Your Subtitle text


AVAILABLE FOR PURCHASE NOW, Elvis Presley 'That's All Right' exclusive HMV 10" single, ONLY 5000 WORLDWIDE, Sold out & deleted on day of release

THAT'S ALL RIGHT MAMA LIMITED EDITION HMV VINYL 10" still has original 50th label. HMV Management Head of PR and press explained that the contract HMV had with BMG RCA for only 5000 to be produced in the world through HMV stores in the U.K. plus 250 for promotional purposes. These are unplayed in the condition they were when purchased from HMV on 5th July 2004.
These Limited Edition releases went on sale at 8am in HMV stores on Monday 5th July 2004 and were sold out within 2 hours. They were deleted on the day of release and instantly became a collectors item.
We have a number of these rare 10" limited edition vinyl's. The highest limited edition number we have is 1,654 and the lowest limited edition number we have is 44 with many other low limited edition numbers.
Record Collector Magazine had the high numbers valued at £70 ($110), as they are now rare collectors items and will only increase in value.
You will receive one Limited Edition That's All Right' 10" Vinyl from that day 5th July 2004
You will receive a copy of the letter that HMV Head of Press & PR sent to Daniel Johnson explaining the exclusive contract HMV had with Sony/BMG for this release.
You will receive a copy of the receipt from that day July 5th 2004.

You will receive a Elvis Presley Museum Letter with Corporate Seal.
Please contact us for individual limited edition numbers and prices.
(please note: some come with original price-bar-code sticker some dont, All come with 50th anniversary sticker on the front)

Please note: we have more that one of these limited edition records, we have photographed a few below, but they are all very similar.
For more information please e-mail:

For security purposes all items acquired from Elvis Presley Museum
will be accompanied with a Elvis Presley Museum letter with Corporate Seal.

A record of the item/items acquired can be located in our archive' now and in the future and can be verified by contacting us on

HMV celebrate 50th anniversary of rock 'n' roll with collectors' edition of Elvis' first ever single.
That's All Right exclusive on 5th July 2004.
A 10-inch vinyl limited edition of Elvis Presley's Thats All Right-the record that many believe launched rock 'n' roll 50 years ago-is available exclusively at HMV's 180-plus stores in the UK and Ireland and through its online site at on Monday 5th July.
The date is the precise 50th anniversary of Elvis recording the single at Sun studios in his hometown of Memphis, Tennessee, on Monday 5th July 1954. That's All Right changed the world-John Lennon would later famously remark that "before Elvis there was nothing"- but has remarkably never been released as a single in the U.K.
HMV's 10-inch vinyl version is almost certain to become a collectors' item. Only 5000, individually numbered, copies are being pressed and there's every chance they will be sold out on the day of release-many of the 1000 available on have already been accounted for through customer pre-orders.
Uniquely, the single appears on the original Sun Records-the small independent label that released the record in America 50 years ago-and features the original b-side, Blue Moon Of Kentucky.
Says Steve Gallant, HMV Product Director: "Given the enduring appeal of Elvis-and the significance of his first recording-we're sure there is going to be enormouse demand for this special edition. Our advice, therefore, is to get to the stores early-because once we have sold out, this item will be deleted and there'll be no other way of getting it.
The single's release comes as part of a global party to celebrate the birth of rock 'n' roll.
At 5.00 pm (BST) on 5th July, for instance, radio stations around the world will be encouraged to simultaneously play That's All Right. On the same day BMG are also releasing.
HMV promotional poster that was originally on display in there store on July 5th 2004.


The Complete Recording Sessions
by Ernst Jorgensen

"There had been little progress since the first recording. The plaintive, insecure, but strangely passionate voice seemed to hold no commercial promise whatsoever. And so Elvis went back to waiting, stopping by the studio every now and then, determined for something to happen. It HAD to, he wanted it so much. Then, On Saturday June 26, Marion Keisker called. Could he be there by three? "I was there by the time she hung up," he later joked; she suspected he'd run all the way, all charged up with the idea that Mr. Phillips might have found something for him.

The previous year, Sun had had a sizable hit with a group called the Prisonaires, all residents of the state penitentiary in Nashville. Their song, "Just Walking In The Rain," had been written by another prisoner; now Sam had a tune from yet another inmate, this time a ballad called "Without You," and he thought it might suit the quiet young singer. It might have, but Elvis couldn't find a way to do it; nevertheless, Sam invited him to keep singing–to let him hear whatever other songs he knew. The older man encouraged the boy, listened and tried to understand him, but when it was all over he didn't really know what to suggest. He only knew there was something there. "I have one real gift," Sam Phillips later said, "and that gift is to look another person in the eye and be able to tell if he has anything to contribute, and if he does, I have the additional gift to free him from whatever is restraining him." It didn't happen that afternoon, but sometime over the next ten days it did. Sam's insight and his patient persistence would help make him one of the most inspired and productive record producers of American vernacular music.

At around the same time a young guitar player, Winfield Scott "Scotty" Moore III, was also hanging around the studio, and eventually Sam gave his band, Doug Poindexter's Starlite Wranglers, a chance to record. Scotty had ambition–he wanted to work in the record business–and Sam liked him a lot. One day over coffee he suggested that Scotty contact a young ballad singer Sam was thinking of recording, to see if they could work something up for a session. Scotty wasn't given any further direction, but he knew that if he wanted to get something going with Sam he should at least give it a shot. He called the young singer and arranged to meet him. Bill Black, the Wranglers' bass player, would come along too; Bill's younger brother Johnny was one of the young musicians Elvis had hung around with in Lauderdale Courts, in a loose group that also included Lee Denson and the Burnette brothers, Johnny and Dorsey.

Because everyone worked during the week, the trio met at Scotty's house the following Sunday (July 4th) and began by working their way through all the songs that Elvis could think of. The two older musicians were left with no distinct impression of his singing ability, but they were impressed with his outrageous appearance. He had arrived dressed in a black shirt, pink pants with a black stripe, white shoes, and a slick hairdo, all sideburns and ducktail. The very next evening, after work, the trio took their rehearsals to the studio, where a determined Sam Phillips seemed ready to get to the bottom of the situation–to try to understand why it was that he couldn't seem to shake the idea of this kid. 
"Back in the studio, this time with Scotty and Bill, Elvis once again tried everything he could think of. Sam recorded him singing Leon Payne's country hit, "I Love You Because," with little success; it wasn't that Elvis was bad (save for the dismal recitation in the middle), but what was the point in Elvis doing the song when it had already been done better? Then, toward the end of the night, Sam was in the control room doing something when he got caught off guard by what would become the most significant musical moment in his, Elvis', Scotty's, and Bill's lives. Patience might not have been the frenetically busy Sam Phillips's most obvious virtue, but it was one of his most important, as the hours he spent with Elvis and the boys were finally proving. In four years of work with local black musicians, he'd found their talent was frequently obscured by a lifetime of insecurity, and waiting for musicians to shake those feelings of "inferiority" and get beyond their natural fear of failure naturally took patience. Sam had always believed in the amateur spirit; to him it was only with fresh, unjaded nonprofessional musicians that truly creative and innovative work could be done. Now–if he could believe the sound coming over the monitor–his patience was finally paying off. After all his failures, Elvis was starting to warm up.
Scotty and Bill weren't yet comfortable themselves, exactly, but they were falling right behind Elvis, giving it their best shot, catching up with him as best they could. Clowning around was definitely second nature to both Elvis and Bill, so it shouldn't have been much of a surprise when the two of them started fooling around with a familiar blues song, Arthur "Big Boy" Crudup's "That's All Right." When the normally reserved Scotty joined in, Sam sensed that the patience part of his job was over. This was something truly unexpected, something original; it had a logic of its own, even if Sam recognized elements that were borrowed from his own recordings of Jackie Brenston or Junior Parker. It was the "something different" he'd been looking for, the beat the music had always been lacking, and without hesitating Sam finally made his move. Stopping the group in midverse, he asked them to start over as he pushed the RECORD button on the tape machine. Relaxed and loose at last, Elvis injected a bright, breezy, more melodic feel into the traditional blues, and with only two guitars plus the slap of Bill's bass, a sound came through that got Sam's eyes dancing. Suddenly, they were making a record.
Perhaps, they tried other material that night, tried working up other songs in the same vein as "That's All Right." They may have done "Tiger Man," a song Sam had cowritten (under the name Burns) with blues artist Joe Hill Louis and given to Rufus Thomas to record. (We know that in 1970 Elvis kicked off the song with a cryptic introduction: "This was my second record, but not too many people got to hear it.") It may have been before "I Love You Because" that they spent time on "Harbor Lights," but they couldn't get the Hawaiian-inspired pop song right. Eventually, though, they came up with a song even more improbable than "That's All Right"–and just as promising. From a childhood of Saturday nights listening to the Grand Ole Opry, Elvis knew the bluegrass music of Bill Monroe and his Bluegrass Boys. The waltz tempo of "Blue Moon Of Kentucky" was as far from Crudup's rhythm and blues as you could get, but the group straightened the song out, converted it to 4/4 time, and brought the tempo up to that of the earlier number. After an early take Sam enthused, "Fine, man. Hell, that's different. That's a pop song now, nearly 'bout." With a few more takes and a little more refinement, the song edged even further from its country roots and into the domain of rhythm and blues. The result was something compatible with "That's All Right," and, more important, the perfect B-side to a record.

"Scotty and Bill were sure "they would be run out of town" if the song ever saw the light of day. But Sam knew what he was doing. He rushed a reference record down to the hippest DJ in Memphis and all of America, Dewey Phillips (no relation) of WHBQ. When Dewey played Elvis' record on his "Red, Hot and Blue" show three nights later, Elvis was so embarrassed he hid out at the Suzore No. 2 Theatre until his mother and father retrieved him. Dewey Phillips was calling: The switchboard at the station had lit up with confirmation of Sam's instincts. This was something new, something worthwhile, a sound they all could run with. All of a sudden, all those old hopes of Elvis' began cropping up as immediate facts and demands in his life. On the strength of the record's "Red, Hot and Blue" reception, the little band, who had never appeared in public, was booked for a guest spot at Memphis' Bon Air Club. Then, before long, Elvis was added to the bottom of a bill headlined by Slim Whitman, on well-known Memphis DJ Bob Neal's "Folk Music" show out at the Overton Park Shell (Friday July 30). A flurry of publicity, including a picture and article in the Memphis Commercial Appeal, took note of the record's startling local success.
At the Overton Park show, almost overcome by panic, Elvis got through his opening number, but not without another unexpected development: his leg started shaking uncontrollably, just the way he'd seen Statesmen bass singer Jim "Big Chief" Wetherington's do as he worked the crowd. The response from the girls in the audience was instantaneous. All through that summer the record was heard everywhere in Memphis, and through the power of radio it spread to neighboring areas."