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Welcome to Declassified, a weekly column looking at the lighter side of politics.
Just when you thought it was safe to put on a black quiff wig and a rhinestone jumpsuit, along comes the coronavirus to ruin everything.
Forget national lockdowns, international travel bans and not being able to get your hair cut for five months, the latest victim of the global pandemic is Porthcawl Elvis Festival. The annual event in south Wales attracts upwards of 30,000 people and the organizers held on until the last minute before bowing to the inevitable and pulling the plug.
Asked if the festival really was canceled, a spokesperson simply said “uh huh huh.”
Maybe the Elvises (or whatever the plural of Elvis is. Elvi?) should get together online and sing to each other. Here are a few suggestions:
“All cooped up,”
“A little less conversation (with anyone outside my social bubble),”
“Love me tester,”
“Can’t help falling ill with you,”
“The first time ever I saw your face mask,”
“Viva Las Virus,”
“Are you lonesome tonight (after the 10 p.m. curfew)?*
It’s been a busy few days at the intersection of music and coronavirus. In Madrid, a performance of Verdi’s “Un ballo in maschera” (that’s “A masked ball” for those interested in irony) at the Teatro Real was canceled after people in the cheap seats complained that they were herded in like cattle while the well-heeled opera buffs below were given plenty of space to go with their fluffy cushions and lobster popcorn (or whatever it is that people eat at the opera).