From the liner notes for the CD . . . "I spent the night that Elvis died in a bar in Connecticut – with an eye on the girls. The next morning I hitched a ride back to the bar parking lot to retrieve the motorcycle I'd had the good sense to not drive home the night before. And so I heard the news on a stranger's car radio. Elvis Presley was dead at 42. He wasn't one of mine, but he was a force of nature, even I knew that – and I felt bad. "Treat Me like a Fool" and "All Shook Up" were already golden oldies, but those songs were still in the juke boxes and on the radio. "Guitar Man" had been a surprise hit my senior year of high school with "that rocking little guitar man . . . riding in an overloaded poultry truck." Later I got caught up with a woman, working out of a beauty shop in Biloxi, who had actually seen Elvis when he was starting out, set up on a flatbed trailer at one of those county fairs where the girls all screamed and fainted. That woman loved the king until it hurt – way more than she ever loved me. We'd spin records and she'd sit there and sway with her eyes closed and a faraway look on her face. Sometimes she'd get up and her feet would start dancing by themselves and it felt like he was right there – and it made you glad to be alive. You could feel the hurt that man felt – through the radio, right to the bone, and the love – you could hear it in the way he snarled sometimes and then laughed easy – or got down on his knees and begged darling, please. I saw the movie King Creole, in black and white, and it was shocking how good an actor he was – wild and dangerous – and scared and hurt. Then I'd hear him sing again and every time it was different than anything I'd ever heard. Dead at 42 the man on the radio had said. Still makes me wonder – and sometimes look back. At the king – and at that struggling kid I was on a long ago morning in Connecticut, roaring down the road on a motorcycle, my head exploding, my heart pounding, feeling the clean air and the sunshine, singing an Elvis song to myself because he had died the night before down in Memphis and because he had always sounded so damn good. I used to stay out late and carry on without a care in the world – and now I tuck a couple of girls into bed at night – and carry on in a state of wonder. I tell 'em sometimes about the king of rock and roll and how good he was and we listen to a couple of old records I keep in the basement. We do that sometimes instead of going to church on a Sunday morning. And I say this to them and to you, with the millions of people who love Elvis Presley – well, bless his soul." --- Recording Credits --- Guitars, Bass, Hammond Organ, Harmonica, Vocals Kevin Kane Piano Robert Silverman Trumpet Chris Anderson Saxophone Kevin McMahon Violin, Viola, Mandolin Jim Nolet Mixed voices – Joanne Rodda, April Ruffin, J.P. Rogerson, Amy Gilman, Carlotta Rose, Emily Marie, Ruby Foster All words and music by Kevin Kane c ASCAP 09 Kevin Kane’s talent as a player, as a singer and mostly as a songwriter, has again attracted the attention of some of the best players in New York , who join him here for this reflection on the life of the King. - Chris Anderson plays lead trumpet for Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes, and has performed with Donald Fagen, Ben E. King, Celia Cruz, Blood Sweat & Tears, Michael McDonald, Phoebe Snow, Jon Bon Jovi, and Boz Scaggs. - Robert Silverman has been a fixture on the New York Jazz Scene since 1985. After playing with Albert King, Jimmy Heath and the Ron Levy Bluesman band, Robert went on to form his own ensemble – The Robert Silverman Quintet. - Jim Nolet, noted Jazz violinist and composer, played with the likes of Cecil Taylor, Don Cherry and Hilton Ruiz before recording his acclaimed debut album With You with Ornette Coleman's Prime Time saxophonist David Murray and bassist Brad Jones. - The mixed voices and gospel tones of JoAnne Rodda, April Ruffin, Ruby Foster, Carlotta Rose, JP Rogerson and Amy Gilman speak for themselves.