It was no secret, if you knew me in the 1970s, that the music world, for me, belonged to Elton John. I was a huge fan of his entire catalog, his style, his freedom of spirit, his Britishness, and all those wonderful, wonderful lyrics written by Bernie Taupin that have lived on through decades. I know I went to too many Elton John concerts to count in my teen years, catching him live in large venues on Long Island and in Manhattan every time they happened. I spent countless hours memorizing his tunes by reading the lyrics from the inside of the album covers, I clomped up and down streets at home in the kind of platform shoes he wore, and I can even confess that to some extent Elton made wearing glasses a bit more fun for this shame-filled geek.
Admittedly I can’t say I knew Elton John and Bernie Taupin’s music from their start, at least not in the way I would come to know them. His initial entry into the music culture here in the United States began in August of 1970 with his highly successful first concert at the Troubadour, right here in West Hollywood (pre-incorporation). I was not introduced to earlier albums such as Empty Sky, Elton John, Tumbleweed Connection, or even Madman Across the Water until my personal discovery of the artist around his 6th released single in the U.S., “Rocket Man” in 1972.
That isn’t to say I did not hear Elton John before “Rocket Man,” because I had with American Top 40 as early as December of 1970 when my first introduction was his classic “Your Song.” That was only his second released single in the U.S., with the first having been “Border Song,” which had not made it into the Top 40. Ironically, the week “Your Song” debuted at #38 in late December 1970, and Aretha Franklin debuted at #37 with a cover version of “Border Song.” So essentially his first two singles debuted together, only not both his versions.
In 1971 both “Friends” and “Levon” made it into the American Top 40 but I still did recognize the full force of Elton quite yet. It wasn’t until 1972 that my eyes were opened, and although “Tiny Dancer” had only made it to #41, (so I did not hear it until my obsession began and I started to purchase the albums), “Rocket Man” won my heart and got me out to buy Honky Chateau, already his fifth studio album. Once I had Honky Chateau and was hearing “Honky Cat” on AT40 the floodgates were opened. I remember purchasing Madman Across the Water and then Tumbleweed Connection, and eventually, before 1973 I had the complete collection.
It was in 1973 that full-scale fanaticism kicked in. Early in the year Don’t Shoot Me I’m Only the Piano Player was released. Singles such as “Crocodile Rock,” and “Daniel” both rose to the top of the charts (with “Crocodile Rock” hitting #1 and “Daniel” #2). Then in October of 1973, my 15-year-old self would discover one of his all-time favorite album experiences with the double-sided treasure Goodbye Yellow Brick Road.
In October 1973 I was in 10th Grade at Ward Melville High School. My friends and I had come from the top of the food chain at our middle school, Murphy Jr High School. We were merging with another middle school this year and to begin it was all very awkward and cliquey as the different social structures feel each other out and settle into the initial perceptions about who is who, while at the same time we found ourselves at the lower rung of the ladder all over again as 10th graders. On the outside I was doing my best to make sure I looked untouchable, growing my hair and dressing towards a certain role that would rid me of any skepticism or potential uncovering of the person I felt I really was on the inside. Some of the greatest actors in the world are the little gay kids who desperately want to avoid bullying and whispers. I remember for me; it was so deeply buried I don’t really remember the struggle. I seized the persona that worked and ran with it, selling it every inch of the way and never once faltering or expressing one iota of the fear outwardly that I always had inwardly. I can tell you that I shoved it so far down that I would honestly convince myself that the opposite of my reality was actually true, which ended up panning out for the high school years but biting me in the ass as I got older and continued to act out with all different forms of alcohol, drugs, and addictions that, at the time, were obvious solutions to the way I felt.
The complete irony of my relationship with music at that time in my life was the outward androgyny of Elton John. Here was a man who intrigued me every step of the way. He was as boisterous in his personality as I was stoic in my own. It wasn’t as though I wanted to BE Elton John, but more that he represented the freedom in himself that I did not believe I had personally and therefore recognized only in his music, his clothing, and his persona. Oddly enough Elton John himself struggled in the same way and fought through it with his own demons and excesses including alcohol, cocaine, and bulimia. He did not “come out” as bisexual until 1976 and did not talk about being gay until 1992.
Elton John’s sobriety parallels my own as well. I will preface this with John’s own acknowledgment of his late 1990 sobriety (both in his autobiography and in the film Rocketman in 2019). In contrast, my sobriety happened with a psychic change in May of 1991 (the night of Wednesday, May 22 to be precise). I remember coming to a noon meeting in our drug & alcohol center above a pizza parlor in June of 1991 with 30 days of sobriety and the speaker was Elton John, an artist so pivotal in my life throughout the previous two decades. There he was sharing his story and celebrating 9 months of sobriety himself. I can’t say I had doubts about my own trajectory, but I can say that seeing him on the same path in many ways sealed the deal for me. I knew if he could do it, so could I. I remember that meeting vividly because I got to meet an idol and feel the identification between his story and my own.
So, when I think of that 15-year-old struggling kid and recognize the power an album like Goodbye Yellow Brick Road had over me, it boggles my mind. I listened to it in its entirety for hours and hours and hours throughout weeks and weeks of that year. I memorized the music and lyric and played them in my head when I was at school. I remember going to different friends’ houses and doing listening sessions. I remember the concerts that started with “Love Lies Bleeding / Funeral for a Friend,” and rocked to “Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting, and “Bennie & the Jets.” I loved the beautiful ballads on the album such as “Candle In the Wind,” (which he later rewrote in tribute to Princess Diana after her death), “Harmony,” “Sweet Painted Lady,” “Roy Rogers,” and “I’ve Seen That Movie Too.”
But more than any of the others, the song that brings me back to the safe spaces and camaraderie I felt with the artist and the music, was the title cut “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road.” Although the song portrayed Elton John’s own feelings about the path to success and looking for a means to move away from certain trappings of fame and fortune, for me, it would always feel like it tied into a yearly viewing of The Wizard of Oz. Every Thanksgiving for many years the movie would air in the evening, and we would get to see the contrast of black and white and the hope of the technicolor world beyond it. For each listen of this classic comes a memory of the comfort and joy it brought me. For that reason, it is a prime music trigger for me.
So goodbye yellow brick road
Where the dogs of society howl
You can’t plant me in your penthouse
I’m going back to my plough
Back to the howling old owl in the woods
Hunting the horny back toad
Oh, I’ve final decided my future lies
Beyond the yellow brick road.
I can’t tell you how much I love these weekly posts. Your words are so powerful…so well written!
I recall going over to your home on Beech (or nearby that street) & listening to Yellow Brick Road in your bedroom. What a great album. Glad you had, unbeknownst to Elton, a mentor in kind helping you along your road to recovery.