The Essentials: From Elvis in Memphis by Elvis Presley

Elvis Presley’s From Elvis in Memphis, released in June 1969, is the sound of the deposed king of rock ’n’ roll reclaiming his crown. Recorded at American Sound Studio in his hometown of Memphis with producer Chips Moman and the famed Memphis Boys, the LP (since fleshed out with a myriad of bonus cuts) presents the sonic approximation of the panther-like visage he presented during his 1968 “comeback” TV special, Elvis. The music is sleek and sharp, gritty and real, an artful blend of rock, country, R&B, gospel and the blues.

The 12-track set opens with “Wearin’ That Loved-on Look,” which seemingly addresses his Hollywood exile and, too, his audience looking elsewhere for the passion they once invested in him: “I had to leave town for a little while/You said you’d be good while I’m gone/But the look in your eye done told me you told a lie/I know there’s been some carrying on.” A cover of Jerry Butler’s “Only the Strong Survive” showcases his vocal range and resilience, while his rendition of Eddy Arnold’s “I’ll Hold You in My Heart (Till I Can Hold You in My Arms)” injects a heavy dose of the blues; it’s a totally different song.

The well-traveled “Long Black Limousine,” first released by Vern Stovall in 1961, had previously been covered by Bobby Bare, Glen Campbell, Merle Haggard and others, yet there’s a reason why Elvis’s is the version people remember; he captures the song’s poignancy in a way only he could. “It Keeps Right On A-Hurtin’,” a country tearjerker written and first performed by Johnny Tillotson, strips away the hackneyed arrangement of the original while mining actual heartache from the lyrics. Hank Snow’s “I’m Movin’ On,” a classic country tune, is given a soulful twist; it’s no better than the original, but no worse. Just different. “Power of My Love,” written by Bernie Baum, Bill Giant, and Florence Kaye, is a blast of the gritty blues that somehow belies its origins, given that the songwriters penned a lot of the dreck that Elvis sang in his movies. (Rodgers and Hammerstein they’re not.)

His version of “Gentle on My Mind,” recorded after Glen Campbell had a hit with it, adds a soulful quotient to the country tune. Originally written and recorded in 1967 by John Hartford, who reportedly wrote it after seeing Doctor Zhivago, Elvis ably captures the song’s longing for a lost love. In a thematic sense, “After Loving You” is the perfect followup; he adheres close to Eddy Arnold’s original arrangement, with the main difference being his dramatic reading of the lyrics. “True Love Travels on a Gravel Road,” written by the same team (Dallas Frazier-A.L. “Doodle” Owens) as “Wearin’ That Loved-on Look,” is another tour de force, this time about an enduring love.  

His rendition of “Any Day Now,” written by Burt Bacharach and Bob Hilliard, and originally a hit for Chuck Jackson in 1962, is a masterclass in adding new depth to an older song. Elvis takes Bacharach’s melodic structure and Hilliard’s poignant lyrics and infuses them with raw power, while (presumably) Chips Moman’s arrangement complements the song’s arc with its subtle orchestration and backing vocals. As with the other songs on the album (and sessions), it’s a great example of Elvis’s ability to take a pop song and inject a profound, almost gospel-like fervor.

The original album closes with “In the Ghetto,” a poignant social commentary written by Mac Davis that, sadly, is still applicable now, some five-plus decades later. It tells the story of a child born into poverty and the tragic cycle of violence and despair that often follows.

That From Elvis in Memphis is considered one of the greatest albums of the rock era should come as no surprise. In its most recent Top 500 albums list, Rolling Stone places it at No. 322, while the 2003 and 2012 iterations of the poll ranked it 190th. Such crowd-sourced lists, even when—as in this instance—the “crowd” consists of musicians, industry folk, and critics, are simultaneously important and not; as I noted after the 2020 poll caused an online uproar, they “are not of ‘all time,’ but of their time; they reflect the zeitgeist of the moment, and that moment is generally set by those younger than me.” That said, they do serve a purpose beyond fueling online debates: They pinpoint older works that have transcended the generations.

On a personal note, I purchased this album in late 1977 or early ’78, when I was 12 and obsessed with “the King.” I was unfamiliar with the songs except for “In the Ghetto,” which was on the budget best-of Pure Gold (one of several cheap compilations I picked up following his death). I’ve since become well-versed with all of the original renditions and, aside from “Gentle on My Mind,” remain partial to these versions. They sounded to me then, as they still do now, like the conversations grown-ups have with themselves.