Elton John “The One”
From 1969 to 1989, Elton John averaged more than one new studio album per year. The sum of his efforts from this period -- the hits, the stadium tours, the collaborations, the costume changes -- is kind of peerless. I struggle to think of any other recording artist working in the 1970s and 80s who could fill two albums’ worth of “Greatest Hits” with actual hits and without filler. Try it. Go ahead. And, here’s the thing. By his own account, Elton John accomplished all of this completely shitfaced. All of the time.
With that context, 1992’s “The One” takes on some added weight. It was his first “sober album” -- a trope invoked before and since to humanize superstars. It implies that we are getting the honest and vulnerable artist, in their natural form. It’s a framing that can help generate publicity and sell records. In this case, though, the story of “The One” is not one of sobriety. Yes — that’s part of the story. But “The One” is primarily the tale of an artist who, during the prior decade, lost part of his voice and semi-openly struggled with depression, repression and expression. The signs were there for anyone who was really listening. After 1975, Elton John had made exactly one great hit song -- “I’m Still Standing” from 1983. He had banked a lot of reputation capital since his breakthrough in the early 70s, but, the truth is that, by the 1990s, he was less able to deliver the goods. He just wasn’t the same artist. He was less Captain Fantastic and more Reginald. Or, at least, more Sir Elton.
In 1992, Sir Elton was like an intriguing, rich and talented Uncle. Yes — he was a pioneering figure for AIDS activism. He would be a wonderful, if likely, duet partner for George Michael. He would be an unlikely, but valuable, duet partner for Eminem. He would soon be an award winning composer for “The Lion King.” But he was decidedly not the guy kicking the piano bench away and belting out Bernie’s words with equal parts fervor and delicacy. No, this man had settled into the final stages of hair plugs, accepted the great limitations of his lower vocal register and largely embraced his lucrative role as the Adult Contemporary artist everyone could agree on.
None of this makes for amazing, or even compelling new music. And sobriety wasn’t going to change any of those physical or cultural forces. But, here’s the thing with Elton John -- he can’t get out of the way of good, rolling melodies and anthemic choruses. That stuff’s at his molecular level, it seems.
All of these forces are at work on “The One.” The album predicts the “Lion King” as much as it skirts sobriety. It had hits, especially on the Adult Contemporary chart, but not a single song that would even make sides E or F on a “Greatest Hits” compilation. His voice sounds no healthier. And everything, but especially the keys, drums and horns, are softened in that late 80s/early 90s GAP style. It’s easy to imagine, in 1992, middle-aged Moms and weekender Dads shopping at the mall, bopping about and violently agreeing on Elton John.
All of the window dressing and all of the genuine shortcomings of “The One,” however, are almost irrelevant given the simple fact that Sir Elton could still flat out write songs. This album is not my cup of tea. The production is unexciting and, occasionally embarrassing. A song like “Emily” is woefully sentimental and “saxy.” And Bernie Taupin’s lyrics have migrated from pretty and lyrical into the realm of greeting cards. But, if I just listen to the music, I can really only point to one clunker, the mawkish “The Last Song.” I feel awful writing that, knowing that the song was written for Freddie Mercury and the proceeds were all donated to AIDS research. But, the track doesn’t hold a candle to the candle in the wind. And I never liked that first song to begin with.
The album’s strongest moments are where Elton picks a genre other than Adult Contemporary and leans into it. His duet with Eric Clapton, “Runaway Train,” is an almost rollicking, bluesy winner. “Whitewash County” has some fun country boogie to it. The band sounds like they are having a blast and the keyboards sound like an actual (wait for it) piano. “When A Woman Doesn’t Want You” is a big, blunt Power Ballad that would have been epic in the mouth of Peter Cetera. “On a Dark Street” is so catchy and well constructed that even the “I feel your pain” content doesn’t weigh down the roll of the melody.
None of this is extraordinary. In fact, none of it is even very good, by Elton John standards. But what I hear from the newly sober, forty five year old man is his uncanny ability to craft songs that are well built. What had changed, gradually each year, and markedly by this decade, was that Elton John was no longer an artist whose songs were best served by his own voice or his performance. “The Lion King” soundtrack are perhaps some confirmation of this suggestion. The success of that album — Elton’s songs performed by greater voices — marked a pivotal change and pointed to how his new music would increasingly be heard. Sir Elton’s second act would be defined more and more by “Aida,” “Billy Elliot” and others singers singing his songs.
But that is more recent history. In 1992, Elton John was still writing the preface to the sequel. So, when I hear “The One” I think about everything that happened before and after. And I wonder what would have happened if, instead of writing soundtracks, Sir Elton decided to be a bandleader and songwriter. Part Ringo Starr and part Paul Shaffer. What if he wrote the great songs and led the band from his piano, allowing his friends and admirers to lend their voices? I wouldn’t trade in the other stuff. The great charity. The incredible humanity. The old Dad. The bad suits. The awful wigs. The Versace designed album covers. We can keep all of that. But I do wonder about the other path.