33, gli anni del Re

33 anni fa scompariva Elvis Presley, il Re del Rock and Roll. Donne e uomini vollero cosi’ bene a Elvis da credere ostinatamente che non fosse morto.

Elvis the King rappresenta il Sogno Americano, che in quanto tale non muore. L’ estremo anelito dell’anima alla liberta’, combinando nobilta’ della melodia a poverta’ dei natali, disperata generosita’ e dissennato spreco, speranza nel futuro e autodistruzione consente a chiunque di essere Elvis ieri come oggi, solo per quell’istante prima di dormire, baciando una ragazza, o per una intera maratona, e di sognare.

I left my home in Norfolk Virginia
California on my mind
I straddled that Greyhound
And rode on into Raleigh
And on across Caroline
We had motor trouble that turned into a struggle
Halfway across Alabam’
Well that hound broke down and left us all stranded
In downtown Birmingham
Right away I brought me a through train ticket
Ridin’ across Mississippi clean
And I was on that midnight flyer out of Birmingham
Smoking into New Orleans
Somebody help me get out of Louisiana
Just to help me get to Houston Town
There are people there who care a little about me
And they won’t let the poor boy down
Sure as your born they bought me a silk suit
Put luggage in my hand
And I woke up high over Albuquerque
On a jet to the promised land
Working on a T-bone steak a la carte
Flying over to the golden state
Ah when the pilot told us in thirteen minutes
He would set us at the terminal gate
Swing low chariot come down easy
Taxi to the terminal zone
Cut your engines and cool your wings
And let me make it to the telephone
Los Angeles give me Norfolk Virginia
Tidewater four ten o nine
Tell the folks back home this is the promised land calling
And the poor boy is on the line

Questo qui sotto non c’entra, ma e’ successo davvero e ci hanno fatto un film. Una sera Elvis ha preso un aereo ed e’ andato alla Casa Bianca perche’ voleva regalare una pistola a Nixon. E glie l’ha regalata.