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ELVIS PRESLEY, “Suspicious Minds” | From Elvis in Memphis, 1969
Let’s acknowledge that Elvis Presley’s death can be traced back to the dissolution of his marriage to Priscilla. Though he philandered mercilessly, and bragged about it, and treated Priscilla poorly, the guy was always smitten with her — or at least the idea of her as his First Lady of Rock ‘n’ Roll. Also, Elvis had serious Mommy Issues. So, when Priscilla started an affair with Mike Stone (his freaking karate instructor) in 1972, that really threw Elvis. He was the cheater, not the cheatee. He was the King! Not the Cuckold! And what was he supposed to do, go beat up the guy who taught him how to fight? No. Impossible. Instead, Elvis allegedly began fantasizing and rough-draft planning a hit on Stone. But he never went through with any contract killing. He and Priscilla divorced in 1973, and Elvis’s already-imperiled physical and mental health declined. He succumbed to heavy drug addiction (and at one point spent three days in a coma, in his hotel suite). He shot his television. And — basically, in front of the world — he took part in a slow-motion suicide by overprescribed opiates, Quaaludes, and myriad other drugs, combined with a really bad diet, that finally killed him in 1977.
Eight years earlier, in 1969, in the throes of his heralded comeback, he released “Suspicious Minds,” his final No. 1 hit. Though it was written by singer-songwriter Mark James, many assumed it was about Elvis and Priscilla, giving us a window into a marriage that was falling apart. But maybe that was just a gift Elvis possessed: He could sell any song as his own. Or maybe-maybe, in a self-fulfilling-prophecy sort of way, he became his songs. In “Suspicious Minds,” he’s caught in a trap, a relationship without a foundation of trust; but he can’t walk out, and the reason is that he loves her too much. Oh, the complications we create for ourselves. The listener might be tempted to pull out the ol’ Therapist’s Handbook and suggest that, perhaps closer to the truth, Elvis loves — or understands too well — this feeling of being trapped. You know how Southerners can be nostalgic for a moment that took place five seconds ago? Sort of like that. Elvis loved being in a broken relationship. Even when he sings “because I love you too much,” in his deep Elvis voice that keeps cracking into high notes, the way he sings “I love you” bleeds wonderfully together into a new sort of sloppy expression of love — a deep, Elvis love with ever-shifting boundaries.
As far as “babies” go, this song is a boat that’s mostly loaded toward the back. There is just one “baby” in the first two-plus minutes, but “babies” are heard at 2:26-2:28, 2:58-3:00, 3:14-3:16, and 3:30-3:32. The song, famously, fades here but then comes back, a neat trick that reflects how relationships can do the same. It closes with “babies” at 3:47-3:49 and 4:03-4:05, and the final “baby” is cut off before the song finishes at 4:19. All of the “babies” portray the terrible/wonderful pain of being in a bad/great spot in the relationship. Don’t we all just want to feel, to hurt, to die inside just a little — maybe to prove to ourselves that we are even capable of love?
It’s the opening “baby,” at :16-:18, that draws us in — it’s a curled-lip Elvis gaining momentum again, long before his fall and with his mojo still intact, singing to all the girls who will have him but really only thinking about the one who will, ultimately, break his troubled heart and leave him all alone.
