Elvis Presley: Something For Everybody

ELVIS PRESLEY: SOMETHING FOR EVERYBODY (1961)

1) Thereʼs Always Me; 2) Give Me The Right; 3) Itʼs A Sin; 4) Sentimental Me; 5) Starting Today; 6) Gently; 7) Iʼm Cominʼ Home; 8) In Your Arms; 9) Put The Blame On Me; 10) Judy; 11) I Want You With Me; 12) I Slipped, I Stumbled, I Fell; 13*) Surrender; 14*) I Feel So Bad; 15*) His Latest Flame; 16*) Little Sister; 17*) Good Luck Charm; 18*) Anything Thatʼs Part Of You.

General verdict: Awful LP, brilliant singles — rule of thumb for most artists, first time for the King.

Let us begin with the obvious — the title of this album is a straight-out lie, since I have listened to all of its songs quite a few time and, so far, found absolutely nothing for lovers of Wagnerian opera, Fiftiesʼ post-bop, Russian folk music, or, hitting closer to home, even for fans of Elvisʼ classic Sun-era or early RCA period. The only circumstance this title might be, very crudely, hinting at is the novel, if odd, decision to stratify all the material so that Side A of the LP could be exclusively dedicated to sentimental balladry, whereas Side B would all consist of slightly faster, slightly more danceable, but still always cuddly pop-rock. I have no idea just how popular this approach might have been in the early Sixties (it did reappear in the careers of subsequent artists, most notably Rod Stewart in the mid-Seventies), but in this case, all it leads to is the fact that you will have to force yourself to sit through almost exactly the same doo-wop progressions six times in a row, wondering how on Earth could Elvis himself not get bored in the process.

More significantly, though, Something For Everybody, a legitimate LP that was neither a movie soundtrack nor a scattered collection of singles and rarities from all over the place, is the first openly bad record in Elvisʼ career. It is not just bad or boring, though — it is an astonishing drop down in quality after all the cautious hopes that Elvis Is Back! had provided. While it was obviously disappointing to all those whoʼd hoped to hear the King roar-and-roll once more, the diversity of its material might have led one to hope that the King was merely wishing to expand his horizons, and try to do all sorts of stuff instead of locking himself into the hip-gyrating formula. Not so with this miserable platter of largely inferior rewrites of past glories — through the entire album, there is not one single idea that hadnʼt already been explored previously.

Side A is particularly disappointing — the songs, mainly provided by Nashville hacks, contain echoes of everything from ʽLove Me Tenderʼ to ʽBlueberry Hillʼ to ʽOne Nightʼ without giving you a single reason to memorize and cherish them. On top of these rotten, derivative melodies Elvis croons in a buttery tone, never once letting through even a tiny bit of that animalistic feeling which made the early balladeering classics so sublimely sexy. And the only song that breaks away from the doo-wop or country waltz formula is ʽGentlyʼ, an acoustic folk ballad of the kind youʼd expect on a Searchers record, but even there you realize that the guys who wrote it for him were obsessed with the idea of creating a slightly faster ʽLove Me Tenderʼ — which they did, but then they forgot about all the ingredients that made ʽLove Me Tenderʼ a standout (such as the bare-bones arrangement and the deep growl in the singerʼs voice).

Side B is slightly better because of the extra energy, but its guiding principles remain the same. Even the hitherto trustworthy Aaron Schroeder disappoints, providing Elvis with a blatant (and inferior) rewrite of ʽStuck On Youʼ called ʽIn Your Armsʼ — is there any wonder that everybody remembers the former song and nobody could give a damn about the latter? Likewise, ʽPut The Blame On Meʼ is a re-write of ʽA Mess Of Bluesʼ, and ʽI Want You With Meʼ is a re-write of ʽAinʼt That Loving You Babyʼ — not once in Elvisʼ entire preceding career had he stooped so low as to put so many carbon copies of former glories in one basket. Not that the practice was unusual for popular artists — repeating oneself as long as the stuff continued to sell was quite the norm in jazz, blues, and pop from the 1920s — but Elvis, of all people, had largely managed to avoid it in the previous decade, even if you took into consideration all of his LPs and not just the hit singles. On Something For Everybody, the artist simply lowers himself to the most common denominator. ʽI Slipped, I Stumbled, I Fellʼ indeed — yet another rewrite, of ʽI Got Stungʼ this time, closes the album on a gruesomely ironic note.

All the more astonishing is the realization that at more or less the exact same time that Elvis was recording this sorry pile of glop, he was also putting out what was, quite inarguably, the finest bunch of his Sixtiesʼ singles — and, arguably, one of the strongest bunches of his singles ever. The only reason, in fact, to own this LP on CD is if you go for the special extended edition from 1999, which adds ʽI Feel So Badʼ, ʽHis Latest Flameʼ, ʽLittle Sisterʼ, and ʽGood Luck Charmʼ — magnificent tracks, each and every one! Chuck Willisʼ R&B classic gets a shiny, but aggressive production coat (Floyd Cramer hammers out the minimalistic piano riff with perfect punkish precision), and Boots Randolphʼs lengthy sax solo is one of the weirdest musical moments in Elvisʼ history. Schroederʼs ʽGood Luck Charmʼ is precisely the song that ʽIn Your Armsʼ failed to be — in the same soft pop-rock style as ʽStuck On Youʼ, but with a completely different melody and vocal hook (that ascending resolution with "to have... to hold... tonight" and its high-low vocal counterpoints is pop bliss). And the Doc Pomus / Mort Shuman team do a wonderful job «poppifying» the Bo Diddley beat with ʽHis Latest Flameʼ — just a tiny bit less of that syncopation and the tribal flavor is gone, replaced with a less shocking, but more seductive maniacal pop energy, which, again, infects Elvis to the point of completely getting into the performance and giving it all he got.

Best of the lot, though, is the second Pomus / Shuman composition — ʽLittle Sisterʼ, easily the «dirtiest» Elvis song of the Sixties in just about everything: the music (that opening riffage hits with all the grit and rambunctiousness of a Link Wray classic), the lyrics, bordering on socially unacceptable in the modern era (we never really learn how old the ʽlittle sisterʼ in question is supposed to be, but "you been a-growinʼ and baby, itʼs been showinʼ from your head down to your toes" is still the single creepiest line in any Elvis song), and the vocals, on which Elvis really comes alive and finally, for once, reminds you of what was so «dangerous» about him in the preceding decade. In the end, though, it is Hank Garlandʼs guitar work that makes the song — and it doesnʼt even have a solo, just that nagging little riff clinging to the coattails of each of Elvisʼ vocal lines. Just a brilliant piece of work and one of my perennial favorites.

If anything, these singles clearly show that Elvis was anything but spent in 1961 — but how on Earth could he have been recording material of such amazing quality at the exact same time with all those bad, bad, bad songs on the LP is something I still cannot clearly understand. It is almost as if somebody was setting up an actual thought-out strategy, with a special memo for all the songwriters in the house: «LPs are supposed to be filler, so please, remember to only contribute the very worst of your results for the LP tracks of Mr. Presley, but do not forget to contribute them regularly». And Mr. Presley, officially deprived of the right to exercise free will or even retain a good sense of taste, had no choice but to comply. A sad thing, really.