The King returns to… Porthcawl: The Elvies 2021

Each year, up to 40,000 Elvis fans attend the largest worldwide festival of its kind dedicated to the King of Rock n’ Roll, in… Porthcawl, a small Welsh seaside town. We rocked up there to check it out because why the hell wouldn’t we…

Ah, Wales. The land of rolling hills and rugged coastlines, Welsh rarebit, and a love for rugby. And – for this past weekend – a bustling tribute to Elvis Presley, the King of Rock n’ Roll.

Specifically, the small town of Porthcawl welcomed back the Elvis Festival, which is the largest global festival of its kind. Each year, aside from the last – for reasons we know all too well – an estimated 40,000 people descend on this former coal port to hear Jailhouse Rock, Hound Dog, Suspicious Minds, and the rest of the King’s greatest hits on repeat from a variety of Elvis reincarnations through the years. It’s estimated to be worth up to £5million to the local community.

Why would a sleepy seaside town host the largest global festival dedicated to one of the most significant cultural icons?

The two seem incongruous at first. Why would a sleepy seaside town nestled between, and overshadowed by, Wales’ two largest cities (Swansea and Cardiff) be a base for the largest festival in the world dedicated to one of the most significant cultural icons ever? Indeed, more people visit Porthcawl to celebrate The King each year than the amount who attend Elvis Week in Memphis, where the singer lived and died.

Further, why Wales in the first place, when the figure of Elvis is so deeply associated with America’s Deep South? Little did I know these unanswered questions would become clear in an all-singing, all-dancing affair.

Set up like an Elvis-themed funfair sponsored by Wetherspoons, as you move from bar to bar, each with one with its own act, it’s hard to envision somewhere more joyous. The concentration of people desperately loving one idol in such relatively small confines is formidable, as, let’s face it, travelling to Porthcawl hating Elvis would be a remarkably strange endeavour.

What’s more, the one thing this event isn’t is pretentious. Here, coffee comes as white or black, biking isn’t an eco-conscious choice, it’s taking your Harley out for a spin; there’s not a designer label in sight.

The one thing this event isn’t is pretentious

‘It’s so tacky but we love it,’ local resident Mair says candidly. There’s something particularly cosy, too, about the flutter of the Welsh accent rippling around, as families and friends cackle in increasingly drunken states of revelry. As a result, you drop your guard, let yourself go, get your groove on.

Ask ‘Why Porthcawl?’ and you’re typically met with shrugged shoulders. In truth, you’ll soon find there needn’t be a reason why.

However, the simple, local success story is as follows. In 2004, the Grand Pavillion was facing closure, so its manager asked local events planner Peter Phillips to come up with show ideas to revitalise the venue.

‘When I lived in London about 34 years ago,’ Peter tells me ‘There was a pub that used to put on an Elvis night once a month. So I’ve always quite liked Elvis tribute artists and thought they got bad press really. There are some good ones out there.

The idea was to recognise them as serious artists – like a Grammys for Elvises

‘The idea was to recognise them as serious artists – like a Grammys for Elvises. Then the [local venue] Hi-Tide and the Brentwood Hotel got behind it and said ‘Oh, we’ll get involved and make a weekend of it’ and suddenly you’ve got a festival. And it grew like that.

‘After about five years, the tourism board was telling me that all the hotels were fully booked, and the caravan site was fully booked. I thought, ‘It’s now got as big as it can possibly get’, but it kept growing and is now a Welsh institution.’

For local lad Aled, the festival’s successful formula is down to ‘the perfect ingredients’ in the area: ‘A nearby caravan park, a funfair, lots of pubs. Of course it’d work here.’

‘I think what we get right is we take the music very seriously,’ Peter adds ‘and the top shows are really good. But we don’t take the rest too seriously. If a coachload of middle-aged ladies from Merthyr Tydfil turns up with dodgy wigs and bottles of prosecco, then that’s fine.’

Donning quiffs and flicking wrists, each brings their own distinct husk of Elvis

And the acts that are taken seriously? Well, Peter’s not wrong.

Donning quiffs and flicking wrists, each brings their own distinct husk of Elvis, from his early, sexually liberated years (with more pelvic thrusts than a Zumba class), through his military service stage and into his comeback era. They arrive on-stage to rapturous applause.

Ciaran Houlihan. Gordon Davis. Victor Andrews. These names may mean nothing to you, but for those on the circuit, they, and a whole roster of others, are heroes.

And as their faces grimace, they lift back their arms, and break into Elvis’ signature ‘rubber legs’, you can see them channelling their idol. The audience doesn’t just obey, they believe, and, for a moment, the King is reincarnated. ‘Elvis is really alive and he’s in there,’ one man yelled at me as I headed for a ‘Breakfast with Elvis’ event.

The audience doesn’t just obey, they believe, and, for a moment, the King is reincarnated

Sunday’s ‘Elvis Gospel Show’ at the Pavillion – ‘the posh bit,’ one resident joked to me – took this new quasi-religious fervour to new heights, the crowd raising their arms to the holy tunes as a procession of Elvises trade mics. The mutual respect between them is clear.

Confession time. Before this festival, I knew very little about Elvis. His cultural impact seemed almost so large that I’d taken him for granted, overlooked him as just part of the modern world’s musical furniture. Now, I admit, I’ve been converted, seen the starry lights.

Soon, I began to believe too. For the second day I even wore a costume myself – things had taken that much of a turn – just to be a little closer to it all.

Ultimately, this is escapism at its finest. Cut a little deeper and it’s a town with particular challenges trading their worries for the American Dream on one September weekend.

Ultimately, this is escapism at its finest… a town trading its worries for the American Dream

Last year, for instance, saw the closure of the local Ford factory, which cut over 1,600 jobs in the area. Head into neighbouring Bridgend and the streets of empty shops show just how deeply the pandemic has impacted an already struggling economy. The Elvies, therefore, are a place to park your concerns. As Peter adds simply, ‘Elvis is just a real feel-good brand.’

This oozes like a social glue, as the sense of community is rife. At one of the shows, the Elvis host tells a story of ‘Auntie Pip’ – she may as well be the auntie for everyone in the audience. ‘My old man loved Elvis,’ a man called Dan told me, ‘He’d take me here every year. This is part of my upbringing.’

And this Elvis-loving family extends beyond the Welsh border. One person said they travelled from America to be here – and that they certainly weren’t the only one. (At first, I assumed the accent was just part of his act).

Janice not only travelled five hours from Leeds to the festival but has been following the Elvis circuit for the last 17 years. ‘It doesn’t get old ‘cause there’s so many different types,’ she says when asked why.

This variety of impersonations is coupled with Elvis’ seemingly endless catalogue of songs

‘And the best part about it now,’ she adds, ‘is seeing all the new ones coming through. There’s a whole new generation of young Elvises.’ As if to prove her point, on walks 17-year-old Alfie Pearson, a multi-award-winning Elvis act from Hull.

This variety of impersonations is coupled with Elvis’ seemingly endless catalogue of songs. ‘He has a song for everything doesn’t he,’ one fan gleefully noted.

Standing at the centre of the festival, listening to the reverberations of his rock anthems, the slower hum of his gospel songs and the blues-based melodies of others, arising like the tide from the edge of Porthcawl, this was hard to dispute.

This year, Peter explains, some of the shows had to be scaled back – the ‘Hound Dog’ competition for the best-dressed pup and the ‘Priscilla, Queen of the Promenade Parade’ among them. None of this detracted from the jubilation.

The King may have left the building, but his spirit is alive and kicking along a small stretch of Welsh coastline

Upon leaving the event, conversation with the taxi driver – who also wore a full costume (of course) – inevitably turned to one thing. It wouldn’t take long before we were harmonising to all manner of Elvis songs. Elvis fever had reached full pitch.

The King may have left the building, but his spirit is alive and kicking thanks to a legion of supporters every year along a small stretch of Welsh coastline.