In June of ’68, Elvis went before the NBC cameras in Burbank to tape his first television special, Elvis, now best remembered for the sleek, black-leather outfit he wore and the raw, stark energy of the performance. For Elvis, the special was his ultimate test: His last live concert had been seven years earlier, and he hadn’t appeared on television since Welcome Home, Elvis, with Frank Sinatra, in 1960. On top of it, he hadn’t scored a number one record since 1962.
Understandably, he was nervous. At thirty-three, trim and tan after his Hawaiian vacation, he was at his physical peak. But he was no longer the rebellious, hip-thrusting rocker. Recognizing that he now had more in common with Sinatra and Dean Martin than with his earlier incarnation as the “Hillbilly Cat,” Elvis confided to the young and visionary producer-director Steve Binder that he was terrified the public might not like him anymore.
Binder, while wrestling with Colonel Parker, who wanted his boy to do a traditional Christmas special (or to sing only songs for which Colonel controlled the publishing), easily convinced Elvis that this performance was the crossroads of his career. He could either recapture the magnificent essence he once was or return to the Hollywood treadmill. In kinder terms, Binder spelled out that Elvis was in danger of becoming a joke, an anachronism as irrelevant to the music of the sixties as Bing Crosby.
With enough footage shot for three one-hour shows, the highlight of The Singer Special, as it came to be known (because of the $400,000 sponsorship by the Singer Sewing Machine Company), was the live, and seemingly unrehearsed, Elvis-in-the-round performance segment. Looking like a mythological god in his leather suit—designed by Bill Belew, who would go on to fashion all of Presley’s stage costumes—Elvis carried his electric guitar onstage before a 328-member audience. There, he was informally backed by his longtime friends, Scotty Moore on guitar, D. J. Fontana, from his “Louisiana Hayride” days, on drums, and by Charlie Hodge and Alan Fortas, who were there mostly to get Elvis to relax and cut up the way he did offstage (“My boy, my boy”). Between songs, in which he recounted vignettes from his past—such as when the Jacksonville, Florida, police showed up to make sure he didn’t violate the decency code—Elvis displayed the humor and vulnerability that characterized his private life but which few fans ever got to see.
Although visibly rattled (his hand shook at the start), Elvis joked and chatted and eventually ripped it up as he hadn’t done in a decade, proving that he still had the mettle and the grit to do it right. The show’s basic story line, augmented in a lengthy choreographed production number with the Claude Thompson dancers, traces a struggling young guitar player setting out to make his mark in the world. An innocent awash in corruption (Colonel insisted that a bordello scene be cut from the final broadcast), he finds success, only to realize that he sacrificed himself along the way. Eventually, he returns to his roots. It was Elvis’s own story in 4/4 time.
For the finale, choral director W. Earl Brown wrote “If I Can Dream,” a big, soaring, humanistic ballad with gospel and rhythm-and-blues undertones that Elvis immediately embraced. The song afforded him an opportunity to sing something of depth and to show off his range beyond the three-note span of the movie soundtracks. But it also stirred his evangelistic zeal. One day during rehearsal, Elvis turned out the lights and sang the song to a tape of the band. The startled crew looked out from the control booth to see him literally writhing on the floor, caught up in overwhelming emotion and passion and baring his soul. Later released as a single, the song became Elvis’s first gold record in years.
“There is something magical about watching a man who has lost himself find his way back home,” critic Jon Landau wrote of the show in the now defunct Eye magazine. It was undoubtedly Elvis’s finest hour, a breathtaking melding of snarling fifties fire and sixties polish, the culmination of the best of everything he had worked for and learned. In the end, it changed almost everything in his life. The King was back. So was his artistry—and his dignity.
LAMAR FIKE: The way Colonel structured the original deal with NBC was for the TV special and a movie. He did it over the phone. Afterwards, he got a telegram from Tom Sarnoff, at NBC Burbank, which read, “Confirming our phone conversation, we have a deal for production of one Elvis feature and one TV special according to terms discussed between us during last couple of days. Congratulations to both of us . . . ”
Colonel sent a copy off to Elvis in Memphis, and Elvis fired a telegram back: “Dear Colonel: Is that the best you could do? Respectfully yours, Elvis.”
BILLY SMITH: Elvis said one time, “I was scared to death when I done the special. I didn’t know what the heck was going to take place. But the one thing that was always there was my music. I was just wanting to get back to that.”
He could have done it so much earlier. But he had to be shoved into a corner and almost kicked before he would bite.
MARTY LACKER: The best part of the ’68 Comeback Special was the other live performance segment—the one where Elvis paced back and forth in a sort of boxing ring in the middle of the audience wearing the leather suit. That may be the best performance he ever gave. They pretaped the orchestra, but then they brought in these hip young guys to play over it—Tommy Tedesco, of the Fireballs, and Mike Deasy on guitar; Don Randi, who’d done session work with the Buffalo Springfield, on piano; Larry Knechtel, who’d go on to be part of Bread, on bass; Hal Blaine, who was a session drummer for Phil Spector; and the Blossoms, with Darlene Love, also from the Spector sessions, on background vocals. This was just a magic combination.
In the [Jerry] Hopkins book [Elvis], Billy Goldenberg, who was the musical director, made a very interesting observation. He said, “The one thing I’ve always felt about Elvis is that . . . there’s a cruelty involved, a meanness . . . a basic sadistic quality about what he does, which is attractive . . . He’s excited by certain kinds of violent things. I thought, ‘If there was a way we could get this feeling in the music . . .’” And they did.
BILLY SMITH: It could just have been another Christmas special, but Binder flat put his foot down, and that helped Elvis go up against the Colonel. Elvis was really all for it, even though he was saying, “Yes, sir, Colonel,” and “No, sir, Colonel.” But then when they got off to themselves, he’d say, “Look, Colonel, Steve’s more right than you think. That’s basically what I want to do.” But he didn’t say it to Colonel in front of Binder because he wouldn’t do the Colonel that way. And at the same time, I guarantee you he was talking to Binder, saying, “Don’t budge, man. That’s what I want to do.”
LAMAR FIKE: Steve Binder’s a fascinating person. He always had an original approach to things, and he didn’t care a lot about parameters. He did that Petula Clark special where Harry Belafonte touched her on the arm and the whole country went bonkers.
He came up with good ideas for Elvis, like having him sit there with that leather outfit on, although Elvis liked to died under the lights. And putting Alan and them onstage for that jam session.
One thing I want to get straight, though. Marty talks about that Hopkins book. Well, Hopkins wrote that Steve took Elvis and Joe outside on Sunset Boulevard, just to show Elvis he could go out in public and not be mobbed. The idea, I think, was to show him he wasn’t such a big damn star anymore. Hopkins said Steve took ’em out in front of a topless bar at four in the afternoon, and kids were knocking into ’em, man, and still not recognizing him.
That’s total bullshit. He took Elvis out on Sunset, all right. But phew! It was a mess. We had to fight to get him back in.
Steve Binder and his arrogant fucking ways . . . Elvis liked Steve all right, but Elvis had total artistic control of that show. The only thing he didn’t like were the segments with all those dancers. He thought there was too much going on.
Actually, I’m not sure he was all that nervous about the special, like people say. When he was into his gig, you’d better look out. Because the ego would just get monumental.
By the way, you’ll notice during that so-called living-room segment, where Elvis sits around with Alan, and Scotty, and D.J. and Charlie, they keep saying, “My boy, my boy.” That came from me. I always liked W. C. Fields, and he used to say, “My boy, my boy.” So I would say that, and Elvis would copy me. We’d find a saying we liked and bury it within six weeks.
BILLY SMITH: Alan said that him and Joe brought women back to the dressing room like they were on a conveyer belt. That was to feed his ego. Hell, Priscilla was mostly to feed his ego.
LAMAR FIKE: Elvis met Goldie Hawn during that special. She was going with one of the dancers, Gus Trikonis. Elvis thought she was coming to see him, and he’d kid her—call her “Chicken Head” because of her haircut.
BILLY SMITH: I think the marriage dropped off nearly for good during The Comeback Special. Elvis was preoccupied with the show, and Priscilla was hurt and put more time into other interests. She had a new dance instructor by then—she’d broken off that affair. And Elvis realized, “I’m Elvis Presley, and God, it’s all here in front of me.”
LAMAR FIKE: At the end of July, Elvis went to Apache Junction, Arizona, near Phoenix, to start filming Charro!, which was a western, for National General Productions. This was the first picture where he didn’t sing or play a guitar, except over the opening credits. The whole picture got away from the formula—no girls in bikinis, no classy wardrobe. In fact, I think he wore the same pair of dirty leather pants for the whole thing. And he grew a beard and wore a hat down over his eyes. The fans didn’t like it much.
Alan went out there for that picture because they’d shut down the ranch. His days were numbered, though. I’m not sure he knew that. Priscilla always liked Alan, but she never let sentiment get in the way of her pocketbook.
BILLY SMITH: In September, while Elvis was in Arizona making Charro!, my brother, Bobby, died. Then in early October, Uncle Johnny. Then in ’69, right before Elvis opened in Vegas, my daddy become bedridden. He had a stroke. I took him to the doctor that morning, and he was talking, and then, just after they run some tests on him, he never spoke again. Yet he lived almost four years. But the family was getting smaller, right quick.
LAMAR FIKE: Six weeks before The Singer Special aired [on December 3], RCA released “If I Can Dream” as a single. In late November, it entered the Billboard “Hot 100” chart and went to number twelve. That was the highest any of Elvis’s singles had gone in three years. Son of a gun sold a million copies.
MARTY LACKER: The night NBC broadcast The Singer Special, I saw it on TV before Elvis did because of the time difference.
At first, I wasn’t totally blown away until he did that impromptu set in the leather suit—the part where he paced back and forth like a panther. That was just raw, animal magnetism. I remember saying to myself, “That’s what Elvis is really about.”
As soon as the show was over, I called the house out in Los Angeles. Joe answered, and Elvis grabbed the phone because he wanted to hear somebody’s opinion. I said, “Man, let me tell you something. If nothing else, you did one thing.” He said, “What’s that?” I said, “You finally showed them the real Elvis Presley instead of the guy in those movies.” And he said, “Man, I’m glad you said that.”
LAMAR FIKE: The Singer Special was brilliant. No doubt about it. Bob Finkel, the executive producer, won a Peabody Award for it. It was the highest-rated show of the week, and the most-watched special of the year by women eighteen to forty-nine. Had a damn Nielsen rating of thirty-two, with a forty-two share. Later in the month, the soundtrack went on the Billboard chart at 166, and it parked at eight and stayed thirty-two weeks. That was his first Top 10 album since ’65.
MARTY LACKER: In August of ’69, Singer paid $275,000 to rebroadcast the show. They took out “Blue Christmas” and replaced it with “Tiger Man.” By that time, it had already been shown in Great Britain, where it ran without commercials. The Brits named Elvis the “Outstanding Male Singer” of the year in a “New Musical Express” poll. They know their music over there.
LAMAR FIKE: Sometime after The Singer Special, we flew into Vegas on Hughes Air West, and the Colonel picked us up and took us to the Aladdin [Hotel]. Elvis wanted to see the shows and stuff, and Colonel wanted to gamble. We were riding in the car, and the Colonel said, “You know, you can do the show that you did for The Singer Special here in Vegas.”
I looked at Elvis, and he looked at me, and when we got out of the car, he said, “Looks like I’m getting ready to do Vegas.”
And he thought that was fine. So he told Colonel, “Yeah, let’s do it. And when we finish Vegas, we’ll go on tour.” So that’s how it all started. For pretty much the rest of his life, he’d do his shows in Vegas, then go out on the road. That was the next step, right after the recording sessions he had lined up for the first part of the year.