Why I'll never fall out of love with Elvis

A few days ago, there was a news report on Adele's new album - 25, that has been hogging the Top 5 slot on the Official Albums List - being given a run for its money by a blast of music from the past: Elvis Presley's If I Can Dream. I love Adele; I think she has the voice of an angel. But no one, no one, can top Elvis: he's the god of music. I'm chuffed no end because only the other day, on Christmas Eve, there was a discussion among a few friends on the King of Rock 'n' Roll (a title I don't quite subscribe to, because I've always felt there's so much more to Elvis than rock 'n' roll; it's his non-rock numbers that are on my much-listened-to playlist - except, of course, I Ain't Nothing But A Hound Dog and Blue Suede Shoes. I find his signature Jailhouse Rock just the slightest bit overrated).
One of my friends who has, in my book, the weirdest taste in music but calls himself a 'purist' nonetheless, said, "Elvis was not even a singer - only those who are musically challenged like him." While I was spluttering in rage - not so much for being called a 'music illiterate' but at the notional implication of Elvis's talent being brought into question, someone else smugly summed up: "He's simply not relevant now." Again, I violently disagreed: Presley can never be irrelevant; his music cuts across generations and timelines.
Now, I can take a bow. If I Can Dream is having a dream run in the age of death rock and those ghastly genres that have no business being labelled music: hip-hop and rap.
If the god of music had not succumbed to his indulgent lifestyle in 1977 (long before I knew of him), he would have turned 81 today, Friday, the 8th of January, 2016. It's a mental checkpoint for me. It's not that I dedicate 8th January to Elvis and listen to his songs the whole day long. Because I've listened to Elvis (almost) every day since I got acquainted to him in the Eighties, when my mother bought me my first cassette of his. Elvis Presley's Greatest Hits. I had wanted a Jim Reeves cassette (and mom had been clear she'd only buy me one) since I liked his songs on Musical Bandbox that I used to be glued to every Sunday between 1pm and 2pm, on All India Radio - especially Bimbo, Bimbo, where ya gonna go-e-o that had a lovely, catchy beat. I wasn't very pleased to be getting an Elvis cassette. "Who's this guy, what kind of stuff does he sing?" I wanted to know. "Hear him out," mommy said sternly. "You may like him."
I fell in love with Elvis Aaron Presley - the boy from Memphis, Tennessee -soon after (I'd have fallen for him just on account of his looks, and there was a time when I thought Priscilla Presley was the luckiest woman to have walked on Earth). I don't know how many times I replayed You Don't Have To Say You Love Me - with that little choke in his voice - but it was probably the reason my two-in-one had to be sent to the service station: for overplay. I bought every book I could on Elvis (there weren't too many available in pre-globalised India); as a schoolgirl, I didn't have too much pocket money, so I'd go to the second-hand bookstores on Free School Street in Calcutta and scrounge for old magazines that had features on him. Once, someone gave me the VHS of This Is Elvis, and I almost flunked my school-leaving exams because I used to be watching it at least thrice a day.
I've never fallen out of love with Elvis, not for a single day, it's one of those 'love is eternal' epiphanies that actually last a lifetime. But that's not the reason (I know love can be irrational) why I believe he's the greatest singer to have graced Earth. I remember listening to, and watching, him on that VHS, where he sings My Way (a cover of Frank Sinatra's original); it was at one of his last performances. Physically, he was a wreck, he could barely hold himself together. But when he sang, it was magic. Ditto for Bridge Over Troubled Waters; I'd often wondered how it was possible for anyone to do a better job with it than Simon & Garfunkel; I'd obviously not factored in Elvis. He gave the song new meaning - the way he sang.
One of my other favourites is his rendition of How Great Thou Art - which he sings while he looks as though he's in a drug-induced haze (he probably was). When he sings it, a sinner has his closest chance to long for beatification.
How great thou art. Elvis Presley. Happy birthday.
sushmita@khaleejtimes.com