As the old saying goes, being famous doesn't change you - just everyone else around you. On the subject of the sultry beauty named Ms Presley and her mainstream-rock-du-jour-sounding debut, the issue ain't hardly her - it is, post-modernly and oh-so-post-Elvisly - us.
No, it's not a great record. For a lot of reasons having less to do with its titular creator than with how crowded and self-importantly busy-busy it must've been in the studio with the Tori Amos producer (Eric Rosse) and the heavyweight label-head executive producer (Andy Slater) and the whole damn kitchen sink of players. Conversely, it's not terrible - the satisfyingly crunchy 'Lights Out' swaggers alertly, 'Sinking In' bites into a big, bitterly bright chorus, the Garbage-ish 'Indifferent' drips with sexual jealousy and yearning ballad 'So Lovely' borrows the 'Midnight Cowboy' theme - and one hopes it won't be her last.
Mostly because underneath, there's a voice (Presley's Pink/Cher/Sheryl Crow husky, insinuating vocal chords that default to surly rather than sweet) and, indeed, a Voice (and if Alanis is the closest reference, it's only because women talking about what pisses them off is such a recent and alarming development after endless rock decades of unquestioned bloke-ly self-absorption) struggling to articulate. With marriages to Michael Jackson and Nicolas Cage behind her, it's clearly not the first time Presley's found herself at risk of smothering by men happy to hitch a ride on her fame zeitgeist and tell her what to do when they're at it. All things considered, it's amazing any voice emerged whatsoever. More power to her arm. And her cusswords, too.
None of which is likely to be foremost in our thoughts upon hearing this record, of course, intent as we are in picking over lyrics for references to Wacko or the Elvis impersonator actor or dear dead Daddy ('Nobody Noticed It', the graves "in the damn back yard" that pop up in 'Lights Out') like freeloaders at a VIP banquet. Or that guy who makes a living out of going through celebrity rubbish bins. So here's some lyrics to rifle through, then. "Do you know who I am?" Presley asks in 'Important', a snaking, under-the-breath track about "chosen families" that shows promising sonic signs until an entire army of musical stuff turns up. "Maybe you think you're my friend/And maybe one day you'll give a shit about what I am..."
And if they don't, well - as you suspect Lisa Marie wouldn't hesitate to tell anyone else in a similar situation - then f*ck 'em.
