ELTON JOHN’S 10 BEST SONGS
As Elton John prepares to visit Montreal on his farewell tour, Ian McGillis takes on the thankless task of selecting the very best songs from a formidable catalogue.
Highs (and lows) ranked as icon set to perform here
It’s been a while since the man born Reginald Kenneth Dwight last had a bona-fide hit, but that hardly matters. At this point, multiple generations know Elton John not only as a musician, but as an indefatigable force for good, a giant in the fight for gay rights and AIDS awareness, mentor to countless young artists, and an allaround compassionate presence in the culture.
John’s Bell Centre appearance on Thursday will mark the 18th time since 1972 that he has played in our city (going by the website setlist.fm), but this show promises to pack an emotional punch like no other.
Just as Paul Simon did this year, John has let us know that this is the last time around — and as with Simon, the idea that songs we’ve known all our lives may never be played onstage again can be hard to take in.
Given that at least 100 songs John has written with lyricist and fellow Englishman Bernie Taupin show no sign of growing old, it’s an act of near-recklessness to attempt to list the 10 best. But here we go anyway.
The lion’s share date from 1970 through 1975; this is not to denigrate the later work, but to acknowledge those six years represent a hot streak with very few equals in pop history.
Note, too, that 1970’s Tumbleweed Connection and 1975’s Captain Fantastic and the Brown Dirt Cowboy — arguably the two greatest albums — are unrepresented here, their strength as unified listening experiences unfairly working against them in this context.
Each of the chronologically ordered Best picks includes a mention of a song that is complementary in some way, while each of the three takedowns is (hopefully) balanced with a nod to a song that attempts something similar, but to better effect.
And where on earth is Levon, you ask? Hey, this was never going to be easy.
YOUR SONG (FROM JOHN’S SELF-TITLED ALBUM, 1970)
This is John’s The Sound of Silence — the long-shot hit without which the career as we know it might not have happened. Teetering between innocent and callow, John’s vocal retains an awkward, bespectacled, balding 23-yearold’s charm. A minor complaint: would Romeo really have forgotten what colour Juliet’s eyes were?
Also: Skyline Pigeon, from the unloved 1969 debut Empty Sky, can be heard with hindsight as the first hint of a unique and prolific partnership.
FRIENDS (FRIENDS SOUNDTRACK, 1971)
Squandered on the soundtrack of a flop period film, here is a rare case of a song failing to become a hit not because it was too long, but because it was too short. You can practically see the program directors of the day checking the 45’s running time — 2:30 — and saying “next.” Add just one more verse and this soulfully sung, exquisitely orchestrated song would be as much a standard as anything in the catalogue.
Also: Harmony, another song that could and should have been a global smash, remains just another gem half-buried in an implausibly deep early body of work.
TINY DANCER (MADMAN ACROSS THE WATER, 1971)
When Cameron Crowe had a bickering, exhausted band sing this song on their tour bus in Almost Famous, he unwittingly transformed what had been a middling-popular early single into probably the best-loved item in the whole EJ oeuvre. Crucial to the magic is the unconventional structure: the first appearance of that glorious chorus is withheld for so long, you’re not sure you can stand the suspense. Go ahead, sing it out loud right now — you know you want to.
Also: Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters, another Crowe reclamation, can represent Taupin’s many studies of a transplanted country boy’s conflicted feelings about city life.
ROCKET MAN (HONKY CHÂTEAU, 1972)
Gus Dudgeon, the producer behind David Bowie’s Space Oddity, reworked his astral-ballad mojo on this masterpiece. John takes what could have been a kitschy tale of the spaceman as lunch-pail wage slave and inhabits it, while the poignant and hilarious second verse — about Mars and its unsuitability for child-rearing — is one of Taupin’s genius moments.
Also: Kate Bush’s Rocket Man, from the covers project Two Rooms, is probably the best interpretation of a John song, closely followed by Aretha Franklin’s Border Song and Rod Stewart’s Country Comfort.
DANIEL (DON’T SHOOT ME, I’M ONLY THE PIANO PLAYER, 1972)
Chance, in the form of an early verse getting dropped from the final recording, turned what might have been a tidy narrative into a mystery song that can be all things to all people. Is Daniel a brother, or a lover? Is “Spain” the country, or a state of mind? Is Daniel even alive, or is the narrator in denial? We don’t know, and we’re better off that way.
Also: Song for Guy, a gently melancholy bossa nova-tinged instrumental if you don’t know the backstory, a tear-jerking meditation on mortality once you do.
SATURDAY NIGHT’S ALRIGHT FOR FIGHTING (GOODBYE YELLOW BRICK ROAD, 1973)
Elton the full-tilt rocker has to be on this list, so let’s go with this storming response to the stylistic gauntlet thrown by English working-class glam-rockers Slade. Does it glorify violence? Maybe. But isn’t rock supposed to be a bit dangerous?
Also: Elderberry Wine. Young Bernie was no slouch when it came to writing about drinking, and young Elton was always up to singing about it.
PHILADELPHIA FREEDOM (STAND-ALONE SINGLE, 1975)
The apex of John and Taupin’s obsession with the U.S. found John and band channelling the lush ’70s Philly R&B sound to immaculate effect. Bowie tends to get all the rocker-doing-soul props, but John did it first and did it better: check the YouTube clip of him performing this song on Soul Train for a sense of his cultural reach at the time. Over the years, in a case of the audience finding a meaning the artists themselves may or may not have intended, the song took on a parallel life as a gay liberation anthem.
Also: Bennie and the Jets, another record embraced by black America, and one of the weirdest No. 1s ever.
I FEEL LIKE A BULLET (IN THE GUN OF ROBERT FORD) (ROCK OF THE WESTIES, 1975)
Four years on from Tiny Dancer — widely but mistakenly assumed to be about the flowering of a real-life relationship — the last great song of the Imperial Period finds the narrator wracked with guilt over the cavalier terminating of what was widely assumed to be that same relationship. John delivers one of his best vocal performances. Bonus points for a lovely solo by loyal guitar lieutenant Davey Johnstone.
Also: High Flying Bird is another powerful expression of parting regret. It’s on the same album as Crocodile Rock. That’s EJ for you.
I DON’T WANNA GO ON WITH YOU LIKE THAT (REG STRIKES BACK, 1988)
John’s highest-charting Billboard hit of the 1980s sounds like it might have been written during a coffee break, and is all the better for it. An easy-loping Motown groove, a just-this-side-of-nasty lyric, a wink to the Searchers’ Love Potion No. 9 in the chorus, and John letting his inner Jerry Lee Lewis out for a romp around the keyboard on the fade — it’s not a wheel reinvention, but it all works a treat.
Also: Nine-word titles were clearly the charm for Elton in the ’80s, when his second-biggest American hit was I Guess That’s Why They Call It the Blues.
POSTCARDS FROM RICHARD NIXON (THE CAPTAIN AND THE KID, 2006)
A funny thing happened to John at the dawn of the new century. Perhaps because The Lion King had made this already rich artist wealthier than Croesus, perhaps also simply feeling his age, he stopped trying for radio hits and began to follow his bliss. This song, opening a concept opus that picked up Captain Fantastic’s autobiographical thread, almost made it feel like the three decades following 1975 had never happened.
Also: Hey Ahab is a highlight of The Union, the feel-good duet project that found John enabling his longneglected piano hero Leon Russell to take a late-life victory lap.
THREE CASE STUDIES CROCODILE ROCK (DON’T SHOOT ME, I’M ONLY THE PIANO PLAYER, 1972)
What can you say about a song that draws its rock ’n’ roll inspiration from Pat Boone? It has been suggested that John’s first Billboard chart-topper would have filled the dance floor at Arnold’s Diner on Happy Days. But would the Fonz have approved? I doubt it.
Instead: Your Sister Can’t Twist (But She Can Rock and Roll). Because Little Richard beats Pat Boone every time.
CANDLE IN THE WIND (GOODBYE YELLOW BRICK ROAD, 1973; STAND-ALONE SINGLE, 1997)
Oppressively popular. From the junior-high-yearbook poetry of the title to groan-inducers like “Hollywood created a superstar / and pain was the price you paid” to the Trump-like casting of “the press” as the enemy, it’s one lyrical face-plant after another. The Diana tribute version gets a free pass, having performed a valuable service as a balm for public grief.
Instead: Roy Rogers. Now, here’s how to pay musical tribute to a screen giant.
SORRY SEEMS TO BE THE HARDEST WORD (BLUE MOVES, 1976)
A woe-is-me lyric and an uncharacteristically overwrought vocal make this a wallow with no leavening wit or irony.
Memo to all songwriters: repeating the word “sad” a lot does not guarantee a song will be sad.
Instead: Sacrifice is everything in a relationship song that Sorry isn’t: measured, wise, understated, dignified — for which qualities the artist was rewarded with his first solo U.K. chart-topper in 1990.