DEAR doubting Thomas,

Allegro. Maestro. Montego. OK. Having exhausted my classical lexicon,

I'll say that it's 15 years since I first saw Elvis, 50 yards across the

road atop the long-gone Apollo in a sticky-floored dancehall named

Satellite City.

The new-wavefulness was terrific. If you'd told me then that Elvis

would wind up being backed by a string quartet doing an epistolatory

song-cycle inspired by a Veronese academic's replies to a dead imaginary

woman, I'd have been epistolatingly speechless, pal.

Last night's show, the first live unveiling of The Juliet Letters, was

thus part of a brave artistic move, with Elvis open to copping it from

both sides of the unrock/non-classical divide.

Two biker-jacketed rock traditionalists next to me lasted seven songs.

No catchy choruses.

Classicists perhaps winced at Elvis's palpable lack of vocal range and

his penchant for the sub-operatic quaver.

Me? Along with almost everyone else I reckoned it utterly splendid, so

gripping that no-one could have complained about the absence of more

familiar songs from Elvis's rock canon.

The quartet sawed and swooped, jauntily expressive one moment, driven

the next.

Elvis emoted like a good 'un.

Top tune? I Almost Had a Weakness, wheeled out as a second triumphant

encore, after Scarlet Ribbons and before Kurt Weill's Lost in the Stars.

I must away to play the Juliet LP anew.

PS: I've not gone completely soft; if Sting tried anything like this,

I'd hate it.