ELVIS PRESLEY IN “EPiC”

I saw the new Elvis documentary EPiC (Elvis Presley in Concert). And listen…it lives up to the name.

The film is directed by Baz Luhrmann, the same visionary behind the Elvis biopic, Moulin Rouge! and The Great Gatsby. If you know his style, you know he doesn’t do small. He does color. He does rhythm. He does spectacle. And when he turned his lens on Elvis Presley, he didn’t just make a movie. He made a revival.

The man clearly gets what the big deal about Elvis is.

This wasn’t some cheap retelling. It was personal. It was protective. It felt like family saying, “Let us tell you who he really was.”

And trendy? Oh, it’s trendy. But not in a try-hard way. In a timeless way. Young fans are walking out saying, “Wait…THAT was Elvis?” Streams are up. Vinyl is spinning again. TikTok found him. But some of us never left. I’ve been here all along.

I love all kinds of music. Always have. That’s one reason I love Elvis. He didn’t stay in a lane. He built the highway.

Take rhythm and blues. Take Delta blues. Take country. Take gospel. Throw it in a blender. Hit purée. Out comes Elvis.

He sang blues like “Hound Dog” and “Reconsider Baby.”

He sang country like “Just Pretend” and “Kentucky Rain.”

He sang gospel like “How Great Thou Art” and “Peace in the Valley.”

And Christmas? Come on. “Holly Leaves and Christmas Trees.” “If Every Day Was Like Christmas.” The man is the soundtrack of December. You hear that voice and you see lights on a tree.

His range was ridiculous. Vocally and stylistically. He could growl. He could croon. He could testify. He could whisper. There are opera singers who would tip their hat to that control. He could move from the grit of Beale Street to the hush of a chapel in one set.

Now let’s mention something real.

Rock and roll didn’t fall out of the sky. It came out of Black churches. Black juke joints. Black pain. Black joy. Blues scales. Gospel shouts. Call and response. If you trace almost any mainstream American music backward far enough, you’ll find it rooted in Black music somewhere. Elvis grew up in the South listening to it, absorbing it, loving it. He didn’t invent it. He amplified it to a world that wasn’t listening. That is part of the story. The film doesn’t hide it.

Do yourself a favor. Go see why the King got that title for even a brief moment in time.

He was a freak of nature. Charisma off the charts. Timing you can’t teach. A face the camera adored. But more than that, I believe he was a gift of God. A man who could turn a rock concert into a cathedral. He would be swiveling his hips one minute and singing a gospel song the next. Right in the middle of Vegas. Right in the middle of the chaos. Almost like he couldn’t escape the church in him.

A lot of people have said bad things about him. Who have they not said bad things about? And “they”—let me emphasize that—“they” are often the biggest liars in the room. The faceless chorus. The rumor mill. The clickbait prophets.

Was he perfect? Clearly not. Neither are you. Neither am I.

In the film, rock and roll according to Elvis wasn’t rebellion for rebellion’s sake. It was release. It was a way to get things out. Even if you didn’t know what “it” was. You danced it out. You shouted it out. You sweated it out. And nobody got hurt in the process. It was therapy before they had a word for it.

I love Elvis. I respect him. I honestly think we would’ve been friends. I would’ve made him laugh. I can’t sing like Elvis, and he can’t preach like me. But he was a preacher in his own way, just like I sing in mine. Everybody has their gifts. Yours matter. Use them for good.

Do yourself a favor. Go see what the big deal is.

You might just find out the King still has a crown.

BDD