Elton John, Pepsi Arena, 9/15/98

by Seth Rogovoy

(ALBANY, NY, Sept. 17, 1998) -- Elton John gave fans all they could have possibly hoped for in his concert at the Pepsi Arena on Tuesday night. His was a spirited, well-paced show, chock full of hits, laced with some obscure chestnuts, and full of whatever personal touches the entertainer could manage in an arena-style setting.

John dug deep into his 28-year-old catalog, much to the delight of the mostly middle-aged crowd, interspersing album cuts and minor hits such as “Grey Seal,” “Levon,” “Captain Fantastic” and “Honky Cat” with such mega-hits as “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road,” “Daniel,” “Rocket Man,” “Your Song” and “Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me.”

As opposed to his last show at the arena six years ago -- a gloomy, tired affair -- Tuesday night’s show was full of dynamic energy. At 51, John has seemingly been reborn as an entertainer, no longer hiding behind his glasses and piano, but now working with and through them to communicate to his fans the joy he takes in his work and his appreciation of their devotion.

John could barely stay seated at the piano in between -- and sometimes during -- songs. He repeatedly made the rounds of the stage to acknowledge his fans’ support, and halted the show several times to shake hands with those gathered in front and to autograph their programs and ticket stubs. There was an even a stagehand at the ready with markers to assist him.

John’s seven-piece band rendered faithful versions of the familiar material, but were also loose enough to stretch out in several spots, or to follow John’s lead when he felt like soloing on piano. The band boasted original guitarist Davey Johnstone, who along with another guitarist provided a versatile front line of electric and acoustic guitar, banjo, mandolin and saxophone, as well as backup vocals.

The show was full of peaks of valleys, building from tender ballads such as “Tiny Dancer” and “Your Song” to hypercharged pop-rockers such as “I Don’t Want to Go on with You Like That” and “Philadelphia Freedom.” Even within numbers, the arrangements allowed enough space for John’s piano and vocals to breathe before climaxing with a full-band assault.

John played several extended piano solos based in boogie-woogie or Jerry Lee Lewis-like styles. He worked his way into “Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me” with a particularly florid, lyrical passage, part semi-classical, part faux-jazz.

While for the most part John was able to deliver his vocal melodies in all their original glory, he occasionally performed some subtle, harmonic downshifting. Apparently his range is not what it used to be, and on “Crocodile Rock,” he didn’t even attempt the falsetto part, leaving that to a band member.

For Elton John fans, the show must have left them on a trippy, nostalgic high. For the rest of us -- and with tickets at $40 or $50 a pop plus service charges, there were probably very few non-fanatics in the arena -- the show was as puzzling as it was fun, provoking as it did idle speculation about just who Elton John is and what he is about.

John’s limited musical palette was perhaps unintentionally reflected by the prevailing lighting pattern of the show: all primary reds and blues. John’s is a confectionary style of pop-rock, all sweet and sugar-coated, and except for a few nods to Jerry Lee Lewis and the Beatles, it virtually stands wholly outside modern pop or rock tradition.

While there were hints in some of John’s earlier songs that he was part of the early-‘70s, confessional singer-songwriter movement, he never realized that aspect of his work. Besides which, John is only one-half of a songwriting duo -- the invisible Bernie Taupin penned virtually all of John’ s lyrics.

But given the vast catalog of material John has recorded, we know little of John or Taupin. There is no overriding vision, personality or narrative sensibility in the songs -- indeed, many of them seem purposely obscure to the point of nonsense. There is a common theme of teen-age alienation running through such disparate numbers as “Rocket Man,” “Bennie and the Jets” and “Saturday Night’s All Right For Fighting,” but not enough on which to base an entire oeuvre.

Notwithstanding this lack of identity, John has probably sold more recordings than anyone in history. One supposes that that achievement in itself might stand as a sort of identity, creative or otherwise.

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