INDY REVIEWS
Score: 7.9 / 10 
Elvis Presley
Most of the time I can see (or 'grok', if you stunningly prefer) where Elvis Presley is coming from. An unwillingness to befriend non-rabbit-catching dogs? Right on, King. Put that pooch in his place. Footwear that is both suede-like and of a blue-ish hue? Lead on in the fashion stakes, EP. An insatiable urge to be treated like a childhood teddy bear? A refusal to allow incarceration to suppress your rocking urges? Choosing 'action' over incessant yackin'? I say 'yes', 'yes' and a pelvis-gyratin' 'hell, yes'.
But Return To Sender? What's going on there? It's a simple enough story. The King and his girl have had a tiff - a 'lover's spat'. But instead of Elvis fronting up and admitting he's wrong (of course he's wrong - he's the man. The man's always wrong), he writes her a letter?
Elvis. Dude. You're not in Victorian England, corresponding with Jane Freaking Austen. This letter-writing nonsense is for the birds. By the time you've written it, found a stamp, posted it and had it delivered, the girl's gonna have had two or three days to get really steamed. No wonder she's sending that letter straight back. I'm amazed that 'Return to sender' is all she's written on it. I know of several girls who would've covered your missive in far fruitier language. Sure, in the third verse, you come around to the idea that maybe you should show up in person. But a) that's too late, she's gonna be fuming by that point. And b) you're still just going to hand over the letter? Just say you're sorry, man. You're Elvis Presley, not the goddamn Fonz.
Begone,
-- Back to all music
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