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Frank C. Siraguso
He Don't Look Like Elvis
He Don't Look Like Elvis
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Elvis Presley Died 40 Years Ago This Year
It was August 16, 1977. Elvis, the King of Rock-n-Roll, was dead, and into the vacuum rushed a new genre of performer: the Elvis impersonator.
He Don't Look Like Elvis is the unflinching, tragicomic true tale of the ups and downs of band life on the low end of the food chain, told from the viewpoint of the author, Frank Siraguso (aka Frankie Stone), a bass player for Elvis impersonator Bobby Love and his band, the Love Machine.
The band members try to maintain a straight face and an even keel in a traveling rock and roll fantasy circus. It was a fantasy fueled not only because Bobby and the band are capable of some knockout performances but also because the fans could never get enough of the King – alive, dead or otherwise. Audiences know Bobby isn't Elvis but mob him anyway for scarves, autographs and kisses.
This was definitely not the pampered, plush, rock-star tour deluxe. No jets from city to city, no waiting limousines. This is the working musicians' life on the road playing in dive bars, staying in low-rent motels in small towns, lugging their own equipment and praying that the pickup truck and trailer got them to the next gig in one piece.
After years of striving in other bands, the reality of playing in bars and living on the road with Bobby and the Love Machine hit home. It was time for a change.
It was August 16, 1977. Elvis, the King of Rock-n-Roll, was dead, and into the vacuum rushed a new genre of performer: the Elvis impersonator.
He Don't Look Like Elvis is the unflinching, tragicomic true tale of the ups and downs of band life on the low end of the food chain, told from the viewpoint of the author, Frank Siraguso (aka Frankie Stone), a bass player for Elvis impersonator Bobby Love and his band, the Love Machine.
The band members try to maintain a straight face and an even keel in a traveling rock and roll fantasy circus. It was a fantasy fueled not only because Bobby and the band are capable of some knockout performances but also because the fans could never get enough of the King – alive, dead or otherwise. Audiences know Bobby isn't Elvis but mob him anyway for scarves, autographs and kisses.
This was definitely not the pampered, plush, rock-star tour deluxe. No jets from city to city, no waiting limousines. This is the working musicians' life on the road playing in dive bars, staying in low-rent motels in small towns, lugging their own equipment and praying that the pickup truck and trailer got them to the next gig in one piece.
After years of striving in other bands, the reality of playing in bars and living on the road with Bobby and the Love Machine hit home. It was time for a change.
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