Virtually the whole of planet Earth rocked out to Trooper on Friday night at the Agrena, raising a little hell until the wee hours.
Not me, however. I stayed away, saving my energy, voice and blue suede shoes for the real star of Barrhead’s glorious weekend – Elvis.
That’s right, the King of Rock and Roll. Often just called the King.
For a 36-year-old dead person he looked in fantastic form on Saturday night when he performed at Ripple House Rock for more than three hours, with a few breaks here and there. Hips and pelvis were in good swivelling order, arms able to gyrate and pump, jet black hair sculpted and gleaming, sideburns chunky and well-trimmed, lungs still capable of belting out the hits.
“Are You Lonesome Tonight?,” “Heartbreak Hotel,” “My Way,” “Viva Las Vegas,” “Bridge over Troubled Water” – all the favourites were given a fresh rendering.
Who could not have been moved by the burning love of his delivery? Certainly not all the ladies who swooned before him, accepting an endless supply of scarves, hugs and kisses.
Certainly not those who continually danced up a storm in front of the stage at Barrhead Elementary School gym.
What the 320-strong crowd got was Elvis through the ages: cool, svelte and soberly clad in the 1950s, the all-black leather dude of 1968 and the Las Vegas Elvis of the 1970s, with the glittering, white jumpsuit and hands heavily beringed.
This was as high-energy performance from a corpse as you are ever likely to see. If this is death, bring it on, I say!
But then again, Elvis is not really dead, is he? Never was. That was just a ploy to get some quality alone time.
I know how Elvis felt. It can be hard having girls, girls, girls obsessing about you all day long, stalking you, sending love letters, fighting for your autograph and pleading for money or marriage or both. It’s hard being famous and handsome, trust me.
Often you just have to write “return to sender” on those amorous letters.
I briefly considered doing an Elvis, but rejected the “let’s-pretend-I-am-dead” routine in favour of heavy disguise.
The photo attached to this column is not, strictly speaking, of me. It’s me after a few nips, tucks, cheek implants, chin augmentations and hair treatments. A botched job, I agree, which left me crying in the chapel.
Anyway back to the other famous guy, Elvis, who got people all shook up at the Ripple Connection concert. Before I sign off I should make two things clear, because I know some folk have suspicious minds.
Firstly, I lied about Elvis. He is, in fact, more than likely dead. And secondly, the Ripple concert guy was an amazing Elvis tribute artist, Adam Fitzpatrick, so amazing that for the most part I thought I was in the presence of the King.
So are we clear now? The King is dead, long live Adam Fitzpatrick!
For Elvis fans I’ve stitched several song titles into my column, a little clumsily so they should be fairly obvious.
No prizes for getting them. Just award yourself a big hunk o’ love.
