Rare Elvis Live in July 1975

[vivaelvis_72]

Not the best footage but it's rarely we get to see anyting from the "forgotten" July 1975 tour. Still entertaining and shows that Elvis still had some magic left before the downfall.

..

[midnightx]

I wonder if a remix or duet could be constructed from the lo-fidelity tape?

[vivaelvis_72]

I wonder if a remix or duet could be constructed from the lo-fidelity tape?

Com'on man. Don't try and stir the pot with drivel. Let's keep it civil. I'm not here for my health. I thought those with interest would care, just like with my dream covers I make.

[fn2drive]

I was there. Most of the magic that afternoon was provided by an adoring crowd. That clip brought back my memory of how ridiculous he looked performing Burning Love and how uncomfortable I felt watching him. Hard to imagine that with what was yet to come July 75 would be the good old days. He was in great voice and spirits-should have left the other Voice at home and done us all a favor. Thanks for the link.

[Alexander]

I was there. Most of the magic that afternoon was provided by an adoring crowd. That clip brought back my memory of how ridiculous he looked performing Burning Love and how uncomfortable I felt watching him. Hard to imagine that with what was yet to come July 75 would be the good old days. He was in great voice and spirits-should have left the other Voice at home and done us all a favor. Thanks for the link.

Could you explain that please: why did he look rediculous while performing Burning Love in particular and what made you feel so uncomfortable this show? Did you see Elvis before and what was different. (To me he looks rediculous in this suit but I always found Elvis in nice shape in July 1975) I am happy to read your experiences if it is not too much trouble to share fn2drive.

[rickeap]

Nice clip, thanks for sharing Viva.
I haven't seen that footage before so much appreciated.
And your covers are pretty cool too.
He seems to be really getting into Burning Love, can't see anything bad about it and it's much more lively than Aloha.

[rickeap]

here's another one from the same tour, too bad it's silent

[Lexie1973]

(To me he looks rediculous in this suit but I always found Elvis in nice shape in July 1975)

Hey, that's a matter of taste. I've always loved this suit!

[Swingin-Little-Guitar-Man]

(To me he looks rediculous in this suit but I always found Elvis in nice shape in July 1975)

Hey, that's a matter of taste. I've always loved this suit!

NO WAY??!!

It's absolutely gruesome!

[luckyjackson1]

Man I don't know why, but I LOVE his looks in June and July '75, maybe also for the gruesome outfits which set apart (positive or negative) from the regular jumpsuits... (hope I pronounced this correctly).

He looked different in the face, probably for the previous cosmetic surgery.

1975-07-20 - Norfolk, Virginia.jpg

[elvisalisellers]

Nice clip, thanks for sharing Viva.
I haven't seen that footage before so much appreciated.
And your covers are pretty cool too.
He seems to be really getting into Burning Love, can't see anything bad about it and it's much more lively than Aloha.

Me too, he looks really great [though obviously heavier than normal] and into 'Burning love' for a change ! I seem to recall someone else posting more alternate very good quality footage from this fantastic July 75' tour. From what i remember much of it was filmed to the side or behind Elvis BUT the thing that struck me was that all of it appeared to be FILMED FROM THE STAGE ! One angle had the person filming it right under the noses of the Sweet Inspirations who did not raise an eye - As if they were told prior to the gig it was going to be filmed. To me it looked like at the very least semi-pro footage though granted it was at least 2 generations away in quality from the original source. I just wonder if the reason the sudden up-turn in Elvis' performances during this tour has anything to do with a film project no-one has ever heard of ever existing - it's a possibility - No one knows everything. Will try and find that original thread with the unusual stage footage.

[JosephC]

Always thought this show was excellent, for the period, just from the clips on youtube and the reviews we've all seen. This one by Nik Cohn is my fave:

http://observer.guardian.co.uk/omm/story/0,,1994457,00.html

Would love to have this on soundboard...and I don't think he looks bad.

JosephC

[elvisjock]

Nothing says "1975" like the Gypsy and Aztec suits. Men's fashion, in general, was at a nadir. Elvis looks outrageous, but we forget he was playing to a room full of people in plaid pants and white shoes.

Nassau was the one of the last times we see him appearing relatively healthy. Overweight? Yes. Sick? No. And, he gave one of the great performances of his life when he sat at the piano and played You'll Never Walk Alone.

[DEH]

I think he looks great in this footage. The July 1975 tour was the last time he would look great in concert. And i actually like the outfit.

[Robert]

This must be it, the ultimate 1975 Elvis concert review..
(Thanks Joseph)






Observer Music Monthly's panel of musicians pick the best 25 gigs ever this Sunday. Here, Nik Cohn recalls Elvis Presley at Nassau Coliseum, Long Island on July 19, 1975

Friday 19 January 2007
Observer.co.uk


Elvis in concert.

Elvis had two years to live but already seemed a dead man walking. When I saw him in Las Vegas the year before, he'd been robotic. A crash diet had slimmed him down, temporarily, to something close to his youthful shape; it had also drained him of all energy. In Vegas, he sleepwalked through his old hits, often trailing off halfway through a verse to launch into dark, incoherent mumblings. Only on 'How Great Thou Art' did he cast off a sense of creeping dread. At the final bellowed line - 'O my God, how great thou art' - his voice turned raw and harsh, and he sounded like a great wounded beast, stumbling towards oblivion. When the house lights went on, most of the people around me were in tears.
Afterwards, I felt this was my last Elvis show. I'd loved him since 'Heartbreak Hotel', kept the faith through all his subsequent highs and lows, but I could no longer stand to watch him self-destruct.

It took the sneers of New York's hiperati to change my mind. In '75, Dylan and the Stones were the reigning gods of the rock establishment, Springsteen its new rising star. Elvis was seen as ancient history, a curiosity at best. Instead of Madison Square Garden, he was reduced to playing Long Island, an hour's drive and light years from Manhattan. A publicist for 10cc called him a circus freak. I wasn't having that.

It was a broiling night. Nassau Coliseum, an arena most often used for hockey games, felt like a Turkish bath. If you bought a souvenir programme or poster, it stuck to the fingers like glue, and the crowd made use of this, holding up pictures of Elvis like religious artefacts. As the lights dimmed and the theme from 2001: A Space Odyssey sounded, announcing the King's arrival, a sea of ghostly images of his lost youth and beauty greeted him

The sacramental spirit was typical of Elvis shows in his final phase. His audience - families from grandmas to babies, bottled blondes of a certain age, working stiffs and their wives - didn't come simply to be entertained but to share in an act of communion. Richard Nixon's silent majority, they used their idol's life to channel and bear witness to their own; to relive first loves and marriages and divorces, glory days and wreckage alike. It was no coincidence that Elvis had spent his childhood Sundays at Holy Roller services. There was something Pentecostal about his stage presence. Even in ruins, drug-addled and bloated, he made the faithful feel blessed.

This night on Long Island, though, he was no ruin; certainly not the zombie I'd seen in Vegas. He'd packed on major poundage, his moon face had lost all definition, and there was no mistaking the corset straining to hold in his gut, yet he seemed reborn. Maybe he'd hit on a new cocktail of pills, or maybe the off-stage turmoil I'd heard was threatening to wreck his tour had whipped him to a froth. Either way, he charged out on stage like a man primed to do or die.

His outfit, even by his standards of overkill, was ludicrous. Midnight blue bell-bottoms and a plus-size sequined belt were set off by a suit-of-lights matador jacket, a rhinestone dazzle of crimson and blue and gold. Blackpool illuminations had nothing on him. Still, as he struck a karate pose that almost exploded his corset, he launched into 'Big Boss Man' with a fire and attack I hadn't heard from him in years and didn't expect to hear again.

Memories of his 1968 TV special, his last great triumph, and a time when his guitarist James Burton had described him to me as 'a lean, mean, killing machine', flooded back. Lean and mean might be out the window, but the killing machine was up and pumping. Even the Fifties' medley, which he usually threw off like used Kleenex, struck sparks. I've never seen a man sweat so hard, he seemed to be washing away. Though I won't pretend to recall every song, I can still hear his balls-out, almost brutish revamp of 'Hound Dog' and the limpidity of 'I'm Leavin', aching with futile regrets.

At first, the audience wasn't quite sure how to respond. It was almost as though a loved one on life support had suddenly ripped out the tubes, disconnected the oxygen tent, and started doing cartwheels up and down the ward - thrilling, yes, but we were also fearful, half-expecting him to collapse. It took time before we trusted our eyes and ears, and started to exult.

More than 30 years later, I see Elvis clutching an outsize toy duck that someone has thrown to him; swiping at his eyes, trying to swat away the floods of sweat; and down on one knee, head bowed and arms flung wide, soaking up our adulation, then struggling to rise again. And I see him reaching down to the front row, handing out bright-coloured scarves and accepting kisses in return. He makes his way to the end of the row, where he's confronted by a chic model type in dark glasses, who doesn't offer a kiss but a sneer. Obviously, she finds him absurd, a sad old man. Elvis feels this and recoils. He makes an indeterminate motion of his right hand, hard to say if he's pleading with her or cursing her out, before turning his back. The show resumes. Elvis is still impassioned, but now there's a note of desperation, something haunted. After a few minutes, he sits down at the piano and starts to sing 'You'll Never Walk Alone'.

It's a song I despise, but Elvis clearly loves it. Years later, I'll read that Roy Hamilton's 1954 version was a major inspiration in making him a singer. At any rate, he tells us he's always wanted to perform it on stage. Tonight's the night.

Instead of the triumphalism of Gerry Marsden and the Kop End, he treats the song as a private meditation, full of pain and the yearning to believe. Though the lyrics speak of hope, Elvis turns them into a cry, as if reaching for one last sliver of light in engulfing darkness. I am alone, he seems to be saying. All of us are alone. But maybe, just maybe, we can find someone or something to cling to. In his case, it's God. But each of us, hearing him, reaches for our own salvation.

The rest of the night is a blur. Objectively, I have seen better shows - Jimi Hendrix at the Savoy, Prince at the Ritz, James Brown (more than once) at the Apollo, and Johnny Paycheck at the Acadia County Fair, to name just a few. None chilled me as profoundly as those few minutes of Elvis alone at the piano, singing a song I can't stand. If great art needs nakedness, it was the most naked performance I've ever witnessed.

[ekenee]

This must be it, the ultimate 1975 Elvis concert review..
(Thanks Joseph)






Observer Music Monthly's panel of musicians pick the best 25 gigs ever this Sunday. Here, Nik Cohn recalls Elvis Presley at Nassau Coliseum, Long Island on July 19, 1975

Friday 19 January 2007
Observer.co.uk


Elvis in concert.

Elvis had two years to live but already seemed a dead man walking. When I saw him in Las Vegas the year before, he'd been robotic. A crash diet had slimmed him down, temporarily, to something close to his youthful shape; it had also drained him of all energy. In Vegas, he sleepwalked through his old hits, often trailing off halfway through a verse to launch into dark, incoherent mumblings. Only on 'How Great Thou Art' did he cast off a sense of creeping dread. At the final bellowed line - 'O my God, how great thou art' - his voice turned raw and harsh, and he sounded like a great wounded beast, stumbling towards oblivion. When the house lights went on, most of the people around me were in tears.
Afterwards, I felt this was my last Elvis show. I'd loved him since 'Heartbreak Hotel', kept the faith through all his subsequent highs and lows, but I could no longer stand to watch him self-destruct.

It took the sneers of New York's hiperati to change my mind. In '75, Dylan and the Stones were the reigning gods of the rock establishment, Springsteen its new rising star. Elvis was seen as ancient history, a curiosity at best. Instead of Madison Square Garden, he was reduced to playing Long Island, an hour's drive and light years from Manhattan. A publicist for 10cc called him a circus freak. I wasn't having that.

It was a broiling night. Nassau Coliseum, an arena most often used for hockey games, felt like a Turkish bath. If you bought a souvenir programme or poster, it stuck to the fingers like glue, and the crowd made use of this, holding up pictures of Elvis like religious artefacts. As the lights dimmed and the theme from 2001: A Space Odyssey sounded, announcing the King's arrival, a sea of ghostly images of his lost youth and beauty greeted him

The sacramental spirit was typical of Elvis shows in his final phase. His audience - families from grandmas to babies, bottled blondes of a certain age, working stiffs and their wives - didn't come simply to be entertained but to share in an act of communion. Richard Nixon's silent majority, they used their idol's life to channel and bear witness to their own; to relive first loves and marriages and divorces, glory days and wreckage alike. It was no coincidence that Elvis had spent his childhood Sundays at Holy Roller services. There was something Pentecostal about his stage presence. Even in ruins, drug-addled and bloated, he made the faithful feel blessed.

This night on Long Island, though, he was no ruin; certainly not the zombie I'd seen in Vegas. He'd packed on major poundage, his moon face had lost all definition, and there was no mistaking the corset straining to hold in his gut, yet he seemed reborn. Maybe he'd hit on a new cocktail of pills, or maybe the off-stage turmoil I'd heard was threatening to wreck his tour had whipped him to a froth. Either way, he charged out on stage like a man primed to do or die.

His outfit, even by his standards of overkill, was ludicrous. Midnight blue bell-bottoms and a plus-size sequined belt were set off by a suit-of-lights matador jacket, a rhinestone dazzle of crimson and blue and gold. Blackpool illuminations had nothing on him. Still, as he struck a karate pose that almost exploded his corset, he launched into 'Big Boss Man' with a fire and attack I hadn't heard from him in years and didn't expect to hear again.

Memories of his 1968 TV special, his last great triumph, and a time when his guitarist James Burton had described him to me as 'a lean, mean, killing machine', flooded back. Lean and mean might be out the window, but the killing machine was up and pumping. Even the Fifties' medley, which he usually threw off like used Kleenex, struck sparks. I've never seen a man sweat so hard, he seemed to be washing away. Though I won't pretend to recall every song, I can still hear his balls-out, almost brutish revamp of 'Hound Dog' and the limpidity of 'I'm Leavin', aching with futile regrets.

At first, the audience wasn't quite sure how to respond. It was almost as though a loved one on life support had suddenly ripped out the tubes, disconnected the oxygen tent, and started doing cartwheels up and down the ward - thrilling, yes, but we were also fearful, half-expecting him to collapse. It took time before we trusted our eyes and ears, and started to exult.

More than 30 years later, I see Elvis clutching an outsize toy duck that someone has thrown to him; swiping at his eyes, trying to swat away the floods of sweat; and down on one knee, head bowed and arms flung wide, soaking up our adulation, then struggling to rise again. And I see him reaching down to the front row, handing out bright-coloured scarves and accepting kisses in return. He makes his way to the end of the row, where he's confronted by a chic model type in dark glasses, who doesn't offer a kiss but a sneer. Obviously, she finds him absurd, a sad old man. Elvis feels this and recoils. He makes an indeterminate motion of his right hand, hard to say if he's pleading with her or cursing her out, before turning his back. The show resumes. Elvis is still impassioned, but now there's a note of desperation, something haunted. After a few minutes, he sits down at the piano and starts to sing 'You'll Never Walk Alone'.

It's a song I despise, but Elvis clearly loves it. Years later, I'll read that Roy Hamilton's 1954 version was a major inspiration in making him a singer. At any rate, he tells us he's always wanted to perform it on stage. Tonight's the night.

Instead of the triumphalism of Gerry Marsden and the Kop End, he treats the song as a private meditation, full of pain and the yearning to believe. Though the lyrics speak of hope, Elvis turns them into a cry, as if reaching for one last sliver of light in engulfing darkness. I am alone, he seems to be saying. All of us are alone. But maybe, just maybe, we can find someone or something to cling to. In his case, it's God. But each of us, hearing him, reaches for our own salvation.

The rest of the night is a blur. Objectively, I have seen better shows - Jimi Hendrix at the Savoy, Prince at the Ritz, James Brown (more than once) at the Apollo, and Johnny Paycheck at the Acadia County Fair, to name just a few. None chilled me as profoundly as those few minutes of Elvis alone at the piano, singing a song I can't stand. If great art needs nakedness, it was the most naked performance I've ever witnessed.

I love that last paragraph.
I recall the first time I ever heard that performance, but to actually witness it in person
must have been something.

[vivaelvis_72]

The Gypsy suit was actually a step up from the hideous dragon and peacock suits he wore in '74.

[rickeap]

Nice review, thanks Robert.
I agree about You'll Never Walk Alone

[Swingin-Little-Guitar-Man]

The Gypsy suit was actually a step up from the hideous dragon and peacock suits he wore in '74.

are you a comedian?