The day after Elvis Presley's 81st birthday, as the band's fanfare drops to a rumble and the lights dim, Robert Washington saunters onstage.
It's the first time he's ever performed in Cape Girardeau, his hometown, but he takes the stage like the world-class Elvis tribute entertainer he is.
An assistant drapes him with a shining black guitar as he clasps the microphone and throttles it, as if summoning the King's manic energy. He plants himself in the spotlight, looking away and down, in the King's iconic jittery-back-leg stance.
The crowd packed into the Isle Casino eats it right up.
He launches into "That's Alright, Mama."
As early-Vegas-era Elvis, Washington's entire wardrobe is an embodiment of excess. His hair is done up in the requisite pompadour with fat sideburns and rings on every finger. For the 6 o'clock show, he's in a glittery white suit. He changes into a red leather number for the show at 8.
He walks like the King. Talks like the King. Does that scandalous thing with his hips like the King. He does everything that so thoroughly terrified parents and titillated the youngsters of yesteryear -- and does it well.
As if the singing weren't difficult enough, Washington's able to faithfully reproduce Presley's drawl. His voice strains and breaks in all the right places, but never passes into parody.
Even when he works the crowd between songs, Washington has the King's wavering baritone and exaggerated cadence.
"There's no class of '77 here, is there?" he asks. There's not.
There are, however, some of Washington's family in the audience, seeing him perform for the first time.
Washington said what drew him to Elvis' music as a child was the stylistic range.
"It's not that Elvis only recorded 25 songs," he said. When he plans his shows, he has more than 700 numbers to choose from.
"You can cater to the crowds," he explained. "There's gospel, country, straight rock 'n' roll. It just doesn't get old to me."
Even after 28 years of performing as Elvis around the world.
After graduating from Cape Central High School, Washington joined the Marine Corps, where he learned of Elvis' death from his drill instructor.
"[This job is] just basically being a fan first," he said. "I'm one of the few guys who do it now who were around when Elvis was around."
His assistant comes back with an armful of silk scarves. Washington wipes his brow with them one by one before chucking them out to bunches of girlish older women.
"I sure would like to have one!" a woman yells from the back.
"Just hang loose, folks," Washington says. "Gimme time to breathe."
"I sure would like to have one!" the same woman yells again.
After cheek-kisses and onstage selfies with a few fans, he stands back up and once again takes a moment to move like Elvis. He rolls one knee outward, then the other, into the downward-gaze pose -- all the better for the shameless gyrating of hips -- and kicks off a frenetic rendition of "Suspicious Minds." As the song nears its peak, Washington's punching and kicking the air, windmilling with one arm, and then goes down on one knee on the downbeat.
"Cuz you know I would never lie to you," he sings. He glances to the crowd.
"Not much." He glances again.
"Maybe a little bit."
He closes his portion of the show -- there's another Elvis tribute performer, David Allen, on the bill tonight as well -- with "Dixie." In it, he achieves perhaps his most uncanny Presley impersonation as he sings the hallelujahs.
He and Allen trade verses of "Can't Help Falling in Love With You" to close the show, just like Presley did, and then thanks the crowd.
"Thank you," Washington tells them. "Thank you vurry much."
tgraef@semissourian.com
(573) 388-3627
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