Fans still remember this ambitious 1973 network TV special as a zenith in Elvis Presley's performing career, punctuated by its extra-musical achievement as the first global satellite broadcast devoted to a single entertainer. Both the broadcast and its companion album captured the King in his most grandiose persona, fueled by Hollywood scale and Vegas glitz, as a caped pop superhero.
He may have looked trim, but posthumous accounts (especially Peter Guralnick's Careless Love: The Unmaking of Elvis Presley, the second volume in his definitive biography) confirm what a second look suggests--on this evening, Elvis was alternately overwhelmed and distracted, bravura renditions of signature songs (most triumphantly, the "American Trilogy" medley originated by Mickey Newbury) offset by less-focused readings. Fans may still savor a generous and diverse song list, but viewed beside Presley's earlier, more consistent performances (including a rehearsal the previous night, since released as The Alternate Aloha Concert), this legendary concert anticipates Presley's imminent decline.
In this remastered version, three songs have been deleted due to music clearance issues, while four songs taped after the actual show have been inserted. A fifth bonus track, "No More," makes its first appearance on video. --Sam Sutherland
Price: $12.98
Satellite wafers are also known as the flying saucer candy. Pastel colored wafer disc's in the shape of UFO's filled with tiny bright colored candy balls. These are a favorite nostalgic candy you ate as a kid. They are out of this world.
Sometimes it seems as if there's every other band in America, and then there's the Flaming Lips. The Norman, Oklahoma, quartet makes modern rock that doesn't sound like anyone else; head music, they'd have called it in psychedelia's heyday, weird soundscapes that conjure the bizarre alternate universe on the other side of the funhouse mirror. Transmissions, their second major-label release after a long indie apprenticeship has a mellower feel than early fans might expect, with lots of acoustic guitar and dreamy interludes to shame More-era Pink Floyd, but it's no less weird than their last two efforts. Strange sounds float in and out of the mix, and Wayne Coyne's twisted hick vocals are convincingly demented. Coyne's lyrics tend toward a Dadaist stream of consciousness with occasional forays into junk culture; this is familiar modern rock territory, but songs such as "She Don't Use Jelly," "Chewin the Apple of Your Eye," and "Be My Head" are more effective and less annoying than the would-be gonzo efforts of Frank Black and Sonic Youth because they're catchier and less pretentious. The Flaming Lips may be transmitting to the satellites, but when all is said and done, they live in Oklahoma. --Jim DeRogatis
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