'Madman Across the Water' Was Elton John's Finest

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There can be no disputing the fact that Elton John has made a lot of albums in his life, and most of them have been pretty good.

I've always thought his best work came early in his career, when he was putting out two or three albums a year, and my personal opinion is that his very best album — "Madman Across the Water" — was released on this day in 1971.

I always liked the title song best. It was different from the others, not destined for release as a single or extended radio airtime. For that the album offered "Levon" and "Tiny Dancer."

The song had a haunting, symphonic sound that I really liked (credit Paul Buckmaster's string arrangements for that). I can't explain it any better than that. Much of the remainder of the album had the kind of pop sound for which John is probably best known — although several songs showed a flair and a poet's touch that one rarely finds on an album by a 24–year–old.

"Madman Across the Water" wasn't his most popular album. It did reach #8 on the Billboard chart, which was a lot better than it did on the U.K. charts, but there were several other albums that went to #1. Still, I kind of thought it had something for everyone.

As I said, I liked the title track the best, but there is no denying the popularity of the singles. "Levon" reached #24 in the United States, and "Tiny Dancer" made it to #41.

Again, though, there were many other Elton John songs that reached greater heights on the charts.

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Interesting thing about "Tiny Dancer." Well, more than one.

For one thing, I think it had some of the most delicate piano playing I have ever heard, and it transitioned subtly yet beautifully into a broader, more complex arrangement.

"Tiny Dancer" wasn't a huge hit in the United States, and it wasn't even released as a single in the United Kingdom. Fact is, it enjoyed its greatest success in Canada, which was where John's career really got started, and Australia. "Tiny Dancer" made it to #19 on the Canadian charts and #13 on the Australian charts.

There was more great piano on "Levon," which reached #6 on the Canadian charts. It, too, offered John's unique piano style, and it was one of John's many collaborations with lyricist Bernie Taupin.

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The natural assumption is that the song had something to do with Levon Helm since, reportedly, The Band was John and Taupin's favorite group in those days.

But Taupin claimed a few years ago that the song had nothing to do with Helm.

Jon Bon Jovi, who idolizes John, covered the song for a tribute album to the songwriting team. Supposedly, "Levon" is his favorite song

As I say, "Madman Across the Water" is my favorite Elton John album — although some, like "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road," come close to matching it in my mind. It kind of runs out of gas near the end, but that's OK.

It's still great. Most of the tracks give the impression of being major works by themselves.

As, indeed, most of them are.

And when that is the case, you can overlook the misfires near the end.

Lessons Learned Along the Yellow Brick Road

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I suppose many people think of Princess Diana and her death in 1997 when they hear "Candle in the Wind," even if they hear the version that was released on Elton John's "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road" album 40 years ago today.

It just seemed so perfect for Diana, a remarkable yet fragile individual whose death truly shocked the world. All John had to do was rewrite a few lyrics, and the tribute was complete.

In fact, you really had to be familiar with John's recording history to know that it was a recycled song. I don't think "Candle in the Wind" was a hit on that album so who would remember it nearly a quarter of a century later — other than those who bought the album in the early '70s?

There were quite a few of those. It's possible that Diana was among them. The double album went gold within a month of its release — for a double album, that was no mean feat — and, in the intervening years, it has been certified platinum several times over.

But it did so mostly on the strength of three hit singles — "Bennie and the Jets," "Saturday Night's Alright for Fighting" and "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road." Other songs on the album were modest hits, I guess, but those were the big three.

When most people think of that time in John's career, I guess they think most often of his version of "Pinball Wizard," which was featured in the 1975 movie based on The Who's rock opera, "Tommy."

The soundtrack for that movie was quite popular, and John's contribution was one of the hit singles from it. He didn't write it, of course, but he performed it. I remember hearing it on the radio practically constantly for weeks.

But that album was still two years in the future when John released "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road."

Or maybe they think of "Rocket Man," which was on a different album.

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My initial memory of "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road" is different than it is for most people, I am sure.

I was a child when it came out and hadn't even heard of it until one night when I went with my mother to visit a family friend, the son of one of her best friends. He was suffering from a brain tumor (his cancer later went into remission, then returned and, eventually, killed him). Anyway, he was at home, apparently between stays in the hospital, and we went by for a visit.

Mom instructed me to get him alone while she chatted with her friend and find out what we could give him as a get–well present so that is what I set out to do.

I knew I couldn't ask him straight out, that I had to be sneaky so I just started chatting with him. He had a lot of records in his room, and I asked him if there was a record he didn't have that he wanted — and he mentioned "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road."

As I say, I had never heard of it, knew nothing about it — but, before I could ask any questions, he told me it was a double album.

And I was convinced that Mom would never buy it. Double albums were a really big deal in those days. I was convinced that Mom wouldn't spend what I thought was a small fortune on a double album.

But she did.

In hindsight, that probably should have been a hint as to just how serious his condition really was. But I was a child, and my exposure to death was still limited. I guess I didn't believe anyone close to my age could die. I know, it's ridiculous.

When you're young, I guess, you really don't understand these things.

On Such a Timeless Flight

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"I'm not the man they think I am at home.
Oh, no, no, no
I'm a rocket man.
Rocket man
Burning out his fuse up here alone."

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Forty years ago this month, Elton John recorded "Rocket Man."

A few months later, it was released as a single — and it has gone on to be possibly John's most recognizable recording. Oh, sure, you could mention others. "Honky Chateau," the album on which "Rocket Man" appeared, was his first album to reach #1 in America — but it was his fifth studio album.

And, within a few years of recording "Rocket Man," Sir Elton had released many others that people may be more inclined to recognize — although there is no doubt that lots of people recognize "Rocket Man."

They just don't always know the words.

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That isn't an uncommon thing with popular songs, as Volkswagen cleverly demonstrated with its recent commercial featuring "Rocket Man."

The point of the commercial, of course, was to show how clear the Passat's sound system is — and it did so by showing just how many different ways a single line from a popular song can be misinterpreted.

That's really nothing new. Seems like people have been misquoting songs all my life. Doesn't really matter, I guess. Maybe that is what is magical about popular music, kind of like those write–your–own–caption contests where the cartoon is already drawn and all you have to do is supply the punch line.

In that regard, I've heard people attach such mondegreens to tunes, filing in things that were relevant to their experiences — kind of like the waitress who sings about "burnin' up the room with cheap cologne."

I certainly get the feeling, from that very brief moment in that commercial, that the waitress sings from personal experience on that one, even if it isn't the line that was originally written and recorded. The music provides the framework. The personal line gives it powerful meaning.

I knew a girl in college who equated "Rocket Man" to her own life. I don't think she misquoted the lines when she sang the song, but the song nevertheless had a personal meaning for her.

Her father drove one of those big rigs you see on the highway, hauling freight from one place to the next, and he would be away from home for long periods, trying to support a family he seldom saw and probably didn't really know.

My friend thought of her father as a rocket man.

I don't know what he hauled, and that isn't relevant, anyway. My understanding is that most truckers are contractors. They transport cargo. Doesn't matter what the cargo is. It could be food or clothing or cars — or perhaps even a hazardous cargo.

The nature of the cargo might require special handling procedures, but the objective is always the same. The cargo has to be transported from Point A to Point B. As long as the grocery store has the cookies you like to eat while you watch TV or the clothing store has the jeans you like to wear (and in your size, too), most consumers give little thought to the logistics involved.

My friend's father was one of the faceless people in America, I suppose — the ones who only get our attention when something goes wrong.

And that was the point of "Rocket Man," that a job that could be fraught with risks could be regarded by so many as routine. These days, driving a big rig may not seem terribly risky to most people — unless they watch Ice Road Truckers — and 40 years ago, many people had come to think of space travel as routine — even though they had witnessed a deadly fire during a pre–launch test five years earlier and the aborted moon mission of Apollo 13 less than two years before.

Now, of course, the space shuttle, which didn't even exist when John recorded "Rocket Man," has been retired. In spite of two disasters with space shuttle missions, it was seen as ordinary, predictable, routine.

There's nothing routine about space travel. For that matter, there's nothing predictable about life. It's different for everyone.

Kind of like interpretations of song lyrics.

Harrison's Tribute to Lennon

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The murder of John Lennon in December 1980 was, as I have written before, a traumatic event for anyone who was old enough to understand what had happened — but especially if that person happened to be old enough to remember when Lennon was half of the most influential songwriting team in the world.

I was only a child when the Beatles were making records, but I really felt as if I had lost a friend when Lennon was killed. I could only imagine how devastating it must have been for those who really had been close to Lennon during his life — people like former Beatles bandmate George Harrison.

Harrison's solo career after the Beatles broke up was kind of a mixed bag, I guess. It started out with a bang. He had a huge backlog of material that he never recorded with the Beatles, and he took the extraordinary step of releasing a triple album at a time when double albums were still something of a rarity — not to mention a gamble for an unproven solo artist (even one who had been a member of the Beatles).

I always felt — and, apparently, so did many others — that the quality of the songs on that triple album justified its release. More than 30 years later, that triple album — "All Things Must Pass" — was still held in such high regard that Rolling Stone named it one of the Top 500 Albums of All Time.

In August 1971, Harrison organized what I always felt was the model for the benefit concerts that were so prevalent in the 1980s — his star–studded concert to raise funds for Bangladesh refugees that he expanded into a revenue–producing movie and another triple album.

After that, though, his success was spotty for the rest of the decade, I would say. He had a few high moments but nothing approaching the commercial reactions he got for his earlier post–Beatles efforts.

And, in 1979 and 1980, he was ensnared in the production of an album that dragged endlessly.

A few months before Lennon's murder, Harrison thought he had finished work on the album, but the record label executives told him to drop four songs because they were too downbeat — so Harrison returned to the studio.

Just before Lennon's death, Harrison was working with another ex–Beatle, Ringo Starr, on a song called "All Those Years Ago," but it was unfinished until Lennon was killed.

I'm not sure what "All Those Years Ago" was about before Lennon's murder. After that event, though, it took on its true purpose — as a tribute to Lennon.

Harrison reworked the lyrics and included references to "All You Need Is Love" and Lennon's biggest hit as a solo performer, "Imagine."

Both references must have been painful for Harrison. "All You Need Is Love" was commissioned by the BBC, which had asked the Beatles for a song that contained a simple message that everyone could understand.

And Lennon himself had said that Harrison's contributions to Lennon's "Imagine" album were "the best he's ever f**king played in his life."

Harrison still had more to say musically about Lennon and the Beatles, which he did a few years later in a song called "When We Was Fab."

And he found a receptive audience for that single, too.

But the prime time for musical tributes to Lennon was in the early 1980s.

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Less than a year after Harrison's song was released, Elton John released his homage to Lennon, "Empty Garden (Hey Hey Johnny)."

That was a good song — John himself said he had been afraid that songs that were dedicated to Lennon would be "cheesy" until he read Bernie Taupin's lyrics in "Empty Garden."

But, to me, Harrison's song was more powerful. Maybe that was because of the knowledge that Lennon and Harrison had shared the staggering experience of being Beatles — something that only three other people ever shared with them.

It was actually released as a single in May 1981, but it was released as part of the "Somewhere in England" album on this day 30 years ago.

And it is to the presence of "All Those Years Ago" that "Somewhere in England" owes the success it enjoyed. As I recall, that is virtually the only song from the album that was known — or played on the radio — at the time, and it is likely the only reason the album reached #11 on the charts.

But those charts were misleading. The album's success was meteoric in nature, and it quickly fell from the heights it reached.

In hindsight, the album's commercial performance resembled the monthly jobs report with its conflicting numbers.

The album's chart position would suggest greater sales than it actually enjoyed. Its time on the charts was brief, though, and it wound up being Harrison's first solo album that failed to achieve gold status in the United States.

But Harrison's tribute to Lennon will always make that album special in his discography.

'Tommy' ... On the Silver Screen

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Thirty–five years ago tomorrow, a film based on the Who's 1969 rock opera "Tommy" was released in the United States.

For most people, I suppose, that isn't too significant. I mean, there have been a lot of film musicals over the years (I have a particularly vivid memory of a Thanksgiving spent with my grandmother when I was a child and being forced — in my opinion, anyway — to watch the movie "Oklahoma!" that was televised that night because my grandmother liked it).

There were even movies that were based on rock operas before "Tommy" was made ("Godspell" and "Jesus Christ Superstar" come to mind). In that sense, it can't be said to have broken any new ground — although some purists might insist that "Tommy" was different.

And, although the film was a departure of sorts for the actors in the cast, it was hardly the debut film for Ann–Margret, Oliver Reed or Jack Nicholson. I suppose the cast was adequate — Ann–Margret was even nominated for a Best Actress Oscar — but I don't remember being particularly impressed. All three had been in movie musicals before, so none could be considered a novice. Nevertheless, it would be a mistake to assume that this kind of thing was their milieu.

Likewise, it may have been the first film for some of the musicians in the cast, but they must have been chosen for their popularity and/or musical talent (both, in some, but not all, cases), not for their acting. I don't think the film was the start of a new career in movies for any of them.

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Even so, some of the performers — notably, Eric Clapton (singing "Eyesight to the Blind"), Tina Turner (performing "Acid Queen") and especially Elton John (playing "Pinball Wizard") — enjoyed commercial success with their contributions to the film's soundtrack.

(There is a certain irony, I guess, in the fact that the anniversary of the theatrical release of "Tommy," the story of a "deaf, dumb and blind kid," has been preceded by reports that Vatican officials, including the current pope, did not defrock a priest who molested as many as 200 deaf boys. That priest is now deceased, but lawsuits are pending.)

I bought the movie soundtrack after I saw the movie. I liked it — but I liked a girl in school even more and I made a cassette tape of my favorite songs from the soundtrack to play for her on a portable cassette recorder when we were hanging around on the school grounds when the day was over. I knew she liked "Pinball Wizard" so I played it for her a lot — even though I preferred "Eyesight to the Blind."

That is one of the bittersweet memories of my adolescence. I felt I was making some headway with that girl that spring, but she moved away from my hometown of Conway, Ark., after school dismissed for the summer. I don't think I saw her again.

I thought about her last year when I happened to stumble across "Tommy" on a cable channel. And that struck me as odd because she and I didn't see that movie together. We just listened to that Elton John recording — and some other songs from the film — together.

Things are different in my hometown today — I'm told it has nearly quadrupled in size since I was in high school, and I'm sure it has many options for moviegoers now — but when I was a teenager, there was one multiscreen theater in town (in this case, that means two screens), and it catered to the moneymakers. The theater's management didn't seem to think there was any money to be made from showing a musical — unless it was something on the order of "The Sound of Music."

To see such a movie in those days, one had to drive to the state capital of Little Rock. It wasn't far, only about 30 miles or so, but I wasn't old enough to have my driver's license and my parents wouldn't allow me to take the car to Little Rock on a Saturday afternoon (even though I was convinced I could do it with no problem, never even considered the possibility that I might get pulled over or, worse, be involved in an accident).

As it turned out, a friend of mine named Doug wanted to see it, but he wasn't old enough to have his license, either. So his mother graciously agreed to take us to Little Rock and see the film with us.

I don't remember when we saw it, but I guess it must have been sometime that spring, not long after it was released, because the place was packed. Doug spotted three empty seats on the front row — so we made our way to the front row, where we had to look straight up at the screen for nearly two hours while the state–of–the–art sound system shredded our hearing.

Well, Doug and I were young. We could handle it.

But, now that I'm older, I am filled with admiration for what his mother did that day. She was truly a good sport to escort us to the movie and sit through it with us.