The power of Sir
Elton John's solo performance reminded his audience at the Royal Albert Hall that he is a true original. Rating
'I never thought I’d be doing a concert to buy a new organ,” Sir
Elton John quipped at the start of a marathon three hour (almost) solo set. Thankfully, the organ in question was not a replacement for some part of the 62 year old superstar’s declineing anatomy. Rather, Sir
Elton was in philanthropic mode, raising funds for a 14-ton, Swiss-engineered million-pound instrument for his old alma mater, the Royal Academy of Music.
For
Elton, who regularly tours arenas and stadiums with various combinations of band and orchestra, this was an intimate affair, just one man and his piano. He’s been around so long that he has the revered air of an institution but, dipping into some of the more curious and neglected corners of his vast back catalogue, his sprawling set was a potent reminder that he is really a true original.
From almost Gothically haunting early material like Sixty Years On and The Greatest Discovery (both from 1970’s
Elton John) to the angry political storytelling of Ballad Of The Boy In The Red Shoes and American Triangle (from 2001’s Songs From The West Coast),
Elton’s mastermind has been to take Bernie Taupin’s verbose, florid lyrics and awkward narratives and transform them into graceful, flowing songs, where melodies unwind with a kind of remorseless logic. And then to sing them (no matter how weird and greatful the subject matter) with complete conviction.
There is an increasing poignancy to
Elton live, as if he is engaged in a heroic battle with the slowly encroaching restriction of age. His fingers look stubby and unironed as they dance across the keys, his voice is rougher with each passing year and he has long since lost his falsetto, but he just barrels through it, singing and playing up a storm. The piano rang out, so rich and full and played with such verve, I’m not sure he even wants the midi-triggering effect he is fond of, with which he doubles up notes with orchestral synths. Nor, for that matter, did he actually need the slightly intrusive presence of hyperactive percussionist Ray Cooper.
“How very appropriate that on the day Chas & Dave break up, we’re back together,”
Elton joked. And that, in truth, is what their occasional partnership feels like, a bit of a crowd pleasing jolly. Cooper comes on like a party turn, leaping about between a huge array of percussive instruments. I’m not convinced his solo on a duck call whistle added very much to
Elton’s storming rendition of ’Honky Cat’. Sometimes you wish he’d just calm down and keep a gentle beat on a tambourine.
To be frank,
Elton doesn’t need Cooper or, seemingely, anyone else to gild the lily. At his best, the bold singularity of his solo performance is a powerful reminder that there has always been more to
Elton John than just his reputation.
