The Personal fulfillment of Sun Studios

I have always been a child of music. When I was still a young child, my older brother and I shared a room and some of the few occasions that I ever stood up to my seven-year senior were for my music. I grew up with Johnny Cash and Jerry Lee Lewis. My short-stayed step-mother had the house littered with Elvis Plates and other memorabilia. A saxophone, a piano, a bass, and a distorted guitar are capable of providing every range of music from the sexiest ballads to the sweetest lullabies. Walking through the door into the lobby, I felt none of that. I saw commercialization in the form of coffee cups and tee-shirts. I didn't feel like I was sharing a moment with Perkins or Orbison. Sam Phillips was gone from the place. But the second I got upstairs and the tour began, I felt my Memphis coming back to me. Seeing the "portable" vinyl press and tape decks Phillips used to lay his first tracks was an intense sight. Listening to the sounds of Memphis music from its beginnings was intoxicating. Watching a video of young Elvis even brought back a small piece of the childhood love of Music I had listening to Elvis and Watching old Elvis movies with my dad. The studio its self was exactly as I thought it would be. A mixture of new and vintage equipment sprawled out, the ceiling falling apart, masking tape marking the floors. And then my personal piece de resistance: I played my harmonica, albeit not too well, amidst the souls of Cash, Lewis, Perkins and Presley. For just a few seconds, it became the million dollar quintet.