Even Elvis Presley

I love Elvis. I mean really love Elvis. From 9 years of age I was obsessed. I joined the Official Elvis Presley Fan Club of Great Britain and the Commonwealth, PO Box 4, Leicester. You see I can still remember the full name and address. A few miles from my house was an Elvis shop. I thought every town had one. But it turns out Heanor Record Centre was one of a kind. I’m sort of thrilled that Elvis Monthly magazine and the first UK fan club were set up by a bloke from Langley Mill just a mile or two from my birthplace (Take a bow Albert Hand).

This is me in my bedroom aged 10.

Aged 10

Anyway I’ve been full on obsessed with Elvis for over 35 years. I’ve sang his songs but I’ve never sang a song about him. Until now. I wrote this a few months ago after another book binge. I now have 104 Elvis biographies and countless magazines. I have a room in my house for them. Here’s a selection. elvis library

One of the things people forget about Elvis was his difficult and traumatic childhood. And then his difficult and traumatic ascent into adulthood and the death of his beloved Mother in 1958, triggering what we would now recognise as a mental breakdown. But at the time Elvis was sent immediately back into the Army and just got on with it. His whole life he had insomnia. He didn’t really cry himself to sleep like the song says, he took vast amounts of sleeping pills. But he did suffer with depression. I guess the song is saying, no matter how great life may seem for someone from the outside, it might not be so great from the inside. It’s really about counting your blessings and remembering that even someone who had all the riches and gifts that Elvis had, still had his problems. We’re all human.

As Elvis himself often said “Don’t criticize what you don’t understand, son. You never walked in that man’s shoes.”

Even Elvis Presley cried himself to sleep at night.
(C) Words and Music by Matt Hill 2016

If I’d been born a poor boy if I’d taken all those risks
and they’d screamed my name at concerts if I’d sold a million discs

If I’d bought my own jet plane and had the freedom of the skies
If I could drop in on the President just to look him in the eyes

Could it kill the memories of the poverty I’d known
Of the days when I was hungry when I didn’t have a home?
Who can say, who can say?

So when I’m walking lonely street and I’ve nowhere left to go
When I’m feeling empty and my mood is sinking low
Here’s what I remember when nothing’s going right
Even Elvis Presley cried himself to sleep at night.

And if every head was turning from the moment I walked in
If I could hear them gasp and say ‘is that really him?’

If I’d had all that money and bought a mansion on a hill
If I had my own doctor to prescribe me any pill

Would it kill the memory of the struggle and the strife
of the ever present dangers that took my brother’s life?
Who can say, who can say?