So when Elton asks if maybe a radio station might have him aboard to spin some of his favorite tunes, he's extending himself in more ways than one. Here's E.J. the DJ from his two-hour appearance on KMET: the show is in progress:
ELTON: And now I've got another spot to do. This is a commercial for MCA Records and Tapes. They told me I could do whatever I wanted for sixty seconds. Right. Have you heard the new Little Feat album? It's on the Warner Bros. label. And 10 c.c.'s album is good, that's on Mercury. What else is good? Oh, Bad Company, that's on Atlantic, and Syreeta, she's on Motown. Um, MCAs got a few good records out, too. They have the Andrews Sisters, you know, Pete Fountain's greatest hits, umNo, they have Leon Russell, Mary McCreary-who else they got? Elton John, that little punk, you know, the bald one that looks like a bank clerk-little punk, I hate him. Uh, Kiki Dee, Neil Sedaka, Rocket Records. You know, if it wasn't for Rocket Records MCA would be dead....
I move from the bathroom to the lounge and press the Steward buzzer. Three seconds later he appears, complete with early morning charm.
"Bonjour Monsieur ca va?"
"Bien merci."
Before he says, "Would you like some coffee and croissants?" I have already told him that fresh grapefruit, Melba toast, and tea would be required. He vanishes backwards and returns in ten minutes with the tray. Vitamin pills are swallowed-lots of Vitamin E-good for the hair and wonderful for the sex life. I think I am living proof that this is just not true, but I still religiously take them, hoping that one day I will wake up to countless offers and hair like Bjorn Borg.*
*Permission to reprint selections from "My Day," by Elton John, courtesy Vogue (British edition), ©1974, The Conde Nast Publications Ltd.
E LT o N JOHN I S I N THE LOUNGE of the Starship on the way to San Francisco. He looks like an elfin cartoon, pale-skinned, all in pinks and chocolates today, from glasses (rosetinted) to shoes (they're pink) to shirt (pink and brown), and he has a briefcase in his lap, supporting a diary. He is busy writing.
"I've kept a diary for the last five, six years," he says. This, too, is an extension of Elton John, another side of Reg Dwight, born twenty-seven years ago in Pinner, England. He refers me to a chunk of his diary, published last month by the British Vogue, under the title, "My Day." He was aboard the S.S. France July 22nd, 1974, on his way to New York, from there to Philadelphia for a round of tennis with friend Billie Jean King, and onward to Colorado to make another album. With him on this five-day journey were band members and wives and Tony King of Apple Records. He is writing this entry to the music of Joni Mitchell. We pick him up after the morning bath:
At 12:00 Igo to the music room to write some new songs. I have only booked it for two hours and to my embarrassment have to eject the ship's classical pianist. She, however, makes her way to another room directly above and commences battle. I decide to write an uptempo number as most of the songs so far are slowisy. By 1 PM. `Meal Ticket' is complete-very pleased with it. Play it to the band and they nod their approval.
At 3:30 PM. play squash with Tony-he is just beginning and I am not much betterbut we do quite well and attract an audience who quickly pick up a few tips on the lesser arts of the game.
The schedule is now really light. At 4 PM. rush to the Fontaine Bleu Room. Have teaalso decide to play bingo. Quite prepared to send it up, I find to my delight that I win the first game .£17. Bingo is definitely for me. My fellow players are rather amused, saying: `Money always goes to money,' and other remarks which make me ever more determined to win the next game. However, it is not to be.
Back to the cabin for a swift game of backgammon which I lose, then off to the swimming pool for a quick dip. The indoor pool is virtually empty. It is a saltwater pool and after three lengths of breaststroke, freestyle, and Esther Williams, I am out-my eyes stinging from the salt, my skin shivering from the cold...
I usually have at least one catastrophe when getting dressed. Tonight it is the bow tie. My pale blue with yellow spots falls apart due to the catch coming off I have to choose another. Looking quite the perfect English gentleman (except for my green hair), I swish up to the Riviera Bar for drinks with the Captain. I decide to break my no-alcohol rule and I have a glass of Mumm-excellent. The Chief Purser is extremely nice, but the rest of the crowd is extremely Gucci-Pucci and definitely disapproves of us. Someone says in a rather grand voice, `That man over there is Elton John-he is very famous, but I have never heard of him.' This, of course, amuses everyone in the group and as I am about to fine them all £100 each, I am whisked away for a ship-to-shore telephone call. It is Los Angeles-`Caribou is now platinum. Congratulations. Roger and out.' Back to the Captain. To celebrate the platinum album, I decide to break my no-carbohydrate rule, and I have one pretzel. Feeling guilty about the champagne and pretzel, I go out to dinner in the Chambord Room.
Dinner tonight is caviar, pepper steak, beautiful vegetables, and stewed raspberries. Neil Sedaka sent me a bottle of champagne from New York. We all share the bubbly and gossip. Everyone comes under the hammer tonight. You can tell the Continental people from the Americans by looking at their clothes. Why do large American ladies squeeze themselves into dresses that show every inch of flab? I think our table is also coming under the hammer of various people, but we can outbitch anyone tonight.
Elton John at a press conference:
Who's the bitch?
Give me a 'couple of drinks and I'll be the bitch.
Elton John, at home:
What about criticism of the Goodbye Yellow Brick Road album? Someone-it was in Rolling Stone-said the hatred of women in that album was "awesome" and pervaded the album?
"I don't know. I went to WFIL in Philadelphia and George Michaels said, `Listen, man, you just made the most depressing album I ever heard.' He said, `There's not one happy song on the album. There's one happy one, but the rest are so down. Down on chicks, and I just separated with my wife.' And I analyzed it; I said, `You're right,' you know. I couldn't really answer for Bernie, but I would have to agree that there's a lot of down-on-women songs."
Bernie Taupin, on the Starship, his wife Maxine nearby:
"I never thought of it." He offered a laugh tinged with surprise. "I love women! That's amazing." He said people have a tendency to read more into his lyrics than he intends. Like how "Border Song" and "Levon" are anti-Semite; how "Honky Chateau" must mean the White House. How "Solar Prestige a Gammon" is an anagram for "Elton's Program Is a Game." "But I've never written a song meaning something more than it says."
In Beverly Hills I asked Elton if he always agreed with the lyrics he sings.
"I never question them," he said. "I just sing them. That's his part - of the fantasy, and I just don't go and say, `What the fuck's this mean?, I never question his lyrics at all, 'cause that's the kick he gets, by seeing his fantasies put onto a record.
"I thought Yellow Brick Road was the best album we've done as far as consistency went. Caribou-I can see why people hate Caribou; and I can see why people hate me. I went to a Who concert at Madison Square Garden. We were being shown to our seats, and this guy leaned over and said, `I fucking hate that man."' John laughed. "I can understand that reaction. Why? People-after Yellow Brick Road-people thought I was going to come up with a fucking masterpiece of all time. 'Well, what's he going to do now?' People don't like the sort of thing I've done, you know, they probably think I'm flashy. I can see why people like Grand Funk and people don't like me-they just think, 'Oh, he's full of shit.' And also I'm on the radio all the time and that probably bores them to fucking tears."
The costumes, Elton said, will continue to be a staple of his stage personality. "I just do it for amusement. It really started as a tongue-in-cheek thing, because the songs that I was performing weren't the sort of songs that you'd expect anyone to come in wearing a costume to, 'cause they were very moody songs. And then I started to enjoy it. And there's not-I never feel like coming out in a suit or a pair of jeans. Even at sound checks I'm a little glamorous."
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bsp; "I've got a suit which at the moment is being repaired which is incredible. It's all lights, dangling lights, the shoes light up, a 60-foot parachute comes out, it's dayglo and just shoots across the stage. And Bill Whiten had this other suit made for me, it's got wooden legs, and as I step out, a button releases sixty colored snakes that fly into the audience. "I mean I'll do anything. If anyone's prepared to make it and make it work, I'll get into anything.
"But I don't say, `Well, I must have this costume made 'cause the public will like it.' l have it made 'cause it's a big appeal for me. It's the same as my records or the songs I write. I don't want to sort of pander to them in any way, except when I'm performing. When I'm performing, yeah, I'll pander to them, I'll do anything for'em."
Elton and Bernie's songwriting has also remained unchanged, he said. They still write only for a specific album; Bernie writes the words first, then submits them to Elton. That must be a moment, I ventured, when the song is returned to Taupin, with music. John smiled.
"Now," he said, "it gets to the point sometimes where Bernie would send me a lyric and actually not hear the song till the album was finished. So he'd come to the album playback session and it really does him in. He can't listen to more than three or four songs. It really does him in."
He doesn't even know what beat they'll be in?
"No. He sometimes tries a suggestion, like on the new album, Captain Fantastic and the Brown Dirt Cowboy, there's a song called `Better Off Dead,' which he said, on the bottom of the page, 'a la John Prime?' And it's nothing like John Prine, it's sort of ait sounds like a Gilbert & Sullivan song. Semioperatic."
Captain Fantastic, John says, is a departure. "It's a story of all the things that happened to Bernie and me, how we met, all we went through up to the point of the Empty Sky album, and all the disappointments, our experiences with music publishers, asking for ten quid a week to live on. It's the entire album, and I think it's very uncommercial. I don't know if there'll be any singles on it, even now that we've recorded it." The album won't be out until next spring, but a new single will be released in November, along with the Greatest Hits album. The single is another departure. It's a Beatles tune, "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds," and it's performed on the current tour. Ringo Starr heard it at the Forum and declared it "great" at an MCA carnival/party the next day.
The idea came to Taupin from seeing Yellow Submarine on television, said John, and he tried it out at two charity concerts in England last spring. "It went down incredibly well, staggeringly well." On the session, he said, "John Lennon played on it and put his own personality on it."
Ringo is almost a neighbor of Elton's in Surrey; they live two miles apart. As for Lennon: "I met him last year in Los Angeles when he was doing the Phil Spector sessions. Tony King introduced me. He's probably the first big star who I instantly fell in love with. It usually takes me about six or seven meetings with someone 'cause I'm very withdrawn. But he's so easy to get on with. The first time we met, we got a Mercedes limousine, and we were driving down past the Roxy, and the Dramatics were there, and everyone's really dressed up to the hilt to go in, all the black people, and they look fabulous. So John and I went past and started going, `Right on! Right on!' through the roof. It was great."
Elton John on money: "Money can be funny. It can make people withdraw into themselves, make them become absolutely paranoiac. I'm not a slave to it. I don't go, 'I must do another tour this year so I can make enough money to buy so-and-so a sewing machine.' I enjoy it."
At one time, Elton was notorious for his New York shopping sprees, with Pappas following behind holding a stash of $2,000. Now, she said, "We refrain from doing that. Now we set up accounts, or write checks."
Has anyone ever accused Elton John of using a feigned generosity as, say, a defense?
"I've read about it," he said. "`He does it because he's insecure.' It boils down to, say, at Christmas with friends, and you're opening presents. I think most people will agree that you get more pleasure watching others opening yours. It's just human nature, right? Shit, I love giving people things, 'cause if I'm able to give someone something they couldn't possibly afford that I can afford to give them, it's great. I'm not doing it because I want to be Mr. Generous. But the whole point is: Christ, we're only around for a short time, and I intend to enjoy it, and the fuck with it, let's give some other people some enjoyment as well."
It all goes hand in hand with Elton's previously stated pop philosophy.
"I take my music seriously when I'm playing and when I'm in the studio. It's gotta be right or I go crazy. But I don't take my position as a musician too seriously, because I think there are other musicians who are much better. And a lot of musicians do take their positions far too seriously. They think they are important, and it is a mistake, because in the sense of time we are very unimportant; we're just extremely lucky to be able to be doing what we're doing. I used to do sessions for groups and some of these groups thought they were creating masterpieces, just ordinary pop songs that were not very good. I've always said that pop music was disposable, and it is, and that's the fun of pop music. If it wasn't disposable it'd be a pain in the fuckin' ass.
"There are so many people who think they're big cheese `Well, man, we played for 70,000 people.' Well, it's great, sure, but I mean, who cares? Next year someone else will be able to do it. Your next door neighbor might do it. And that's the whole point of pop music. That's the fun of it, the thrill of it."
-November 21, 1974
Rolling Stone
George Harrison:
LUMBERING IN THE MATERIAL WORLD
ere was a no-win situation. In the end, I believe, the story was a winner, but more because of the editing than the writing. The editor on this piece was David Felton, one - of my favorite writers at Rolling Stone-and anywhere he writes. Problem is, he didn't write much. Nicknamed "Stonecutter" while at the Los Angeles Times, Felton always felt, as he wrote, "that anything worth doing is worth doing slow." It was a thought he came up with in only two days.
[Quick, but worthwhile digression: David is also the writer of my all-time favorite headline. We had a news roundup in the magazine in the early seventies, and in mid-1974, ran an item about an 8-year-old boy who'd been awarded $733,000 in damages resulting from a faulty circumcision, which caused the loss of the end of his penis. After nine operations, he was fine. For the headline, Felton rose to the occasion:
$733,000
Plus Tip]
Regardless of one's output at Rolling Stone, if you were on staff as a writer, you also handled editing chores, and Felton, who'd been tapped to make near-sense of Hunter S. Thompson's reams of copy as they flew off the infamous "Mojo Machine" (actually, just an early IBM facsimile machine), got my report on George Harrison.
I don't have his editing marks. Racing from feature to feature, we did not maintain pris tine files at the magazine. I simply recall that Felton helped sharpen and focus this story about a former Beatle going on a big tour and disavowing his fabled past at the risk of upsetting his fans. When, sure enough, there were protests over his selection of songs, his arrangements, and his devotion of large portions of his concert to Indian music, he defended himself with spiritual-and Monty Python-quotations.
Oddly enough, the protests didn't come only from critics. Harrison's own inner circle voiced doubts about the way the tour had begun. I reported those thoughts, interviewed Harrison, and described the shows I attended. Felton moved the concert descriptions down, pushed the controversies up front, and closed with Harrison's strong-willed explanations. The result, I thought, was a well-balanced package.
Wrong. We were barraged with letters, more than for any story I'd done. Most of the writers defended Harrison's right to do whatever he wanted, even as they found fault with the shows, and accused me of being overly critical, while underly (Is that a word? Felton? Where are you?!) respectful of his religious remarks. Those who hated the show hated me, in turn, for giving Harrison such a platform for defending himself.<
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So either way, I couldn't win. But the story, I hope, is a good read.
HOLY KRISHNA! What kind of an opening night for George Harrison is this? Ravi Shankar asks for silence and no smoking during his music. Silence is very important, he says, because music is eternal, and out of the silence comes the music. Something like that. But, instead, out of the audience comes this piercing death cry, followed by a rain of war whoops. After a few numbers, people start shouting, "Get funky!" and "Rock and roll!"
In the press box at PNE Coliseum in Vancouver, one reporter is guessing that the Sanskrit letter for Om, illuminated in shadowboxes at either end of the stage, is actually the Indian dollar sign. Another insists it means "No Smoking."
Harrison, meantime, is hoarse from the beginning and strains through each song. Billy Preston eventually perks up the show with two numbers in the second half, but the night sputters to a conclusion with more Indian music, more cries for rock and roll and, in the end, Harrison receiving a perfunctory encore call. He performs "My Sweet Lord," and out of the silence comes the silence-a still and seated audience with only the front section clapping along,
"I hated it," said Pat Luce the next morning. Pat Luce wasn't a paying customer. She's a publicist with A&M Records, on the tour for Harrison's Dark Horse label, which A&M distributes. "We had a lot of conferences after the show," she said. "They're having a rehearsal today. George has to rest. He's been rehearsing every day and recording every night to get the single out. Last night everyone was-they weren't down; in the framework of the show, there is a fabulous show; they know it's a good band.
"But, one, it's too long; two, Ravi's got to be one set. And three, George has to shut up.
In San Francisco, producer Bill Graham gazed through an office window at the unceasing rain and shook his head very slowly. On the wall behind him hung memorabilia from his two other big tours of 19 74-Bob Dylan and Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young. He fingered the felt-tip pen dangling from his necklace and worried about anything he might say.
Not Fade Away: A Backstage Pass to 20 Years of Rock & Roll Page 31