The Words

 I started listening to Elton John when my older brother gifted me with the double LP Goodbye Yellow Brick Road back in 1973. I listened to all four sides over and over again, partly because it was one of the few albums I owned but mostly because it was fascinating to me. It came to me as an eleven year old nerd who was still taking piano lessons and was looking for anything that might make me feel like anything but an outcast. Suddenly I was up to my navel in the zeitgeist. I had adopted my very first rock star. 

That was almost fifty years ago. The songs from that record and so very many other Elton John compositions have become the soundtrack of the past half century. Sir Elton was the first arena rock show I attended, and all that music was left literally ringing in my ears for days afterward. It was right about that time that I started becoming a fan in earnest. I picked up the older records, and kept an eye out for new releases. Captain Fantastic and the Brown Dirt Cowboy came out just before that first concert, and I was consumed by the autobiographical nature of the tracks. It was then that I began to familiarize myself with Bernie Taupin, Elton's lyricist and the man responsible for what has become decades of mondegreens. 

I feel the need to come clean here: I owned the albums. These were LPs with lyrics included in the packaging, and yet somehow I never bothered to take the time to examine them fully. Or perhaps I did. Somehow, the tales of gigolos and prostitutes and Roy Rogers never made complete sense to my incipient teenaged mind. "Back to the howling old owl in the woods/ Hunting the horny back toad?" By this point I had read the Mad Magazine parody of Midnight Cowboy (Midnight Wowboy). I just didn't understand it. Just like it never dawned on me that the words in Rocket Man were "burning up his fuse up here alone." 

And maybe I could place the blame on the accent and phrasing of Mister John's vocals. Some of that rock and roll inflection left me scratching my head a bit. Bennie, of Jets fame? She had electric boots. Just in case you were curious. Twelve years ago, my wife and I went with some friends to see Sir Elton play as part of a double bill with the Piano Man, Billy Joel. It was during this show that it became apparent just how many songs were one big vowel movement on my part. Singing along quickly became an embarrassment, so I loaded up my playlists with songs from my past. I wasn't going to be caught napping again. Or mumbling into my souvenir cup of Sprite. 

Elton John will be playing down the road apiece next weekend. I won't be attending. Not because I don't know the words. I will be staying home because I'm old and the cheapest tickets start at seventy dollars. To see him play in a football stadium. I'm sixty. He's seventy-five. If I need to sing along, I'll be doing so from the relative comfort and safety of my home. Where the lyric sheets are.