Not a gig in the traditional sense, but still worthy of a review.
Sometimes a day out isn’t just a day out. For us, Elvis Evolution doubled as a tribute to Mum. She adored Elvis, so me, Rory, Tracie and Tamara finally lined up our diaries and set off for London. The drive was classic sibling chaos: digs, daft stories, and the sort of running commentary you only get when you’ve known each other far too long. Basically, it was 90 minutes of bad childhood memories and a group therapy session disguised as a car journey. Somehow, we all turned out (mostly) OK. By the time we rolled into Docklands, it already felt like an event.
This was a daytime show — no late nights for us, we’re all too old for that nonsense. Between the four of us there were three hearing aids, four sets of glasses, and if Tracie wasn’t so vain she’d have an aid too. First stop was the retro diner: hotdogs and sodas in hand, neon buzzing overhead, sexy waitresses (am I allowed to say that?) all looking like a low-budget Tarantino set. From there it was straight into the show.
Elvis’s life played out in chapters — Tupelo roots to Sun records and leading up to 1968. The production is slick: giant screens, live actors, archive footage, the works. Halfway through, the Blue Hawaii bar gave us a breather — mocktails all round, Elvis crooning, and Rory pretending he was on holiday in Waikiki. Then came the high point: the ’68 Comeback Special. Black leather, guitar in hand, oozing confidence. Let’s be honest — Elvis at that moment is the best-looking human being to ever walk the planet. No debate. Even Tamara didn’t argue (and she usually does).
I’ve seen some reviews knocking it, but really — what do people expect? This isn’t ABBA Voyage with a billion-quid budget and Swedish tech nerds coding away for years. It’s theatre, spectacle, and nostalgia wrapped in neon. We all loved it. Properly.
We carried the buzz into a nearby Lebanese restaurant — too much food, plenty more digs, and another toast (this time with Coke Zeroes) to the person who would’ve loved it most. Mum would’ve been in her element… if she’d got out of her bed and joined us. And just to seal the memory: Tracie’s whinge about her £9.50 cherry mocktail at the end of the Elvis show. The kicker? It wasn’t even her round. Daylight robbery, comedy gold, and the story we’ll now dine out on for the next 20 years.
Verdict: Elvis Evolution isn’t perfect, but neither was Elvis. It’s cheesy, loud, over-the-top, heartfelt — and despite the moaners, a very good production. But ultimately, for us, it was another memory in the bank. Worth every penny — even the £9.50 mocktail.
