Elton John, the 1970 album, stands as a pivotal moment in the iconic musician’s career. For many, including myself, a dedicated content creator at johnchen.net specializing in music reviews, The Lord of the Rings trilogy represents cinematic perfection. Similarly, this particular album within Elton John’s extensive discography embodies a near-perfect blend of musical brilliance and lyrical exploration, though not without its inherent tensions. Just as the Hobbit trilogy tragically missed the mark despite aspiring to Lord of the Rings‘ heights, Elton John’s subsequent albums sometimes strayed from the focused artistry displayed here, occasionally succumbing to lyrical choices that obscured rather than enhanced his musical genius. This self-titled album, Elton John, is both a triumph and a tragedy, showcasing the immense potential and also hinting at the paths not fully taken in his illustrious career.
This 1970 release is a resounding triumph because of its sheer musicality. Elton John was at a vocal peak, the arrangements were groundbreaking, and the songwriting was consistently exceptional, producing tracks that resonated deeply with listeners. Never again would an Elton John album offer such a concentration of relatable and moving songs. Nominated for Album of the Year, it arguably deserved the Grammy over Simon & Garfunkel’s Bridge Over Troubled Water. However, Elton John also presents a lyrical tragedy, laying bare two distinct directions for Bernie Taupin’s songwriting, with the less fruitful path unfortunately becoming dominant later in their partnership.
The Elton John/Bernie Taupin collaboration dominated the 1970s music scene, a force that propelled numerous songs to the top of the charts. Yet, their success wasn’t necessarily because of Taupin’s lyrics, but often in spite of them. Elton’s extraordinary talent and songwriting prowess are undeniable, evidenced by his ability to craft hit songs from often-questionable lyrics. During the early 70s, Elton’s creative streak was so potent that he could seemingly transform almost any lyric into glam rock gold.
Elton John reveals a crucial juncture, a glimpse into an alternate reality where Taupin might have nurtured his lyrical talent, focusing on relatable, real-world experiences instead of the abstract and often nonsensical lyrics that became his trademark. While avoiding clichés is admirable, Taupin’s pursuit of the unconventional often led to inscrutable and meaningless lyrics. Robert Frost’s celebrated “road less traveled” doesn’t always lead to worthwhile destinations.
“Solar Prestige a Gammon” from Caribou is often cited as the epitome of Taupin’s lyrical absurdity, but it was merely one of countless examples. The defining characteristic wasn’t always gibberish words, but rather phrases that, while composed of recognizable words, lacked coherent meaning. Post-Elton John, lucid lyrics became increasingly rare, yet Elton’s musical genius consistently managed to elevate these lyrical shortcomings into chart-topping hits.
The Elton John album can be neatly divided into songs with meaningful lyrics and those that stray into incomprehensibility. It’s highly likely that listeners would almost unanimously categorize the tracks in the same way. “Your Song” exemplifies the former. Its heartfelt lines, “You can tell everybody this is your song…I hope you don’t mind that I put down in words/How wonderful life is, now you’re in the world,” resonated universally. This relatability helped overshadow some of the song’s more awkward lines, such as the non-sequitur “If I was a sculptor, but, but then again, no/Or a man who makes potions on a traveling show.” And while the line about forgetting a lover’s eye color might seem oddly inattentive, the chorus’s sincerity propelled “Your Song” to become an enduring classic in Elton John’s discography. This formula – verses with questionable lyrics anchored by a powerfully relatable chorus – became a hallmark of many John/Taupin hits. Elton possessed an uncanny ability to identify and emphasize those relatable lines, skillfully diverting attention from weaker lyrical elements. Yet, overall, “Your Song” conveys genuine meaning, despite its lyrical imperfections.
“I Need You to Turn To” stands out not only for its coherent and moving lyrics but also as, arguably, the best Elton John song ever recorded (though the Live in Australia version is particularly compelling). It’s relatable and emotionally resonant, with strong verses complementing its powerful chorus. The song’s opening harpsichord is enchanting, the string arrangement is superb, and the cello entry after the first chorus is exceptionally effective. Paul Buckmaster’s orchestrations on Elton’s early albums are consistently brilliant, and this track is a prime example. Interestingly, Elton initially approached George Martin to produce the album, but when Martin also wanted to handle orchestrations, Elton declined, preferring Buckmaster’s distinct style. This decision to have Gus Dudgeon produce and Buckmaster orchestrate proved to be the right one, as Buckmaster’s contributions significantly shaped the success of Elton’s early 70s work. “I Need You to Turn To” perfectly showcases Buckmaster’s arranging genius.
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“Elton John in 1970, the year of his self-titled album release, showcasing his early career style and musical talent.”
“First Episode at Hienton” remains surprisingly underrated. It’s a beautifully crafted song with rare coherent storytelling from Taupin, depicting childhood sweethearts drifting apart as they mature. The lyrics are strong enough to almost forgive the awkward line about “Valerie’s thighs being the cushions for their love.” The Moog, somewhat unexpectedly, enhances the song’s melancholic mood. It poignantly captures the loss of childhood innocence, reminiscent of “Caroline, No.” The narrator’s nostalgic reflection on lost young love acknowledges the inevitability of their separation:
The songs still are sung
It was fun to be young
But please, don’t be sad where ‘ere you are
I am who I am
You are who you are
Now Valerie’s a woman…
Taupin masterfully portrays life’s passage and the inevitable drift between youthful lovers. This song is both admired for its quality and lamented as a reminder of Taupin’s unrealized lyrical potential. It highlights what could have been the standard for their songwriting partnership.
“Sixty Years On,” while lyrically somewhat obscure, is musically captivating with its harp, strings, and memorable melody. Even without deciphering every lyric, the song’s musicality is undeniable. The falsetto vocal from Elton after the first chorus is particularly striking.
Perhaps the most emotionally resonant track on an album brimming with them is “The Greatest Discovery.” The lyrics are exceptional:
Peering out of tiny eyes
The grubby hands that gripped the rail
Wiped the window clean of frost
As the morning air laid on the latch…
His puzzled head tipped to one side
Amazement swims in those bright green eyes
Glancing down upon this thing
That make strange sounds, strange sounds that sing…
And all you ever learned from them
Until you grew much older
Did not compare with when they said
This is your brand new brother
These lyrics evoke powerful emotions, a testament to Taupin’s capability. The initial cello solo, played by the multi-talented Paul Buckmaster, is simply exquisite.
“The Cage” also features comprehensible lyrics and a groovy funk rhythm. Elton’s falsetto again shines. While his later vocal range adapted to age, the early 70s falsettos are particularly missed by many fans.
These songs, with their relatable themes and coherent lyrics, represent a path that could have positioned the John/Taupin duo as perhaps the second greatest songwriting partnership ever, just behind Lennon/McCartney. However, the album also hints at a different, less successful trajectory. “The King Must Die” is a collection of vaguely related lines about royalty and courtly intrigue. While “And I’m so afraid your courtiers/Cannot be called best friends” is a decent line, the song lacks focus and narrative coherence. It exemplifies a lyrical laziness that would become typical of Taupin’s approach. The potential for a great song is there, and Elton crafts a catchy chorus, but ultimately, it falls short.
Similarly, “Take Me to the Pilot” has a memorable chorus, but its meaning remains elusive. Even the songwriters themselves admitted confusion, with Elton once stating, “I don’t think either of us knows what that one’s about.” Again, Elton’s melodic gift makes the nonsensical lyrics palatable, but the song lacks substantive content. It’s enjoyable enough, but less impactful compared to the album’s more meaningful tracks. And then there’s “No Shoe Strings on Louise,” lyrically nonsensical and delivered in an unconvincing country-western style, which arguably should have been omitted from the final album.
Elton John as an album feels like a battleground for the future direction of the John/Taupin partnership. Unfortunately, the less focused, more obtuse path, foreshadowed by “The King Must Die” and “Take Me to the Pilot,” prevailed. This choice was a significant loss for the decade’s musical landscape. Imagine how much greater albums like Madman Across the Water could have been with consistently strong lyrics. “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road” has a chorus that is perpetually chilling, yet imagine its impact if the verses were as meaningful. Elton cleverly emphasized the relatable line “I think it’s gonna be a long, long time” in “Rocket Man,” drawing attention away from less coherent verses. Consider the lines “Mars ain’t the kind of place to raise your kids/In fact it’s cold as hell/And there’s no one there to raise them if you did”—lyrically weak but part of a great song. Elton’s genius lay partly in his ability to highlight the resonant parts of songs, overshadowing Taupin’s lyrical shortcomings.
Elton John remains Elton’s finest album, a crossroads where lyrical coherence and musical brilliance converged. It presented the opportunity for a future filled with songs as impactful as “I Need You To Turn To” and “The Greatest Discovery.” However, by Tumbleweed Connection, Taupin had already veered towards impenetrable, image-driven lyrics, occasionally sparking interest but rarely forming a cohesive narrative. By Madman Across the Water, this path was firmly entrenched. While tracks like “Levon” and “Tiny Dancer” are still beloved, they are tinged with a sense of what could have been, burdened by lyrics that don’t always match the musical quality.
The tragedy of Elton John is that it showcased two paths, and the less fulfilling one was chosen, ultimately leading not to more songs like “The Greatest Discovery,” but eventually to lyrical missteps like “Solar Prestige a Gammon” and, shockingly, even contributing to “We Built This City,” often cited as one of the worst songs ever recorded. The album stands as a poignant reminder of a pivotal moment in Elton John’s career and the fascinating, sometimes frustrating, dynamic of his legendary partnership with Bernie Taupin.
