The Greatest Oldies Music

Oldies Musics

Rip It Up – Elvis Presley

Introduction

Elvis Presley, the King of Rock ‘n’ Roll, left an indelible mark on the world of music with his iconic songs. Among his numerous hits, “Rip It Up” stands out as a timeless classic that continues to captivate audiences worldwide. In this article, we’ll delve into the captivating story behind the song and the artist who brought it to life.

Did You Know?

  • “Rip It Up” was originally recorded by Little Richard in 1956 before Elvis Presley covered it the same year. The song was initially released by Little Richard, but it was Elvis’s version that became a massive success.
  • This rock and roll anthem was a part of Elvis’s legendary television appearances, including “The Ed Sullivan Show” and “The Milton Berle Show,” helping catapult him to superstardom.
  • Elvis’s rendition of “Rip It Up” showcased his electrifying stage presence and vocal prowess, making it an integral part of his live performances.
  • The song is characterized by its upbeat tempo, catchy lyrics, and energetic rhythm, which perfectly encapsulated the spirit of the rock and roll era.
  • Elvis Presley, born in Tupelo, Mississippi, in 1935, became one of the most influential and celebrated musicians in history. He not only revolutionized music but also left an enduring legacy that continues to inspire generations of artists.

Video

Lyrics: Rip It Up

‘Cause it’s Saturday nite and I just got paid
Fool about my money don’t try to save
My heart says go, go
Have a time ’cause it’s Saturday nite
And I’m feelin’ fineI’m gonna rip it up
I’m gonna rock it up
I’m gonna shake it up
I’m gonna ball it up
I’m gonna rip it up
And ball tonite

I got a date and I won’t be late
Pick her up in my ’88’
Shag it on down to the union hall
When the music starts jumpin’
I’ll have a ball

Along about 10 I’ll be flying high
Rocking on out into the sky
I don’t care if I spend my gold
‘Cause tonite I’m gonna be one happy soul

 

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Long before the house lights ever dimmed or the first screaming chord shattered the arena air, a massive, invisible engine was already churning across the asphalt arteries of America. Fleet trucks thundered through the dark, laden with heavy steel trusses, coils of thick cables, stage monitors, and the dazzling wardrobe trunks that carried the magic. In hotel lobbies across the heartland, managers nervously cleared entire floors, while backstage, technicians barked orders into radio headsets, testing soundboard channels and fine-tuning microphones to catch every subtle nuance of a famous drawl. For the thousands filing through the turnstiles, all of this frantic, backbreaking labor remained completely out of sight. They only knew the electric rumor that had been pulsing through their town for weeks: Elvis is coming. Out in the crowd were mothers who had carefully pinched pennies for months, teenagers in pressed outfits who had driven across state lines, and working-class fans who had built their entire year around this single, sacred evening. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder under the hazy rafters, breathless with anticipation. And behind the velvet curtain, sitting alone with the quiet weight of their impossible expectations, was one tired man lacing up his boots—knowing that in just a few moments, he would step into the blinding white light and make every mile, every dollar, and every silent prayer entirely worth it.

In the chilly autumn of 1959, far from the blinding lights of American stardom, two lives intersected in Bad Nauheim, Germany, setting off a quiet ripple that would echo through pop culture history. Elvis was a twenty-four-year-old international icon grounded by army duty and hollowed out by the agonizing loss of his beloved mother, Gladys. Priscilla Beaulieu was a fourteen-year-old girl, thrust into an adult orbit before she had even learned who she was. In that quiet, foreign space, Elvis found a gentle harbor—a touchstone of home and vulnerability—while Priscilla was drawn into a dazzling, gilded birdcage where every step was observed, shaped, and carefully constrained. Though slick magazine covers would later package their May 1967 Las Vegas wedding as the ultimate fairy-tale romance, the reality behind the closed doors of Graceland was a quiet study in weight and isolation. For six years of marriage, Priscilla navigated the suffocating expectations of being Elvis’s idealized companion, living inside his nocturnal schedule and the constant presence of his inner circle. Even after the divorce papers were signed in 1973, their connection never truly severed; it simply transformed into a profound, enduring tenderness forged by shared youth and a daughter they both adored—a bittersweet reminder that the true human story behind a legend is rarely as simple as the pictures left behind.

On a humid night in Honolulu, January 14, 1973, the boundary between a localized stage and the rest of the planet simply dissolved. Draped in his iconic White Eagle jumpsuit, Elvis Presley stepped under the glaring stage lights of the International Center, not just to sing for the thousands crammed into the arena, but to project his image through the cold expanse of space via satellite to an estimated billion souls across the globe. In living rooms from Tokyo to Manila, across time zones, borders, and oceans, families sat mesmerized in front of flickering television sets, united in real-time by a single, mesmerizing presence. It was a staggering feat of modern technology, yet what held the world spellbound was something far older and more primal than satellite signals: the singular, electrifying soul of a singer who could reach across thousands of miles of empty air and make every person watching feel as though he were performing just for them.

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