more than I could ever lift and my body all achy is just plain dumb.
And I guess the fact that I just taught an hour long Pilates class didn’t exactly help, either; but hey, if I have to feel feverish right now, at least my abs are feeling flatter at the same time, so thank you for that, Joseph Pilates.
Because abs are what you care about most when you’re laying in bed, flicking off imaginary spiders, your skin is crawling so much.
But the fact that I have been feeling progressively worse throughout the day cannot take away some of the simple and lovely things that remind me why I love home.
The husband who sleeps beside me, and sends me a text first thing in the morning instead of, you know, actually using his voice and speaking to the person who is literally inches away from him. And not just any text, either: googly eyes. Cartoon-style. With a question mark following, his way of asking me if I am, in fact, awake.
My text back?
Zzz

Because no, Drew Copeland, I was not awake yet; my eyes were firmly and contentedly shut–at least they were until I was forced to open them and gaze upon the googly eyes you just sent my way. Oh, and if Journey blares from your alarm clock one more time, well then, let’s just say that anyway you want it will not be happening for you any time soon.
My three year old nephew, running at full-tilt-boogie on chubby sneakers that are delightfully called froggies and that house even chubbier feet as they cross the distance from his momma into my arms.
A gaggle of nieces, all hilarious and pretty and full of a wonder I hope they never lose, enfolding me in a group hug, causing all of our brown eyes to light up.
Another nephew sitting close beside me as we watch Fern Gully; I am now forever grateful that acid rain does not, to my knowledge, actually take the form of some shadowy Elvis impersonator and wreak havoc on our lives.
Working through another song with Drew, his fingers finding the chords on the guitar that keep pace with my melody and lyrics.
My parents. Always ready and happy to see me, to welcome me home, to keep me assured of the things that matter most like family, love, humor, God, green things growing, dogs that look like magical creatures, and cherry tomatoes (or so my pop would say).
And of course, throw in some brothers and some gorgeous sisters, and really, it doesn’t get much better than this, as homecomings go.
Okay, well maybe it would be better if I weren’t feeling sick as a dog, but still. I’m home…which outweighs anything else at the moment.