Memphis

Interstate 40 ambles across Tennessee a solid 200 miles from Nashville to Memphis, and yesterday I spent the whole ride with Paul Simon's "Graceland" stuck in my head. "Graceland, Graceland, Memphis Tennessee I'm goin' to Graceland..." and so on and so forth. It was a long drive.

I'd like to think that Americans can be forgiven the mistake of picturing Memphis as populated solely by Elvis impersonators and the legions of adoring fans who treat Graceland like Mecca, kind of like how most Americans think of my home state of New Jersey as nothing more than a wasteland of freeways and factories. Thankfully, neither is the case.

If Nashville is famous for the home of country, Memphis is famous for the birthplace of blues and rock and roll. Starting in the 1930's, farmers displaced by industrialization moved to the cities. In Memphis, blacks took refuge on Beale Street, a place where live music in the form of jug bands and other types became a tradition. The street became a hodge podge of styles and ideas, eventually taking shape into a new genre.

Nowadays the street continues to offer live music, but it mainly caters to tourists. Vendors hawk "big ass beers" while the mostly white crowd shuffles by in a happy stupor, much like what I suspect Bourbon Street In New Orleans is like. By night the neon signs provide a garish glow as scores of police officers show up to keep order.

It might be kind of sad if it wasn't so much damn fun. I spent hours yesterday listening to a live show in a park, clapping and laughing with the other tourists. When it got dark, I wandered up and down the street, ducking in and out of dark bars and taking in the music everywhere I stood.

This morning I went to Graceland. Graceland stands ten or so miles outside of Memphis, past used car lots, pawn shops, old motels and generally unsavory characters. Come upon Graceland, however, and the street becomes Disneyland: massive parking lots, lines for tickets, shuttle buses, and the wonderful opportunity to part with your money approximately every three feet. Parking costs $6, and with a student ID and a AAA card I was able to get the basic mansion tour for $21.25. I could barely afford to eat today.

According to Frommer's USA, Graceland is the 2nd most visited home in the United States. 1,000 bonus points to the person who can name number one on the list.

Elvis bought his mansion in 1957 at the age of 22, but remodeled in the seventies, and the result is unintential comedy. The place is hysterical and a testament to the poor tastes of the era. Or possibly just Elvis.

The "jungle room" with the green shag carpet was even better, but the lighting wasn't good enough in there.

Having been born four years after his death, I missed the hysteria over Elvis, and don't quite understand the hype today. But there's no question the man lived like - dare I say it? - a king, however garish and outlandish it all might seem to us now.