What do I remember of those times? Primarily, dressing rooms. They were always the most interesting places to be, both before and after a show. Some were large, with artistes given enough space to change or rehearse. Others were mere cubby holes, with everyone taking turns to do their make-up. That was where the magicians showed off new tricks, where mimicry artistes used their own voices for a few rare moments, where Johnny ‘The One Man Band’ carefully attached six different instruments to various parts of his body. I also remember how the smoke from fog machines always smelled like lemonade. 

In a paper titled ‘The King of White Trash Culture: Elvis Presley and the Aesthetics of Excess,’ published in 1996, Professor Gael Sweeney of Syracuse University once described the cult of Elvis impersonation as a ‘spectacle of the grotesque.’ She was partly right. She also put forth the notion that some impersonators believed they were ‘chosen’ by Presley to continue his work. She argued that a number of them didn’t merely perform like Elvis, but ‘lived Elvis’ — not just dressing like him, but practising ‘being Him’ at all hours. In that context, Jackson’s lyric for Billie Jean was strangely apt: ‘Be careful what you do, because the lie becomes the truth.’ 

Much of what I saw backstage, while working as an impersonator, could lend a small amount of credence to Sweeney’s paper. The ease with which an Amitabh Bachchan impersonator could silence an audience of thousands, for example, made it easier to understand the power that true celebrity status conveyed on those whom fortune had smiled upon. 

... contd.