‘Morning Elvis’: Florence and The Machine’s most overlooked song
Florence + the Machine’s trip to Memphis went without a stop at Graceland, so it’s perhaps for this reason that ‘Morning Elvis’, the song documenting this disappointing miss, is wrongly viewed as the ultimate anticlimax of rocking proportions. Because this is not just about skipping a stop on the tour bus, but instead about missing yourself, your life, and your identity.
As the curveball closer to the otherwise unremittingly upbeat Dance Fever from 2022, admittedly ‘Morning Elvis’ is a sonic departure compared to the rest of the album, which has all the makings of blindsiding those who are here to bathe in the luxury of a classic Florence anthem. You definitely won’t find it in this song, however – instead, it’s more corpses, trapdoors, and grimy bathroom floors.
This threatens to isolate fans only invested in the band’s characteristic soaring style, but if only you take the time to delve into the lyrics and imagery truly, you will soon realise just how much of an overlooked masterpiece ‘Morning Elvis’ really is. It represents a much darker underworld than Florence’s trademark sonic heavens, but in many ways this hell is just as delectable.
In the opening verse, Welch quietly laments: “When they dressed me and they put me on a plane to Memphis/ Well, I never got to see Elvis/ I just sweated it out in a hotel room/ But I think the king would’ve understood/ Why I never made it to Graceland.” Indeed, the song then goes on to chart the perils of fame faced by both the singer and Presley, with the grip of addiction an ever-present pernicious force.
Welch has been notoriously frank about her own battles with alcoholism in the past, a theme which has become increasingly apparent in her music over that time. She explores the toxic notion of covering this façade in: “Oh, you know I’m still afraid/ I’m still crazy and I’m still scared/ But if I make it to the stage/ I’ll show you what it means.” As a record concluder, it certainly is one that broods in moodiness, but with none of the London songstress’ trademark wails, it risks being characterised as a sonic step too far.
Instead, the muted wrench of ‘Morning Elvis’ should not be seen as the anticlimax of the high to Dance Fever, but as the truth bomb of reality and a comedown that Florence must express to vent herself from the constant club mania. Sure, it is not the instant sonic pairing to the likes of ‘Free’ and ‘Dream Girl Evil’ that precedes it on the record, but to dismiss it simply as being sub-par is to ignore the true reckoning the album is trying to address.
No, Florence Welch never made it to Graceland, but with the soul and energy that she flies through the rest of Dance Fever with, ‘Morning Elvis’ is revealing the ugly reality of that soaring high. Not everything in life can be masked or sent up into the skies with a transcendental power, and in many ways the song exposes the real, flawed woman behind a seemingly untouchable ethereal spirit.
