Unpacking “It’s Alright Elvis”: The Genesis of a Legend
Welcome to a deep dive into a pivotal moment in music history, brought to you by Shock Naue Entertainment News. In this feature, we explore the fascinating story behind “That’s All Right, Mama,” the single credited with launching the career of Elvis Presley and arguably giving birth to rock and roll as we know it. For many, this song encapsulates the raw, revolutionary sound of early Elvis, the very essence of why it’s alright elvis became a phrase synonymous with musical transformation. Let’s journey back to Memphis in the mid-1950s and uncover the forces that converged to create this iconic recording.
The Starlite Wranglers, a country band based in Memphis, were not the kind of group one would typically expect to spark a revolution in music. Yet, elements from this seemingly ordinary ensemble would play a crucial role. Their style was distinctly country, with pedal steel, violin, and a singer named Doug Poindexter. Their single on Sun Records sounded purely like Hank Williams, and like thousands of similar records by obscure country bands, it wasn’t destined for lasting fame.
Sun Records itself was Sam Phillips’ second venture into the recording business. His first label, Phillips, had been short-lived. Having learned lessons from leasing masters to labels like Modern, Duke, and Chess – which often led to artists being poached – Phillips decided to run his own label to control the music he believed in. Sam Phillips was driven by a powerful mission: he was convinced he could use music to help end racism in the US. His goal was to make white audiences love the music created by black artists as much as he did. Success for Sun Records, therefore, was not just a business objective but a moral imperative. He sought a sound or an artist that could achieve the impact of records like “Rocket 88” (which he leased to Chess) or artists as significant as Howlin’ Wolf, whom Phillips considered the greatest artist he ever recorded.
Howlin’ Wolf had recorded several singles at Phillips’ studio before Sun Records existed, which were leased to other labels. However, these labels soon bypassed Phillips to record Wolf directly. Phillips often felt that Wolf’s subsequent recordings for Chess lacked the magic captured at 706 Union Ave. With Wolf elsewhere, Phillips needed someone new, someone with that unique spark.
Phillips had a strategy to gain attention: create an “answer record.” This was a common practice in 1950s blues and R&B, where a hit song would often inspire another artist to release a response. Phillips had an idea for an answer song to “Hound Dog.” In his view, “hound dog” was a term women used for a gigolo, and the female equivalent was a “bear cat.” So, Sam Phillips “wrote” “Bear Cat,” credited to him, though its melody and lyrics bore striking similarity to “Hound Dog.” Answer records often operated this way, and typically, it caused no fuss.
He enlisted local Memphis DJ Rufus Thomas to sing the track. “Bear Cat” became one of Sun’s very first releases and surprisingly climbed to number three on the R&B charts – a significant achievement for a new label. The less welcome surprise came when Duke Records sued Phillips for copyright infringement. Having a massive hit in the same city as the copyright holder made taking credit for someone else’s song a costly mistake. Phillips remained bitter about the money lost on the record.
Despite the success of “Bear Cat” and recording great blues records by artists like Joe Hill Louis, Sam wasn’t achieving his ultimate goal. The obstacle, as he saw it, was the audience. He knew there was an audience for the music black artists were making, but mainstream white audiences weren’t buying it directly from black performers. White audiences represented the potential for massive success due to their greater numbers and disposable income.
Phillips began to ponder if he could find a white artist who possessed the same kind of musical feeling and soul as the black musicians he worked with. If he could achieve this – if he could get white people to simply listen to black people’s music, even performed by a white person – he believed it would eventually open their ears to the black originals and help break down racial barriers. (Sam Phillips was known for his grand ideas and his belief that he could convince anyone if they would just listen. A few years later, during the Cuban missile crisis, he even attempted to call Fidel Castro, believing he could negotiate a settlement due to his view of Castro as a “good guy” compared to Batista. He actually got through to Raul Castro and spoke for a while – though history doesn’t record if his intervention prevented nuclear war.)
So, Sam Phillips was ready when history walked into his studio. Elvis Aaron Presley’s name didn’t scream “teen idol,” and his background was equally unlikely for a future star. The son of a poor sharecropper from Mississippi who had moved to Memphis, Elvis worked as a truck driver when he first entered Memphis Recording Service in 1953 to record a song for his mother.
Phillips’ assistant, Marion Keisker, heard the young man and reportedly thought she had found the very person Phillips sought – a white man who could sing like a black man. This is Keisker’s version of the story; Sam Phillips always maintained he discovered Elvis. However, listening to Elvis’s initial recording – covers of “My Happiness” and “That’s When Your Heartaches Begin” – it’s hard to discern what sounded “black” about his style. “That’s When Your Heartaches Begin” was originally recorded by the Ink Spots, a black group, but their style was smooth and crooner-esque, which is precisely how Presley sang it. There was no obvious blues or R&B feel in his vocal on those early tracks.
Regardless of who “discovered” him or what precisely they heard, Sam Phillips recognized something significant in the young Elvis: an attitude. But not the kind of swagger one might expect. Elvis Presley was a quiet, introverted country boy who had been bullied at school. He dressed unusually, kept to himself, and was only truly close to his mother. His few friends often didn’t know about all his interests; he mostly enjoyed listening to music, reading comic books, and fantasizing about singing harmony in a gospel quartet like the Jordanaires.
He hung out with other teenagers from his housing block, including Johnny and Dorsey Burnette, and Johnny Black, whose older brother Bill was the bass player for the Starlite Wranglers. They sometimes bullied him but allowed him to hang around and sing with them, Elvis always standing slightly apart, not quite part of the group. He briefly considered becoming an electrician but was so clumsy, giving himself shocks and causing short circuits, that he later joked it was a miracle he didn’t start fires.
Elvis didn’t have many friends and no close ones, and many acquaintances weren’t even aware of his passion for music. Yet, he was absorbing music from every possible source: the country groups his mother listened to (like the Louvin Brothers), the gospel quartets popular among the religious poor in the area, the music he heard at his white Pentecostal church (which shared a fervent style with black Holly Roller churches like the one Sister Rosetta Tharpe attended). He would also venture down Beale Street to listen to blues artists like B.B. King. Young Elvis even bought his clothes from Lansky’s on Beale, a store favored by black people, rather than where other white kids shopped.
He wasn’t someone who seamlessly integrated into the black community like Johnny Otis; rather, he was an outsider who didn’t fit in anywhere. He was shy, unpopular, and his appearance was considered odd. He didn’t own many records but absorbed songs from the radio with incredible ease, able to sing something perfectly after hearing it just once, whether it was by the Ink Spots or Arthur Crudup.
His deepest musical aspiration, however, was to sing gospel music, specifically what was euphemistically called “Southern Gospel,” which at the time primarily meant white quartet gospel. This is a critical distinction. While black gospel, popularized by figures like Thomas Dorsey, Sister Rosetta Tharpe, and Mahalia Jackson, heavily influenced fifties R&B vocals and thus rock and roll (think Ray Charles or Sam Cooke), Southern Gospel had a different style. It was almost exclusively white, male, and group-based, often sounding somewhat like barbershop music to unaccustomed ears. While sharing repertoire with black gospel, the performance style was vastly different.
The Blackwood Brothers were young Elvis Presley’s favorite group. He was such a devoted fan that he attended the funeral of two members who died in a 1954 plane crash. He auditioned for several gospel quartets but never found a place. Yet, throughout his life, this was the music he always returned to, seizing any opportunity to sing as part of a gospel group rather than a solo artist. However, lacking a group, he remained a solo singer – a teenager with a notably spotty neck. This physical detail, along with his greasy hair and tendency to look down and mumble, is frequently mentioned in eyewitness accounts from his early days. What Sam Phillips observed in this awkward teenager was a profound sense of insecurity.
It was a feeling Phillips recognized himself, having been hospitalized for severe depression requiring electric shock therapy years earlier. But it was also something he saw in the black musicians he worked with, who were often weighed down by a racist system. Phillips didn’t fully understand the source of this teenage boy’s attitude, what made him a scared, insecure outsider. But whatever it was, Elvis Presley was the only white man Phillips had met whose demeanor, bearing, and way of speaking reminded him of the great black artists he knew, like Howlin’ Wolf or B.B. King. This sparked his eagerness to work with Elvis and see what might happen.
Phillips decided to pair Elvis with guitarist Scotty Moore and bass player Bill Black from the Starlite Wranglers. Neither musician was a technical virtuoso; they were considered barely competent by some at the time. But for Phillips, this was a plus. They played with feeling, not flashiness, and wouldn’t overshadow the singer. He particularly trusted Scotty’s instincts and arranged for Elvis to rehearse with the two older musicians. Scotty Moore wasn’t initially impressed, or at least he thought he wasn’t. But there was something about the kid, something compelling enough to warrant giving him a chance, even if Moore couldn’t articulate why.
So, Sam Phillips scheduled a recording session, initially planning to record a ballad, as that was the style Elvis had sung in his auditions. They tried several songs that didn’t quite fit until they landed on “That’s All Right, Mama,” a song first recorded by Arthur “Big Boy” Crudup in 1946. Crudup was a country-blues singer known for reworking similar themes and melodies. “That’s All Right, Mama” itself evolved from earlier Crudup recordings and was influenced by Blind Lemon Jefferson’s “Black Snake Moan.”
elvis presley that's all right mama
Crudup’s records were often based on a template, using floating lyrics and similar melodies. Elvis, Scotty, and Bill, however, didn’t follow that template precisely. Elvis’s version takes Crudup’s country-blues feel and transforms it into something new – faster-paced, drenched in Sam Phillips’ signature echo. Bill Black’s slapback bass replaces the drums of Crudup’s version. To modern ears, it sounds like rock and roll, but at the time, it might have been labeled “hillbilly.”
Elvis Presley in 1954 wearing baggy trousers, during the start of his career at Sun Records
There’s a distinct attitude in Presley’s singing on this track, one that set him apart from most contemporary country music. There’s a playfulness, an irreverence that feels closer to jazz-pop singers like Ella Fitzgerald than to traditional blues or country. He handles the song with a light touch, unafraid to sound a little goofy if it serves the record. He moves effortlessly through his vocal range, singing with an assurance remarkable for someone so young and inexperienced in public performance. This track became a landmark, defining what it’s alright elvis would come to signify – a blend of influences resulting in something utterly original.
For the B-side, they chose a song from a completely different genre: Bill Monroe’s bluegrass classic “Blue Moon of Kentucky.” Elvis, Scotty, and Bill reimagined this song in a style similar to “That’s All Right, Mama.” These early tracks are sparse, featuring only Elvis’s strummed acoustic guitar, Black’s percussive slapback bass, and Scotty Moore’s simple electric guitar fills, all elevated by Sam Phillips’ secret weapon: his unique echo effect.
Phillips had devised a simple, ingenious system using two tape recorders. Instead of multi-tracking, one recorder captured the studio sound while the other simultaneously played that sound back for the first recorder to record again, creating a “slapback” echo. Nobody could replicate this technique, and artists who left Sun often struggled to achieve a similar sound elsewhere. On “Blue Moon of Kentucky,” this echo transformed Monroe’s bluegrass into something entirely new, a sound that would later be dubbed “rockabilly.”
elvis presley singing how great thou art
Phillips took the record to his friend, DJ Dewey Phillips (no relation), who played it on his R&B show, “Red, Hot and Blue.” When Elvis learned Dewey was going to play his record, he was so nervous he went to the cinema to avoid hearing it. The response, however, was overwhelming. Dewey played the record fourteen times that night, and Elvis’s mother had to retrieve him from the movie theater to bring him to the station for an interview. For his first media appearance, Elvis came across well, largely because Dewey didn’t tell him the microphone was live until the interview ended. Dewey also asked which high school Elvis attended, a subtle way of informing his predominantly black R&B audience that the singer was white, as many had assumed otherwise given the music played on the show.
Elvis Presley had a hit on his hands, at least as much of a hit as a country-flavored record could be on a blues label. Tragically, Arthur Crudup had sold the rights to “That’s All Right, Mama” years prior and never received royalties. Although he later sued in the 1970s and was reportedly awarded $60,000 in back payments, he never received the money. Some accounts, though unverified, claim Crudup’s original payment for the song was just fifty dollars and a bottle of whiskey.
It was at the band’s first live performance, however, that something truly astonishing occurred, reportedly stemming from Presley’s severe stage fright, as Scotty Moore recounted. As mentioned, Elvis was deeply shy, had unusual body language, and wore distinctive, baggy trousers favored by black men at the time. He also moved a lot when nervous or energetic; people noted he was constantly tapping or shifting in his seat – he simply couldn’t keep still.
When he stepped on stage, his fear caused him to start shaking. This shaking motion transferred to his baggy pants, creating a visual effect that wasn’t perceived as fear but was, frankly, sexual. The audience’s reaction was intense. Over the next year or two, Presley rapidly gained confidence on stage. Footage from just a few years later shows him performing with utter assurance and a cocky smile, making it hard to imagine his initial stage fright. But his electrifying stage presence evolved directly from observing how the audience reacted to his nervous leg twitching and consciously doing more of it.
And just like that, the unpopular, poor boy with the spotty neck transformed into the biggest male sex symbol the world had ever seen. His journey from truck driver to global phenomenon began with that single, raw recording session at Sun Studio, forever cementing “That’s All Right, Mama” as the cornerstone of his legacy and marking the dawn of a new era in music where it’s alright elvis wasn’t just a lyric, but a cultural declaration.
elvis presley good night
devil in disguise elvis movie
The story of “That’s All Right, Mama” is more than just the origin of a hit song; it’s the narrative of how influences from country, blues, and gospel converged in a Memphis studio under the guidance of a visionary producer. It’s the story of an unlikely young man whose raw talent and unique blend of shyness and underlying charisma were captured at precisely the right moment. This recording didn’t just launch Elvis Presley’s career; it unleashed a cultural force that would reshape entertainment and define the sound of a generation. The echo-laden groove, Bill Black’s slapping bass, Scotty Moore’s sparse fills, and Elvis’s playful, genre-defying vocal created a sound that was simultaneously familiar and utterly new. It was the sound of boundaries breaking down, the sound of rock and roll finding its voice, and the unmistakable sound of Elvis becoming a legend.
