Elvis Presley: Clambake

ELVIS PRESLEY: CLAMBAKE (1967)

1) Guitar Man; 2) Clambake; 3) Who Needs Money?; 4) A House That Has Everything; 5) Confidence; 6) Hey, Hey, Hey; 7) You Donʼt Know Me; 8) The Girl I Never Loved; 9) How Can You Lose What You Never Had; 10) Big Boss Man; 11) Singing Tree; 12) Just Call Me Lonesome; 13) Hi-Heel Sneakers.

General verdict: Much of this «clambake» is inedible as usual, but fortunately for us, Elvisʼ movie songwriters are getting really tired and lazy, leaving a few nice empty spots for good people to come and fill ʼem up.

Everything written about Double Trouble applies equally well to Clambake, the soundtrack to a movie that could just as well be a culinary show, because, honestly, who cared at the time? As an album, Clambake is a roughly proportioned mix of horrible novelty numbers; derivative but listenable pop-rock fodder; and a few classics whose presence is randomized but not totally accidental, because every once in a while the man would stick his head out of his shell and take a bite of juicy stuff — before being beaten back under cover with another batch of Bennett and Tepper compositions.

The obvious classic here is the very first track (which wasnʼt even in the movie, and so much the better for it) — Elvisʼ cover of Jerry Reedʼs freshly released ʽGuitar Manʼ, with Jerry Reed in person manning that acoustic guitar because, allegedly, nobody around Elvis could properly replicate Reedʼs finger-picking style. You could say that here was another little gem of a country-rock song stolen by Elvis from a lesser known artist, but truth is, the song was perfect for Elvis: Reedʼs voice is that of a charismatic country trickster, while Elvis is a raging force of nature, and the feeling of triumph over all the obstacles that life throws in your way is felt much more bluntly on the Elvis version. (It also boasts cleaner and subtler production, but this is to be expected — all of Elvisʼ Sixties records were polished to perfection, so if you are rather after a bit of lo-fi rawness, stick to the original instead). In any case, the good news is that Elvis and Reed really clicked on that session, and the result is another track that can proudly stand up to any randomly chosen Elvis classic from his golden years.

Other above-average material, also recorded to pad out the scanty soundtrack, includes Jimmy (not Jerry) Reedʼs ʽBig Boss Manʼ, with Jerry (not Jimmy) Reed also manning the guitar and Charlie McCoy blowing the harmonica all through the song, as if trying to gain supremacy over the lead vocal (sometimes he actually succeeds); and a couple of decent country ballads, such as ʽSinging Treeʼ and ʽYou Donʼt Know Meʼ, which Elvis sings with total conviction.

Unfortunately and predictably, the soundtrack material is quite rotten in comparison — the worst offenders being Randy Starrʼs vaudeville ditty ʽWho Needs Money?ʼ (a very stupid duet with Elvisʼ co-star in the movie) and, of course, ʽConfidenceʼ, in many respects a spiritual successor to ʽOld MacDonaldʼ and another fully deserving entry on the famous compilation Elvisʼ Greatest Shit. As a Sesame Street number, it would have been perfectly adequate; as something through which every loyal grown-up admirer of the King had to be put, itʼs humiliating torture. One only has to wonder if the man was forced to wear breeches and suspenders in the studio for extra authenticity. And caned on the butt after each bad take.

Even Joy Byers is not fully up to task this time; her ʽHey, Hey, Heyʼ, seemingly a rip-off of some old Motown dance number that I do not quite recognize, is way too old-fashioned for 1967 — this kind of style had gone out at least a year or two ago, together with the likes of Shindig. This leaves the title track as the most «modern» number, with the obligatory distorted electric guitar lick and the glitzy-swaggy Tom Jones attitude — but, of course, you canʼt do all that much with a song whose chorus goes "mammaʼs little baby loves clambake, clambake, mammaʼs little baby loves clambake too". Heck, it doesnʼt even work as a gross sexual innuendo, unless you somehow find a way to work «sausagefest» in there too.

Still, on the whole it is once again amusing and intriguing to witness the ongoing battle of the «soundtrack agenda» with «re-emerging artistic inclinations» — here is yet another record where Elvis is sort of left to his own devices whenever there is empty space to be filled on the chunk of vinyl, and one could argue that, paradoxically, it was precisely this filler problem that ultimately aided Elvis in resuscitating and prolonging his artistic life by a few years.