Lisa Marie Presley wants you to think she's a baaaad-ass bitch, someone who doesn't give a shit whether you enjoy what she does. And most of the time, this thrice-married mother of two probably couldn't give half a shit. Her certified-gold debut, the murky Memphis-bred pop To Whom It May Concern, is an intimate-bordering-on-unnerving album. Presley is the cluttered dark angel to Faith Hill's snow-white debutante. But after her set opening for Chris Isaak at the Beacon Theater, it was as clear as her sex appeal that Presley was shy, a bit nervous, and wanted so badly to do a good job. Whenever the applause grew rowdy, Presley's sheepish glee was impossible for her to suppress.
The 35-year-old daughter of the King of Rock 'n' Roll and ex-wife of the King of Pop was determined to nail every note hard. It was oddly endearing. A music stand was placed in front of her (lyric sheets?), and she'd flip a page at the end of certain songs. It is, after all, her first tour. Her hips swayed side to side, keeping time like the world's sexiest-ever metronome. She wore tight black leather pants (the kind with the zipper fly on the outside) and a loose-fitting black top. Two large fans were placed at her feet, producing that wind-in-the-hair effect you see in shampoo commercials.


Like her eyes, Presley's music is heavy-lidded and favors deep tones with a gothic charm that rolls mellifluously along, though the majority of songs sounded a tad too similar to make them memorable. Her band played like a bunch of seasoned studio musicians who kept a tight hold on the reigns and didn't quite rock out. Their effortless, uber-professional playing contrasted to the rookie in Presley. But when she sang, she bared her teeth and went for the balls. Breathy "Ah-ah"s scratched at the air and she'd extend her vocals so far that they'd literally leave her breathless.

"I need to breathe and belch a little bit," she said half to the band and half to the crowd. "I'm a nightmare," she sniffed. People giggled, but not too much.

"Walk around a little bit!!" cried an enthusiastic chick in the audience. She, like most of us, was perturbed by Presley's stationary position at the front and center of the stage. "You want me to come over there?" asked Presley. (Oh, the screams that followed that one.) She stepped around the amps and crap that encircled her and slowly walked to the side of the stage, waving and clapping, but quickly returned to her position behind the mic. She mumbled something about feedback if she were to move around too much. Yeah, whatever.

Presley was feeling herself out as a performer; she was trying to find a comfortable balance. When she received a standing ovation for her singles "Lights Out" and "Sinking In," you could feel her blush.


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