His friends tend to call him Schmelv. He prefers Schmelvis. It is, after all, a more accurate depiction of who he is.
A decade back, there was a news story claiming that Elvis Presley's great-great-grandmother on his mother's side was Jewish. And so Schmelvis was born.
Actually, Schmelvis's alter ego, Dan Hartal, has been around for a lot longer - 42 years and counting. Hartal, a Montreal singer, had made a little mark on the city's indie music scene. He made a much bigger mark on the seniors'-home circuit, where among other shticks, he would channel the spirit of Elvis.
Then came the story about Elvis's Jewish roots. Then came Schmelvis: Searching for the King's Jewish Roots, a mockumentary wherein Schmelvis made the schlep from Snowdon to Graceland. Then came the Schmelvis book. Then came fame and fortune? Not exactly.
Sure, Schmelvis will be back in the building, the Bishop St. Pub, Monday night, as part of the frivolity attendant on the third Infringement Festival, starting today and running until June 25. But, frankly, Schmelvis is in a funk. His career hasn't panned out the way he had planned. He has a day job at a time-share call centre, because he has two young children to support, and on Schmelvis alone the brood won't be knocking back the borscht and the brisket.
But Schmelvis pledges to rally on Monday. "No sit-down tragedy for Schmelvis," he says, over a beer downtown. "I'll be doing stand-up gefilte fish and Elvis."
Which is to say Schmelvis will don his trademark rhinestone-studded jumpsuit and a skullcap. And he will croon such classics as Love Me Blender and Hounddog: "You ain't nothing but a gefilte fish; if you've never done a mitzvah, you ain't no friend of mine." But Schmelvis will also be doing the Doors, Rolling Stones and John Lennon, taking liberties with The Ballad of John and Yoko: "The way things are going, they're going to circumcise me."
Schmelvis starts to reminisce. He gets more morose. "It all began at the Hospital of Hope - actually Hospital of No Hope. The seniors loved me. They told me I not only sounded like Elvis, but I also looked like him. Then one of them gave me her authentic Elvis sunglasses, and I believed I was him, only Jewish. I went to Vegas, Graceland." Pause. "Now I'm back where I started. Oy!"
But he'll get his jumpsuit out of mothballs at a moment's notice if asked. "Look, you pay and I'll play. They called me to do Canada Day in Ottawa. There was no real money. They told me that I would get exposure."
He continued: "I told them I could get exposure here anytime, just walking naked down Ste. Catherine St.
"Montreal has some of the best musicians in the world, but most of us just can't make a living here. The deejay killed live music. Most people would rather hire a deejay than a live band. There's so much I could plutz about, but, really, I'm more a doer than a plutzer."
Schmelvis's wife lessens his pain. She's a psychiatric nurse. "She can deal with the plutzing. And I know I won't be lonesome tonight. The kids help, too. I lull them to bed with lullabies: 'Are you wholesome tonight? Is your challah still fresh? Tell me baby.'
"I think the long-term plan is to rent a Winnebago and take the family on the road. Music unifies all - even at trailer parks. OK, I'm a failure. I'm not a doctor, lawyer or an accountant. I'm a professional putz who sings Elvis. It's a living ... some say."
Posted 16/6/06