... Elvis is pretty unique in having so many people not only obsessed with him, but that impersonate him, in many cases eerily well (and in many others entertainingly hopeless
.)
He's almost his own bardic tradition, his memory handed down by word of mouth.
I was in the twilight phase of my professional music side-career when Elvis died. The group I was gigging with (fronted by an older musician whose hero was Elvis) was approached by multiple Elvis impersonators, who suddenly seemed to emerge sequin-covered from the very woodwork.
We ended up agreeing to be the backing band for one of these impersonators. He was a fast-talking businessman who was on a mission to emulate Elvis. He was a bit too tall, but that only helped the mythic aspect. He did have a good singing voice in the right range, so he wasn't a totally ludicrous candidate.
He had Elvis costuming custom made for himself. There were tales of personal visions and consultations with seers / psychics / fortune tellers, all of whom had convinced him this was his mystic mission. He was utterly convinced it was his God-given duty to be the standard bearer for all things Elvis.
When he first auditioned with us (essentially at his own pressing request ... ) we (the band members) had an extended discussion / debate about whether to work with him (or, for that matter, the whole Elvis tribute craze in general). I was the odd man out, in that I opined he was a 'jerk' and it wouldn't end well.
Mere months later, the pseudo-Elvis went nova and imploded at a big concert show he / we were headlining. He'd been getting increasingly, well,
weird as time went on and performing went to his already swollen head. An entourage had developed around him, and he was increasingly 'living the Elvis myth' to a degree that insinuated emotional instability.
That last night he was extremely off-putting to both the band and the audience. He repeatedly deviated from the sometimes elaborate song / medley arrangements and got increasingly heated that we weren't following suit at every unexpected turn, as if we were supposed to be psychic. The breaking point came when someone in the audience called out the name of an Elvis ballad (I forget which one, but it wasn't in our rehearsed repertoire). The Elvis wannabe told the audience he'd do it, then launched into counting down and beginning a song we didn't know and had never rehearsed.
I got up from my keyboard and walked off stage - the only time I'd ever done so in 2 decades of gigging - and retired to our band's bus. After a few minutes all the other band members climbed aboard, one by one, glum and / or angry. They unanimously assured me (a) the extemporaneous song had indeed been a total disaster; (b) the show had basically brought down the show itself (as opposed to 'the house'); and (c) I'd been right from the beginning - he was a certified jerk.
There were a lot of these guys surfacing in the wake of Elvis' death. My / our band's experience wasn't unique. It seemed the impersonators who were most committed ended up being the ones most in need of
being committed.
