Are You Lonesome Tonight? (Laughing Version) – Elvis Presley – 1969
A few days ago it was the fortieth anniversary of the death of Elvis at the age of forty-two… or – if you’re one of those people – the fortieth anniversary of that time he faked his death and went to live on a farm with Marilyn Monroe and JFK.
Elvis was always prominent in my household when I was growing up: my dad loved his music and sometimes performed gigs as him, complete with a bejeweled white jumpsuit that he had specially made. I’ve got the jumpsuit now, tucked away in a suitcase.
Are You Lonesome Tonight? came out in 1960 and is one of Elvis’ most popular songs, although I’ve never really been a big fan of it, however this customised version from a Las Vegas gig in 1969, where he changed one of the lines fifty seconds in, always makes me smile. Unfortunately no video of the gig exists, which is a shame.
The performance humanises him in the simplest of ways – with laughter – and the break in character instantly makes him much more relatable. Listening to it reminds me that he was not just the cultural icon of his generation, and one of the music industry’s first true superstars, but a guy like everyone else. Yes, it’s corny, but sometimes the truth is just that.
Credit has to go to backing singer, Cissy Houston (Whitney’s mum), who never misses a beat throughout the entire performance, and her professionalism in the face of such lyrical anarchy is probably the reason Elvis never manages to get back on track with the song.
This is a fairly obscure novel that I won from a friend about twenty years ago after a typically heated and well contested game of Monopoly*. While all our friends were out drinking on a Saturday night, maybe trying to pick up a couple of girls, we were content with orange juice, a bowl of crisps, and gambling books on board games. Those were the days. Yeah, you’re right: I don’t know why we were single either.
It may be difficult to watch The Cosby Show these days without its family-friendly atmosphere being tainted by the recent sexual assault allegations that have been made against the head of the Huxtable household, but having said that, I’d be lying if I denied that it was one of my favourite sitcoms when I was growing up.
With legendary guru John Hughes in the director’s chair, and funnymen Steve Martin and John Candy in front of the cameras, Planes, Trains and Automobiles had all the potential in the world to be great… and thankfully, great is just what it is. It’s arguably the best thing that any of these guys put out in the eighties, if not their careers.
The infectious Kokomo was a massive hit in Australia in the summer of 1988, and it was because of this song that I bought my first piece of music at the height of its success – The Beach Boys’ compilation album, 
I’ve read dozens of Koontz novels over the years – from the pretty terrible to the pretty terrific – but the man has earned my respect and gets a pass for the odd misfire. He is one of those authors I will always find a way back to if I can’t think of anything else to read. I’ve always envied his style. Koontz doesn’t write long-winded paragraphs but squeezes a lot of character into so few words. It’s a lot harder than it looks. It’s definitely a skill I admire, and there are very few people who can do it better.
It may be hard to believe nowadays with how street-smart we all think we are, but back in 1992 Ghostwatch scared a lot of people. These days the internet would have burst the bubble of doubt long before the show even made it into our living rooms and the broadcast would have lost any ability it had to shock, but back then we were a little more naive and (apparently) a lot more gullible.
Ghostwatch was listed as a drama and had been pre-taped, but it was presented as if it was real and live on Halloween night. I think the primary reason a lot of people fell for the ruse was that it was hosted by Michael Parkinson, Sarah Greene, and Mike Smith. We trusted those guys, and there was no expectation of them being involved with something that was… well, kind of tacky.
-- Purveyor of Imagination -- 