Sure am pleased to make your company,

You're the cutest jailbird I ever did see,

Come on and do the jailhouse rock with me.

And that's the whole trip right there. We were prisoners. Elvis released us. Frank Sinatra said that Elvis' sound was the "Martial music of every juvenile delinquent in the country." He was righter than he knew. We were all juvenile delinquents. These boots are made for walking, Frankie baby?

Then Elvis is back and sings "Love Me Tender," on that tiny stage in front of all those Okies. Remember? That was the song that your mother said it was all right to listen to. "Why can't he sing like that all the time?" It's pretty easy to see why. He moves, pacing up and down, holding it all back, looking at the ground, he's got it in him, let it out Elvis, let it out. And he falls to his knees and throws his head back and sweats and yells. "He's doing it! Right now!" For us! Ah, Elvis, for us!

Then "Big Boss Man," the blues, that's a long time ago, when that record came out. Eric Clapton was fifteen when that came out.

Then a schmaltzy song that tones things down a little. Elvis begins to slip away from us--ten more years, Elvis? As you play with your model airplanes in Graceland and sip Pepsis, while we're off somewhere, thirty or so? The last few minutes of the program are a rerun of the first few. "I'm Evil" again. You started it, Elvis. The liberator. The martyr to our increased sophistication. Grand old man. He's exactly the same as he was ten years ago, exactly. He started it. We love you, Elvis.

Don't you mess with me,

Cause I'm evil

Whoa-oh, I'm as evil as could be,

Just let me go my way man

Cause I'm gonna get home free.