Steve Davis loves us so tender, who cares if he ain’t the real thing?
By Matthew Halverson
Photograph by Katherine Bish
Standard costume-party operating procedure dictates that you hang up your get-up when the music stops. Steve Davis, he of the butterfly-collar jumpsuits, jet-black pompadour and slight paunch, never got the memo. Twenty years after first donning a pair of sunglasses and a fringed blue-suede jacket for a college kicker (he Bedazzled the outfit himself), he’s as much Elvis as he is Steve. The keg’s been dry for decades, the faux Mona Lisas and imitation Einsteins have moved on to careers in the private sector, yet there’s Davis, still curling his lip and karate kicking the air around town as one of the hardest-working Elvis impersonators in the business.
It’s a pivotal time for the man who would be the King ... or at least as pivotal as it can get for a guy who spends most days dressed as a long-dead cultural icon. Gigs are in no short supply—Davis says he plays nearly 400 shows a year, and a quick glance at his schedule suggests that that’s only a slight exaggeration—but let’s be honest: His original fan base is reaching an age when they’re more likely to sing “Don’t Be Cruel” to a tight-fisted HMO than to a fickle lover.
Now there’s talk from Joe Edwards himself that one of Davis’ best-known events—Blueberry Hill’s annual tribute to the King, which takes place this year on August 12—may be nixed next year, after the 30th anniversary of Elvis’ death.
Could this be the end of our beloved Presley wannabe? Don’t bet on it, darlin’. “I’ve kept my look; I’ve kept my voice; I have a good band,” he says, “and the kids are really turning on to my show.” Thanks for the reassurance, Steve, thankyuhverymuch.
