- Marissa Burgess
- 28 July 2009
This article is from 2009.
Everyone, it seems, has a little bit of Elvis Presley in their town. It could be the ageing impersonator who works the local pubs, the rumours circulating about the bloke who sells battered haddock in the local chippy or, in the case of Dundee, the scrawny bloke that lives in the Graceland caravan park and bears a passing resemblance to an irascible version of the King himself. Rumoured to be a product of an assignation between Presley and a baggage handler by the name of Big Agnes as he passed through Prestwick Airport in 1960, Elvis ‘Jnr’ McGonagall has picked up on his pop’s love of lyrics.
‘It all stems from a deep well of bitter twisted bile, I think,’ he growls, explaining the source of his stand-up poetry while sucking on the dead end of a roll-up. ‘It’s a conduit for having a wee rant at things.’
Now though, he is leaving the static caravan for a show at the Fringe. ‘What have I got planned? Shouting at strangers in a dark room while wearing an increasingly tight tartan jacket. That’s the gist of the show. In verse obviously.’
So like father, like son. Aside from the tartan.
Gilded Balloon Teviot, 622 6552, 8–30 Aug (not 17), 5.45pm, £9–£10 (£8–£9). Previews until 7 Aug, £5.