Sometimes a piece rattles around in your head for years and you finally get an opportunity to just go ahead and write it. For my monthly column at Liberties magazine I wrote about Marion Keisker, and how I think she’s the one who saw and recorded Elvis first. a year before Sam Phillips did. in the world of Elvis-ania, this is a slightly controversial opinion – Peter Guralnick, who interviewed them both, agonized about it in print – in his Elvis book, in his Sam Phillips book … but … it just makes more sense to me that Marion was the one who first recorded him. I made my case.
I’ve been in Scotland for the last 8 days. I haven’t had a ton of free time, but there was kind of an unexpected afternoon off so I decided to go out into the streets of Edinburgh and seek out something I was determined to find. I mean, it was not like hidden treasure, I literally had the address, but still it’s fun to go out without a real plan and without really knowing where the hell I was going. I couldn’t get my orientation at first and did not anticipate the HILLS in Edinburgh. The location was a couple of miles away, and my Google map said it was a 29-minute walk. I thought, “Hey, that’s not bad. I’ve been sitting on my ass for about 4 days straight. It’ll be nice to have a walk!” I mentioned this to the doorman who gave me a look like, “……” He told me he lived in that area and it was a “bit of a way”. He called me a cab. As the driver took me there (whom, I of course, befriended. He told me that this area wasn’t originally part of Edinburgh proper, but then it was incorporated into the larger city) … but anyway, I started laughing at one point, trying to picture myself staggering down these hills for miles. I realized almost immediately how insane it would have been if I had tried to walk it. Not to mention walking home. I lived in San Francisco. I understand the challenge. This was far outside the tourist-y center of the city. Regular citizens live here. We weren’t sure where it would show up – it was clearly mid-block (and the blocks were really big) – but the street was wide – for tram rails – not a lot of traffic – and lined with establishments like laundromats and kebab shops and barbershops. Then, I saw it. “There it is!”
I was so excited! I didn’t even have to look both ways when I crossed the street to get to it because there really wasn’t any traffic. There were bins of albums on the sidewalk. I looked through them.
There was no real foot traffic in the area, at least not on a Monday afternoon. I know they have a huge online catalog, so I am sure a lot of their business comes from that. I was the only person in the shop. I looked in the front window and the first book I saw was …
I thought, “I am in the right place.”
I stepped into heaven on earth. I was greeted by the proprietor, David Griffin, who asked me if he could help me find anything. I said I wasn’t sure yet, but I’d like to look around. There were vinyls everywhere, separated by genre (also CDs and cassette tapes), and also second-hand books. It wasn’t just a jumble, everything was neatly organized, easily scannable. The selection was great, too. The space is small but it felt like a treasure chest (speaking of which …) I could have spent hours in there. I went in there with only one plan: to buy some Elvis vinyl, whatever they had in, I wasn’t picky. After that, I’d just browse and let the browsing take me. I walked into the back to look at the shelves there, and suddenly this beautiful curious dog, with a soft gentle manner, tiptoed towards me to say hello. She sniffed my hand forever. David told me her name (and I forget – sorry!), and that she basically spends all of her time there – and he pointed. In the back area there was a pink puffy comforter on the floor, clearly her area. “She nests. She drags the blanket around to make it the most comfortable. Sometimes she drags it halfway across the shop.” She walked back there and carefully lay down in her spot. She was like the angelic spirit of the place. Welcoming and open.
I talked to David for a bit, telling me a friend had told me about this place and I had to see it for myself. He told me a lot of people come and just take pictures, of the outside, of the albums on the wall. And then leave without buying anything. “Are you kidding me?” I asked. “I’m like, ‘I’m trying to run a business here, mates!'”
Time to get down to business. I told him I had searched the catalog to see what Elvis records they had and wasn’t sure how it all worked. He showed me the catalog on his computer and how it worked. (It really is impressive.) I said, “So I’d love to buy an Elvis record. I’m not picky. What do you have right now?” He said, “Will you be here next week? Someone’s donating 4,000 Elvis records.” “What?? No, I won’t be here next week. 4,000?” (Elvis Shakespeare runs on donations. If you’re looking to get rid of your collection of anything …)
He clicked around on the catalog. At that moment he had about 4 Elvis singles – “Green Green Grass of Home”, and … a couple of other 70s tracks. But he also had “Mess of Blues”, one of my favorites of Elvis’ early 60s period, off the Elvis is Back album. One of his rollicking-est tracks, he sounds unleashed, free – and in a different way than the unleashed-50s Elvis. He sounds like a man, not a boy. With that innocence, that pleasure.
So I said, “Mess of Blues, please!” David took me over to the drawer (all the singles were in drawers, organized by genre, and then alphabetically within genre). By the way, the store has a fun name, but it’s not like he just carries Elvis records and Shakespeare plays. If you’re a fan of punk or New Wave – the collection there is MASSIVE. So he pulled out the little 45, with the red RCA label, and it was beautiful and perfect. I was so excited!
Then I said I’d browse a little bit more. I wanted to buy something Scottish-related. I’m in Edinburgh. I’m not gonna buy Mark Twain in Scotland! So I started looking through the books. I kept getting sucked into the collection. These aren’t “rare” books, as far as I can tell – just paperbacks, but the collection itself was deep. Thoughtful. Like, the theatre section was particularly excellent. Lots of Scottish playwrights. I considered buying some Walter Scott. There was a collection of J.M. Barrie plays. Two strong contenders. But then I saw the collected works of a certain Scottish poet – THE Scottish poet – and the choice was made for me. Oh of course I’m buying this. There’s no other choice.
Then I browsed in fiction and one title popped out at me. There’s a strong Scottish connection with THIS book as well. I already have a copy, of course, as well as an annotated version of the book, but thought it would be fun to have a copy from Elvis Shakespeare.
My stash:
Very pleased!
I hung out for a while longer, chatting with David, and also his dog, who tiptoed out again to sniff around my hand. She was so sweet! I asked him what were the odds of me being able to catch a cab in this area. He gave me a doubtful look. “It’s been a long while since I’ve taken a cab. Way down at the end of this street there used to be a cab stand but I’m not sure if it’s there now. Where you going? Back up to the tourist area?” I told him where my hotel was. He said, “Your best bet would be to take a bus.” He told me the different numbers of the bus that would get me where I was going. Then he said, “Or you can take the tram. You’ll get off at Princes Street. You can pick it up right out front.”
Okay. Scared. But excited. He told me exactly what to do and I followed his instructions like a robot. I bought a one-way tram ticket. I asked a man standing there which side I wanted to get on if I wanted to get to Princes Street. The nice man told me everything. Me, reiterating: “So any train I get on on THIS side will stop there.” “Yes. Any train on this side will take you where you need to go.”
Everyone was right.
The tram was immaculate. It made me embarrassed for New York City’s appalling public transportation system. I got off at Princes Street, a fabulous area, really, and still had a massive hill to climb up – and then down again – to get to my home base … but it was all so gorgeous. The good thing about hills are: VIEWS.
I took my time. Enjoying the views. My legs felt it the next day. Lots of climbing. I didn’t buy anything else. I had brought a couple big books WITH me and hesitated to buy anything else I’d have to haul back. Figured two books and a 45 RCA Victor single was manageable.
David also gave me a little flier. I will keep it forever. It is so ridiculous and it makes me so happy. Look at the chest hair on Elvis Shakespeare!
Update: even more ridiculous, one of my old blog buddies – from literally day one – responded this way to my post about it on Facebook:
Loveth me tend’r, loveth me sweet
nev’r alloweth me wend
thee has’t madeth mine own life completeth
and i loveth thee so
loveth me tend’r, loveth me true
all mine own dreams fulfill
f’r, mine own ladybird, i loveth thee
and i at each moment shall
I reviewed Zia Anger’s first film – or, first released film – ) called My First Film. It will all become clear when you see it and you really must see it. Review over on Ebert.
Great shot in Janet Planet, one of my favorite films this year, directed by Annie Baker – her first film as a director. She’s a famous playwright. In 2015 I went to go see her three-hour play The Flick, when it was still at the Barrow Street Theatre, not at all a fancy venue. I saw it with the original cast. It is an experience I will never ever EVER forget. The “flick” referred to is a movie (the whole play takes place in a movie theatre). I’m super impressed with her already and now comes THIS.
One of our classmates in grad school lived in an illegal “apartment” in a mostly empty warehouse in the West ’20s. She occupied the whole entire floor, and she put up partitions. The space was massve and it had huge grimy windows. She couldn’t get mail there because … she wasn’t supposed to be living there. Nobody was. There were no amenities. There was a bathroom but I don’t think a shower. No kitchen. Oh, New York in the ’90s. Those warehouse spaces were the coin of the REALM. If you had one? You squatted there forever. The best parties I went to in the late ’90s were at these crazy warehouse spaces on darkened blocks. We filmed a short film at her apartment. It was huge, enough room for all the equipment. I have pictures of me at all these different parties and my hair color and hair style is radically different each time. I had black hair. I had platinum blonde hair. I reverted to my regular red hair. And then, I got sick of it and shaved my head. (To date, it’s my favorite haircut.) In this pic, Jen and I are clearly madly in love with each other, but the funniest thing to me about this picture is that we were not only friends but roommates. We ended up being roommates for nine happy years. NINE. YEARS. So it’s hilarious to me because … this is us. We LIVED together, it’s not like this was a rapturous reunion. We were literally taking the PATH back to our apartment together after the party. This is who we are as friends. I just saw Jen two weeks ago. Forever friend. Just FYI, Wade took this photo.
Yes. It was a millionaire who spouted that line. And I love that millionaire, don’t get me wrong, but I do not love the lyrics of that beloved song.
I saw Elvis Costello in concert three times. I was HEAVY into him for a good five or six years. I’ve kind of fallen off, but his music still means a lot to me. My boyfriend and I were obsessed. We discussed his music, we listened to Spike and King of America over and over again.
My brother wrote two pieces about Elvis Costello, which I’ll re-post: I love my brother’s writing!
The second is the description of going to see Elvis in concert, with my boyfriend, the one I just mentioned above. It’s a funny story, but a profound one too. “I Want You” – mentioned in the piece – is such a great insight – both lyrics and sound – into the mindset of a terrifying psychopath stalker. The Beatles have a couple too. Uhm, “Run For Your Life”? You listen to “I Want You” and you definitely should “run for your life”.
Thank you so much for stopping by. If you like what I do, and if you feel inclined to support my work, here’s a link to my Venmo account. And I’ve launched a Substack, Sheila Variations 2.0, if you’d like to subscribe.
