A Lucky Fan's Story
In 1988 I was working for The Tandy Corporation. Ok, let's not glorify things, I was a salesguy at Radio Shack. The money was good, the hours were sucky, but my boss was a tape collector and a hardcore music collector/fan. It was always a comfort to know that I could always wrangle a work-related favor if a once-in-a-lifetime rock and roll opportunity ever arose. Well, one fateful day, I got to call in that favor.
A friend who worked for one of the major U.S. record labels had gotten word that Elton John would be appearing the following evening in New York. He was to be the very special guest of MCA Records at a party celebrating his new album Reg Strikes Back. When my buddy first informed me of this "great news", I was a bit ... unfazed. "OK", I said, " ... but record companies are always having these parties. The artists are always supposed to show up. How do you know that this a sure thing? And even if it is ... what does it have to do with Li'l Ole Me?"
"Let's try this", he responded, " ... I know the person responsible for making sure that one Mr. John is in town. And he's here." There was a dramatic pause. "What it mens for li'l ole you is that I may be able to get you, and our mutual friend John, into the bash."
OK, NOW this was shaping up to be very interesting. One minor snag. I was scheduled to work until 9PM tomorrow night. Yucch. I asked my friend to hold on for one brief, all-important moment. Enter the helpful, music fan boss. By humbly executing the promise of a return favor the next time the group Yes was in town, I managed to weasel out of my Tandy-related obligations, and the boss was set to close up shop the following evening.
"So ... ", I said with pseudo-cool in my voice, " ... what's the first move?"
The deal, as I soon discovered, was that my friend had compatriots at a few of the distributors, and at MCA Records. The distributors all had folks working for them whose names were to appear on the guest list for this grand event. If we could find out, by early tomorrow evening, the names of a few of the folks who were definitely NOT going to be putting in an appearance at the party, John and myself could kind of ... well, take their places for the evening. It was done all the time, apparently. So with a little bit of temporary identity swapping, we would be getting in to the bash, and best of all, it would probably help those folks out more than anything. With our help they wouldn't appear to have snubbed the event, and they would then continue to be placed on other such exclusive lists in the future.
I was game ... and ready for anything. That was good. It was the only way that I could be prepared for what happened the following night.
***From this point, all record company names are being changed to protect the innocent ... and because I've kind of forgotten them, anyway. ***
Now, my pal John is a real nice guy. He's a bit of an obsessive collector, but a great guy on the whole. He also has an impressive collection of obscure collectible video ... which are often from very close-to-home sources. John and I got together that evening, and John set about compiling a video tape for Elton John. If we were going to meet him, we were going to offer up something, even a humble little video tape, in exchange for all of the years of pleasure that we had both derived from his and Bernie's music.
The opening segment on the video was meant to bowl him over. Through some magic of John's, he'd acquired an excellent transfer of Elton's 1970 appearance on The Andy Williams Show. That clip had never surfaced before on any compilation, or in any news or biography-type programs. Perhaps Elton didn't have it, or hadn't seen it? We padded the tape with some other E.J. clips, and then added in some unique "private" footage of John, Yoko and Sean Lennon playing on a Long Island beach. John had never allowed this footage to leave his house before ... but if he couldn't give it to the boy's godfather (Elton), then who else in the world should be permitted to see it? John was also going to pass along a copy of The Complete Elton John Discography, a publication of his own creation, to the man whose work had actually inspired the extremely detailed and well-researched bit of parchment.
And now, we were ready. Of course, we never stopped to consider why or how some record company executive would be offering Elton John this material, but hey, we were pretty singularly focused on that fine evening
At about 4PM we got THE call. For approximately the next seven or eight hours, I would become Chris Tompkins, of One Stop Distribution. My friend John would take the part of one Tom Baker of Arista Records. We were to be at the RCA Records building (yes, RCA ... I'm not sure why, but that's where we went) at 6:30PM sharp. All we had to do was get past the guards.
We waited patiently in line as the guests filed in. Mr. Clipboard Man approached us, and asked each of us our names. Mr. Baker and myself informed the man of our respective record-company-employed identities. The door opened, and now, feeling extremely relieved, the two of us made our way inside. "Far out ...", I said to John, " ... we get to meet Elton John AND there's SHRIMP!" Rock and roll and food never find themselves too far apart in my demented little mind, and tonight was no exception.
John elbowed me. "Shut up. We have to look cool!" Of course, he didn't realize that he looked just as nervous as I did about all of this. We met the friend who had gotten us in (henceforth to be referred to as "F.W.G.U.I."), thanked him profusely, and set about waiting ... and eating.
A nervous half-hour went by before a gentleman from MCA Records took the stage. "He's been gone and residing over at that other label for a while, but we'd like to welcome him, tonight, back home, where he belongs ... ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Elton John". The crowd gave up a very warm welcome, and it was quite nice to see the all-too-hip record execs offering some whoops and whistles to this pop icon.
So, there he was. He looked, basically, exactly as he'd appeared in all of the recent photos. A bit like ... well ... Truman Capote. We were pleased that he seemed fairly relaxed and happy, despite the fact that these record company "events" were probably somewhat taxing, especially after all of these years. Elton made a brief speech about being glad to be back on " ... a real record label", and then informed us that he would be meeting everyone before we were to hear a playback of his new LP. A sign hung over the stage area that stated, simply, "No Photographs. No Autographs". Thankfully, Elton looked back at it, shook his head and said "Oh, God ... please ignore that thing. I'll sign anything you like, and you can take all the photos you want if everyone's orderly."
John and I took our places in line. Elton shook each person's hand, posed for a photo, and thanked them one-by-one for their help in getting his records out to the public, both now, and during all of the years gone by. Mr. Clipboard Man returned and asked us our names again. As a duo, he then introduced us to Elton John. "Elton, this is Chris Tompkins, of One Stop Distribution and Tom Baker of Arista Records." Elton looked slightly taken aback. "Right", he said, in an extremely Monty Pyhton-esque fashion. He shook our hands as our "F.W.G.U.I." snapped a few photos. There was a brief pause in activities, imposed by the folks who had organized the event, and we figured upon seizing the opportunity to offer up our little gift to Mr. John. Elton himself, however, took advantage of the situation first. He smiled somewhat cheekily at us. "And who did you gentlemen say you were again?"
We both swallowed. My voice could not help but form the next statement as a question. "Uh, I'm Chris Tompkins, of One Stop Distribution?"
"Uh, huh", Elton nodded, not appearing entirely convinced. Now he gave John the once over. "And you are?"
It was John's turn to sound silly. "Er, um ... Tom Baker of Arista Records. Elton quietly nodded "No". John tried again ... "I'm NOT Tom Baker of Arista Records." Elton smiled as he replied. "Nope. Not him. Now ... ", he raised a brow and threw on a bit of an accent, " ... who are you really? Now we were caught dead to rights. The assumption was that we'd probably get an autograph, and then be politely tossed out on our respective lying and deceitful little ... ears. We could never have known at 4PM that evening that my six-foot, heavy set, caucasian friend was attempting to step in for a diminutive black gentleman who just happened to know Elton John personally. Small world, huh?
** At this moment, I must interrupt continuity by stating that while John is still caucasian and around six-feet tall, he is no longer heavy-set after dropping an impressive 65 pounds. I also must add that he told me that I should add the above sentence to the story. **
So, anyway, my stunned pal John responded. "Um, my name is John, Elton. John DiStefano". Elton offered his hand for a firm handshake. I stepped slightly forward.
"Tony, Elton. Um, Tony Traguardo". My statement, too, was met with a very friendly handshake.
The company related delays were wrapping up, and all attention now turned back to the stage area. "OK. So what do you guys do ... really?"
No sense in not being completely honest now. "We don't really do anything, Elton.", I told him. "We're really just fans."
Elton looked back and forth between the two of us, and his face, momentarily, became serious and somewhat detached from the current surroundings. "Don't say that. Without "just fans" like yourself, I wouldn't be up here ... would I?" There wasn't much to say in response to that. Elton now noticed the bag in John's hand, which he was sort of timidly pushing in the piano player's general direction. "Wuzzat, then?", Elton asked.
John seemed momentarily confused, but then he quickly began taking out the bag's contents. First came a CD for Elton to sign. Next, the discography, which Elton seemed heartily impressed with. Then, finally, the video tape. Elton looked a bit perturbed. "Ooh. That isn't a video of your band or anything. Because, I really can't touch it if it is. Y'know ... copyright stuff and all." John explained that it was a video of Elton himself.
"OK, so you're giving me a video of ... me?" His good humor was now fully restored. "Do I want to know what's on this?"
"Well, actually, it's you ... on The Andy Williams Show, followed by some assorted clips and then some home movie footage of The Lennon Family."
Some confusion seemed to set in. "You mean ... THE Lennons - John, Yoko, Sean?" We nodded. Years melted away, and Elton John became a kid of nine years old. "Wow, that's so ... great! That's really nice of you guys. Where did you get .... No, nevermind, I don't want to know where you got it, actually. I mean ... I've never even seen The Andy Williams Show . I taped it and I had to go right back to England. And I did that show with Ray Charles, too. Wow .. thanks, guys. I'm touched." Two more hearty handshakes were exchanged, and we posed for a few more photos.
A friend who worked for one of the major U.S. record labels had gotten word that Elton John would be appearing the following evening in New York. He was to be the very special guest of MCA Records at a party celebrating his new album Reg Strikes Back. When my buddy first informed me of this "great news", I was a bit ... unfazed. "OK", I said, " ... but record companies are always having these parties. The artists are always supposed to show up. How do you know that this a sure thing? And even if it is ... what does it have to do with Li'l Ole Me?"
"Let's try this", he responded, " ... I know the person responsible for making sure that one Mr. John is in town. And he's here." There was a dramatic pause. "What it mens for li'l ole you is that I may be able to get you, and our mutual friend John, into the bash."
OK, NOW this was shaping up to be very interesting. One minor snag. I was scheduled to work until 9PM tomorrow night. Yucch. I asked my friend to hold on for one brief, all-important moment. Enter the helpful, music fan boss. By humbly executing the promise of a return favor the next time the group Yes was in town, I managed to weasel out of my Tandy-related obligations, and the boss was set to close up shop the following evening.
"So ... ", I said with pseudo-cool in my voice, " ... what's the first move?"
The deal, as I soon discovered, was that my friend had compatriots at a few of the distributors, and at MCA Records. The distributors all had folks working for them whose names were to appear on the guest list for this grand event. If we could find out, by early tomorrow evening, the names of a few of the folks who were definitely NOT going to be putting in an appearance at the party, John and myself could kind of ... well, take their places for the evening. It was done all the time, apparently. So with a little bit of temporary identity swapping, we would be getting in to the bash, and best of all, it would probably help those folks out more than anything. With our help they wouldn't appear to have snubbed the event, and they would then continue to be placed on other such exclusive lists in the future.
I was game ... and ready for anything. That was good. It was the only way that I could be prepared for what happened the following night.
***From this point, all record company names are being changed to protect the innocent ... and because I've kind of forgotten them, anyway. ***
Now, my pal John is a real nice guy. He's a bit of an obsessive collector, but a great guy on the whole. He also has an impressive collection of obscure collectible video ... which are often from very close-to-home sources. John and I got together that evening, and John set about compiling a video tape for Elton John. If we were going to meet him, we were going to offer up something, even a humble little video tape, in exchange for all of the years of pleasure that we had both derived from his and Bernie's music.
The opening segment on the video was meant to bowl him over. Through some magic of John's, he'd acquired an excellent transfer of Elton's 1970 appearance on The Andy Williams Show. That clip had never surfaced before on any compilation, or in any news or biography-type programs. Perhaps Elton didn't have it, or hadn't seen it? We padded the tape with some other E.J. clips, and then added in some unique "private" footage of John, Yoko and Sean Lennon playing on a Long Island beach. John had never allowed this footage to leave his house before ... but if he couldn't give it to the boy's godfather (Elton), then who else in the world should be permitted to see it? John was also going to pass along a copy of The Complete Elton John Discography, a publication of his own creation, to the man whose work had actually inspired the extremely detailed and well-researched bit of parchment.
And now, we were ready. Of course, we never stopped to consider why or how some record company executive would be offering Elton John this material, but hey, we were pretty singularly focused on that fine evening
At about 4PM we got THE call. For approximately the next seven or eight hours, I would become Chris Tompkins, of One Stop Distribution. My friend John would take the part of one Tom Baker of Arista Records. We were to be at the RCA Records building (yes, RCA ... I'm not sure why, but that's where we went) at 6:30PM sharp. All we had to do was get past the guards.
We waited patiently in line as the guests filed in. Mr. Clipboard Man approached us, and asked each of us our names. Mr. Baker and myself informed the man of our respective record-company-employed identities. The door opened, and now, feeling extremely relieved, the two of us made our way inside. "Far out ...", I said to John, " ... we get to meet Elton John AND there's SHRIMP!" Rock and roll and food never find themselves too far apart in my demented little mind, and tonight was no exception.
John elbowed me. "Shut up. We have to look cool!" Of course, he didn't realize that he looked just as nervous as I did about all of this. We met the friend who had gotten us in (henceforth to be referred to as "F.W.G.U.I."), thanked him profusely, and set about waiting ... and eating.
A nervous half-hour went by before a gentleman from MCA Records took the stage. "He's been gone and residing over at that other label for a while, but we'd like to welcome him, tonight, back home, where he belongs ... ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Elton John". The crowd gave up a very warm welcome, and it was quite nice to see the all-too-hip record execs offering some whoops and whistles to this pop icon.
So, there he was. He looked, basically, exactly as he'd appeared in all of the recent photos. A bit like ... well ... Truman Capote. We were pleased that he seemed fairly relaxed and happy, despite the fact that these record company "events" were probably somewhat taxing, especially after all of these years. Elton made a brief speech about being glad to be back on " ... a real record label", and then informed us that he would be meeting everyone before we were to hear a playback of his new LP. A sign hung over the stage area that stated, simply, "No Photographs. No Autographs". Thankfully, Elton looked back at it, shook his head and said "Oh, God ... please ignore that thing. I'll sign anything you like, and you can take all the photos you want if everyone's orderly."
John and I took our places in line. Elton shook each person's hand, posed for a photo, and thanked them one-by-one for their help in getting his records out to the public, both now, and during all of the years gone by. Mr. Clipboard Man returned and asked us our names again. As a duo, he then introduced us to Elton John. "Elton, this is Chris Tompkins, of One Stop Distribution and Tom Baker of Arista Records." Elton looked slightly taken aback. "Right", he said, in an extremely Monty Pyhton-esque fashion. He shook our hands as our "F.W.G.U.I." snapped a few photos. There was a brief pause in activities, imposed by the folks who had organized the event, and we figured upon seizing the opportunity to offer up our little gift to Mr. John. Elton himself, however, took advantage of the situation first. He smiled somewhat cheekily at us. "And who did you gentlemen say you were again?"
We both swallowed. My voice could not help but form the next statement as a question. "Uh, I'm Chris Tompkins, of One Stop Distribution?"
"Uh, huh", Elton nodded, not appearing entirely convinced. Now he gave John the once over. "And you are?"
It was John's turn to sound silly. "Er, um ... Tom Baker of Arista Records. Elton quietly nodded "No". John tried again ... "I'm NOT Tom Baker of Arista Records." Elton smiled as he replied. "Nope. Not him. Now ... ", he raised a brow and threw on a bit of an accent, " ... who are you really? Now we were caught dead to rights. The assumption was that we'd probably get an autograph, and then be politely tossed out on our respective lying and deceitful little ... ears. We could never have known at 4PM that evening that my six-foot, heavy set, caucasian friend was attempting to step in for a diminutive black gentleman who just happened to know Elton John personally. Small world, huh?
** At this moment, I must interrupt continuity by stating that while John is still caucasian and around six-feet tall, he is no longer heavy-set after dropping an impressive 65 pounds. I also must add that he told me that I should add the above sentence to the story. **
So, anyway, my stunned pal John responded. "Um, my name is John, Elton. John DiStefano". Elton offered his hand for a firm handshake. I stepped slightly forward.
"Tony, Elton. Um, Tony Traguardo". My statement, too, was met with a very friendly handshake.
The company related delays were wrapping up, and all attention now turned back to the stage area. "OK. So what do you guys do ... really?"
No sense in not being completely honest now. "We don't really do anything, Elton.", I told him. "We're really just fans."
Elton looked back and forth between the two of us, and his face, momentarily, became serious and somewhat detached from the current surroundings. "Don't say that. Without "just fans" like yourself, I wouldn't be up here ... would I?" There wasn't much to say in response to that. Elton now noticed the bag in John's hand, which he was sort of timidly pushing in the piano player's general direction. "Wuzzat, then?", Elton asked.
John seemed momentarily confused, but then he quickly began taking out the bag's contents. First came a CD for Elton to sign. Next, the discography, which Elton seemed heartily impressed with. Then, finally, the video tape. Elton looked a bit perturbed. "Ooh. That isn't a video of your band or anything. Because, I really can't touch it if it is. Y'know ... copyright stuff and all." John explained that it was a video of Elton himself.
"OK, so you're giving me a video of ... me?" His good humor was now fully restored. "Do I want to know what's on this?"
"Well, actually, it's you ... on The Andy Williams Show, followed by some assorted clips and then some home movie footage of The Lennon Family."
Some confusion seemed to set in. "You mean ... THE Lennons - John, Yoko, Sean?" We nodded. Years melted away, and Elton John became a kid of nine years old. "Wow, that's so ... great! That's really nice of you guys. Where did you get .... No, nevermind, I don't want to know where you got it, actually. I mean ... I've never even seen The Andy Williams Show . I taped it and I had to go right back to England. And I did that show with Ray Charles, too. Wow .. thanks, guys. I'm touched." Two more hearty handshakes were exchanged, and we posed for a few more photos.
Now I reached into my bag and withdrew one of my prized collectibles. It was a white label, American, DJM copy of Elton and Bernie's "Lady Samantha", backed with "All Across The Havens". Elton John shook his head quickly in disbelief as I handed it to him.
"Oh, good God ... now there's something you don't see every day. In fact ... I'm not sure if I've ever seen it." He flipped it over and looked more intensely. "Well, that's a rare piece!" He took my magic marker and smiled. "And it's about to get even rarer." He signed his name across the label, then paused before handing it back. He smiled again ... more mischievously. "But just to make sure that history stays intact ... ", he took the pen to the label again, " ... we'll date the little bugger." With that, a bold 1988 was added to Elton's inscription.
Elton peered out into the crowd, and looked back at me. "Oh, goodness", he said. "Now THERE is someone who should DEFINITELY see this! He'll get a real laugh out of it. And you'll have a really special item in your hands. With that, Elton John politely escorted us offstage, thanking us both, once again, for the tape.
My friend John would manage to find himself back in Elton's company only a few months later at a charity event. At that meeting, Elton would go out of his way to find John in order to thank him for the video tape, which he described to John in precise detail.
Meanwhile, the party was currently becoming an even bigger event for me than it had already been. To my great surprise, the person to whome Elton was referring was none other than Mr. Bernie Taupin, who had just joined the evening's festivities.
Now, I supppose that if I'd been graced with the hands of a pianist, I would have celebrated Elton John's talents in a way that can only be reserved for ... well, for lack of a better term ... "kindred spirits". Someone who can truly understand the depths of another person's talents in a specific area is the one who can usually best appreciate it. I wasn't a pianist. And at that time, I wasn't all that proud of my singing voice. I did, however, fancy myself as somewhat of a lyricist. And truth be told, despite what I consider to be a fair amount of humility, I supposed that I had written a few decent pieces of work by this point in my life. So now, after all this time, I was going to be shaking the hand of the man who had served as my greatest inspiration as a lyricist. I had just met Elton John - the pop legend - and been as cool as a cucumber. Here I was, however, meeting the man who had been "behind the scenes" for so long ... and I was shaking in my boots.
When John and I finally mustered up the nerve to approach Bernie (who was milling about, fairly inconspicuously), he immediately put us both at ease with a polite, and humble smile. This time around we cut right through the baloney, and explained that we were a pair of fans who'd managed to make our ways into this quaint little bash. Bernie smiled, and shook both of our hands. I could immediately tell from the look in the man's eyes that he was a very intense and thoughtful person. I felt as though I was in the presence of a true writer. And, interestingly enough, that quickly gave way to the feeling that I was with a "fellow" writer - albeit one with far more experience, recognized talents, and achievements than I could possibly ever dream of having. At that point, I felt somewhat unusual about having presented myself as a "fan".
Hindsight IS 20/20, and I suppose that the addition of ten more years to my life since the event that I'm describing here has added a tad more maturity to my self-image. If I had it to do all over again, I'm not sure that I would not have said, quite simply, that I too wrote songs and poems, and that it was a pleasure to have met the man who had been an inspiration to me.
"Well, y'know, you're the ones that they SHOULD be having these parties for. I mean, the company guys aren't the ones out there making the records into hits, really. Sure, they are the ones who make sure that it gets out onto the shelves, but it's what people like you think about them that matters the most in the long run, isn't it?" We nodded and smiled; at a bit of a loss for words once again.
Bernie broke the awkward silence by motioning to our respective packages. "What have you got there, then?"
John spoke up. "Oh, these are just a few things that we'd love for you to sign, if you would?"
"Oh, yeah, sure. No problem." Immediately, the white label single caught his eye. He flipped it over repeatedly. "Wow. Good God ...", he said, "now THAT'S an oldie". He paused and thought for a moment, " ... an interesting track, though."
"One of my favorites of your early ones, too", I offered.
Taupin smiled. "And we've never put that out again, I don't think." He shook his head in a manner similar to the one that Elton had when he'd held the single in his hands a few minutes earlier. "Well ... ", he smiled, " ... I see you've already gotten the Captain's signature on it." He found a space next to Elton's signature, and added his own
I shook his hand again, and laughed out a polite "thank you".
"Oh, good God ... now there's something you don't see every day. In fact ... I'm not sure if I've ever seen it." He flipped it over and looked more intensely. "Well, that's a rare piece!" He took my magic marker and smiled. "And it's about to get even rarer." He signed his name across the label, then paused before handing it back. He smiled again ... more mischievously. "But just to make sure that history stays intact ... ", he took the pen to the label again, " ... we'll date the little bugger." With that, a bold 1988 was added to Elton's inscription.
Elton peered out into the crowd, and looked back at me. "Oh, goodness", he said. "Now THERE is someone who should DEFINITELY see this! He'll get a real laugh out of it. And you'll have a really special item in your hands. With that, Elton John politely escorted us offstage, thanking us both, once again, for the tape.
My friend John would manage to find himself back in Elton's company only a few months later at a charity event. At that meeting, Elton would go out of his way to find John in order to thank him for the video tape, which he described to John in precise detail.
Meanwhile, the party was currently becoming an even bigger event for me than it had already been. To my great surprise, the person to whome Elton was referring was none other than Mr. Bernie Taupin, who had just joined the evening's festivities.
Now, I supppose that if I'd been graced with the hands of a pianist, I would have celebrated Elton John's talents in a way that can only be reserved for ... well, for lack of a better term ... "kindred spirits". Someone who can truly understand the depths of another person's talents in a specific area is the one who can usually best appreciate it. I wasn't a pianist. And at that time, I wasn't all that proud of my singing voice. I did, however, fancy myself as somewhat of a lyricist. And truth be told, despite what I consider to be a fair amount of humility, I supposed that I had written a few decent pieces of work by this point in my life. So now, after all this time, I was going to be shaking the hand of the man who had served as my greatest inspiration as a lyricist. I had just met Elton John - the pop legend - and been as cool as a cucumber. Here I was, however, meeting the man who had been "behind the scenes" for so long ... and I was shaking in my boots.
When John and I finally mustered up the nerve to approach Bernie (who was milling about, fairly inconspicuously), he immediately put us both at ease with a polite, and humble smile. This time around we cut right through the baloney, and explained that we were a pair of fans who'd managed to make our ways into this quaint little bash. Bernie smiled, and shook both of our hands. I could immediately tell from the look in the man's eyes that he was a very intense and thoughtful person. I felt as though I was in the presence of a true writer. And, interestingly enough, that quickly gave way to the feeling that I was with a "fellow" writer - albeit one with far more experience, recognized talents, and achievements than I could possibly ever dream of having. At that point, I felt somewhat unusual about having presented myself as a "fan".
Hindsight IS 20/20, and I suppose that the addition of ten more years to my life since the event that I'm describing here has added a tad more maturity to my self-image. If I had it to do all over again, I'm not sure that I would not have said, quite simply, that I too wrote songs and poems, and that it was a pleasure to have met the man who had been an inspiration to me.
"Well, y'know, you're the ones that they SHOULD be having these parties for. I mean, the company guys aren't the ones out there making the records into hits, really. Sure, they are the ones who make sure that it gets out onto the shelves, but it's what people like you think about them that matters the most in the long run, isn't it?" We nodded and smiled; at a bit of a loss for words once again.
Bernie broke the awkward silence by motioning to our respective packages. "What have you got there, then?"
John spoke up. "Oh, these are just a few things that we'd love for you to sign, if you would?"
"Oh, yeah, sure. No problem." Immediately, the white label single caught his eye. He flipped it over repeatedly. "Wow. Good God ...", he said, "now THAT'S an oldie". He paused and thought for a moment, " ... an interesting track, though."
"One of my favorites of your early ones, too", I offered.
Taupin smiled. "And we've never put that out again, I don't think." He shook his head in a manner similar to the one that Elton had when he'd held the single in his hands a few minutes earlier. "Well ... ", he smiled, " ... I see you've already gotten the Captain's signature on it." He found a space next to Elton's signature, and added his own
I shook his hand again, and laughed out a polite "thank you".
I thought of this as the perfect moment to segue into a question that had been burning in both of our minds. Despite supposed denials of the song's existense as a finished track, an Elton collector/historian had been hinting at being in possession of a demo recording of the legendary "Dogs In The Kitchen". The song's lyric appears on the inside cover of the booklet which accompanies Captain Fantastic ... , but (as noted) the track does not actually appear on the LP itself.
"Speaking of stuff that's never come out ... " I muttered.
At that moment, a local radio perosnality approached Bernie and introduced herself. Mr. Taupin sort of cued us to "hang in" for a moment, as he began tending to the necessary public relations tasks. "Schmoozing", after all, was the true purpose of any company-sponsored get together of this nature. Mr. Taupin politely addressed the DJ and the accompanying tape deck which had been thrust towards him. He briefly discussed his thoughts about Reg Strikes Back, and then smiled, shook the DJ's hand, and turned his attention back to us. We found it awfully kind of him to be spending his time with a couple of fans, as opposed to making promotional "rounds", as it were. I think he sensed that we were quite sincere, extremely mellow and non-intrusive (despite our methods of having gotten in, I dare say). I suppose we offered somwhat more relaxed and diverse conversation than he'd be getting from the record execs and product movers. Although, I imagine that some record execs do this so often that they probably end up discussing the weather with some of their artists. I'm sure that this, too, could be somewhat of a break and distraction from constantly having to discuss your work and your career.
But at this point, we had Mr. Taupin's undivided attention. "I really liked the last solo album", I mentioned casually. "I was playing "Friend Of The Flag" and "Citizen Jane" on my old college radio show". Bernie nodded, obviously somewhat pleased to hear that. "Well, thanks alot for the support", he said. I continued that line of conversation, thinking back on the times that I'd surprised folks on the air with material from Bernie's solo efforts. "Before the most recent album had come out, I'd sometimes get on the opening song from the last album, "Love: The Barren Desert" ... great lyric and a real strong hook on that one."
Bernie seemed happily surprised to be hearing his own albums mentioned at an affair such as this one. "Thanks. Yeah, I wrote that with a friend of mine. We put a lot into that album."
Our "F.W.G.U.I." had now arrived with his trusty camera, and Mr. Taupin obliged us with a few photos. We talked about Bernie's relocation to the U.S. for a while, and he acknowledged that he truly felt at home here. I finally found a moment to go back to my question about the mysterious, unreleased track. Bernie cleared the whole thing up fairly concisely.
"OK", he said with a sigh. "There is no such thing as a demo version, a finished recording ... nothing at all ... for "Dogs In The Kitchen". I don't think that Elton ever even more than half-heartedly attempted to write anything for it. I think he just felt it was best suited as a stand alone lyric or poem. And that's how we presented it." I think Bernie had an inkling as to who was claiming ownership to the non-existent demo. "So ... if you speak to ... that guy ... who's going around telling folks this, call his bluff. Tell him that I told you that it's just a load of crap." He seemed pleased to have laid that particular topic to rest once and for all. We were quite pleased with the definitiveness of the response as well.
It was at this point that I got around to mentioning my writing aspirations. Despite the fact that we'd already thrust the "fan" image to the forefront, Bernie recognized the sincerity of my enthusiasm. "Well, if you haven't been published yet ... ". I nodded that I had not. " .... Then keep plugging away at it. And always find something new to write about, y'know". He looked me straight in the eyes with a fair degree of intense seriousness. I took that as a heartfelt cue to, indeed, keep on plugging away, as I had done so far. Once again, we shook Bernie's hand and thanked him. With that he politely went on to, as he explained, grab his first bit of "real food" all day.
Preparations were now underway for Elton to begin performing a brief solo set. As fate would have it, I ended up strategically positioned to essentially be leaning on the piano for the duration of Elton's performance. He began by asking for requests, and I quietly tossed out something obscure ... perhaps "High Flying Bird", if memory serves me. Elton half-laughed, looked at me and frankly admitted that "I don't remember the chords to that one." Someone tossed out "Daniel", and with that simple word, a delightful evening of music began.
I had met the men who'd been my childhood heroes. During the course of our conversations, at isolated moments in time, these "legends" had come across, quite simply, as people. They had stories to tell, songs to sing, and jobs to do. Their world was exciting, intense and ... I was quite sure ... exhausting. Sure, there were benefits to be reaped, but there was a price to pay for them. And there must have been a stress level that was a Sword of Damocles over everything that occured in their lives.
I must add that, despite all that's been said about his moods and behavior throughout the years, on this particular evening in 1988 two fans managed to capture a few moments free of tantrums or tiaras which gave us the picture of a genuinely nice individual, who was happy and proud to still be making music for us. It's a comfort to know that his current life finds him even happier, clean, sober, and continually as vital to the music world now as he was twenty-five years ago.
And as for my favorite wordsmith ... Well, he was an intense person who seemed genuinely interested in everything that these two "fans" had to say; an example of the rare person who seems to be one hundred percent "there". I suppose the eyes and ears of a writer always needed to be opened ... and that "presence" was the purest evidence. A muse, a statement, a phrase, or a thought that could become the focal point of your next piece of writing could sneak up on you when you least expected it ... and, therefore, you always had to be ready.
My eyes and ears were wide open, too. After all ... I was a writer as well. It wasn't until years after this event, however, that I could comfortably say that, but the time has finally come.
Oh, but let's go back to that evening once again. When it had, indeed, finally come to an end, I stopped and thought about some of Bernie Taupins's chosen lyrical topics over the years. There had often been whole slices ... verging on chunks ... of Americana weaved into his verses. There were criminals, disheartened romantics, and the true sagas of famous stars who had make their mark on him in some profound way. He also had quite a few pieces from days gone by where he had talked about farms. Funny. And then there were the dogs ... yeah ... the man seemed to like dogs. Farms ... and dogs. Hmmm.
"Speaking of stuff that's never come out ... " I muttered.
At that moment, a local radio perosnality approached Bernie and introduced herself. Mr. Taupin sort of cued us to "hang in" for a moment, as he began tending to the necessary public relations tasks. "Schmoozing", after all, was the true purpose of any company-sponsored get together of this nature. Mr. Taupin politely addressed the DJ and the accompanying tape deck which had been thrust towards him. He briefly discussed his thoughts about Reg Strikes Back, and then smiled, shook the DJ's hand, and turned his attention back to us. We found it awfully kind of him to be spending his time with a couple of fans, as opposed to making promotional "rounds", as it were. I think he sensed that we were quite sincere, extremely mellow and non-intrusive (despite our methods of having gotten in, I dare say). I suppose we offered somwhat more relaxed and diverse conversation than he'd be getting from the record execs and product movers. Although, I imagine that some record execs do this so often that they probably end up discussing the weather with some of their artists. I'm sure that this, too, could be somewhat of a break and distraction from constantly having to discuss your work and your career.
But at this point, we had Mr. Taupin's undivided attention. "I really liked the last solo album", I mentioned casually. "I was playing "Friend Of The Flag" and "Citizen Jane" on my old college radio show". Bernie nodded, obviously somewhat pleased to hear that. "Well, thanks alot for the support", he said. I continued that line of conversation, thinking back on the times that I'd surprised folks on the air with material from Bernie's solo efforts. "Before the most recent album had come out, I'd sometimes get on the opening song from the last album, "Love: The Barren Desert" ... great lyric and a real strong hook on that one."
Bernie seemed happily surprised to be hearing his own albums mentioned at an affair such as this one. "Thanks. Yeah, I wrote that with a friend of mine. We put a lot into that album."
Our "F.W.G.U.I." had now arrived with his trusty camera, and Mr. Taupin obliged us with a few photos. We talked about Bernie's relocation to the U.S. for a while, and he acknowledged that he truly felt at home here. I finally found a moment to go back to my question about the mysterious, unreleased track. Bernie cleared the whole thing up fairly concisely.
"OK", he said with a sigh. "There is no such thing as a demo version, a finished recording ... nothing at all ... for "Dogs In The Kitchen". I don't think that Elton ever even more than half-heartedly attempted to write anything for it. I think he just felt it was best suited as a stand alone lyric or poem. And that's how we presented it." I think Bernie had an inkling as to who was claiming ownership to the non-existent demo. "So ... if you speak to ... that guy ... who's going around telling folks this, call his bluff. Tell him that I told you that it's just a load of crap." He seemed pleased to have laid that particular topic to rest once and for all. We were quite pleased with the definitiveness of the response as well.
It was at this point that I got around to mentioning my writing aspirations. Despite the fact that we'd already thrust the "fan" image to the forefront, Bernie recognized the sincerity of my enthusiasm. "Well, if you haven't been published yet ... ". I nodded that I had not. " .... Then keep plugging away at it. And always find something new to write about, y'know". He looked me straight in the eyes with a fair degree of intense seriousness. I took that as a heartfelt cue to, indeed, keep on plugging away, as I had done so far. Once again, we shook Bernie's hand and thanked him. With that he politely went on to, as he explained, grab his first bit of "real food" all day.
Preparations were now underway for Elton to begin performing a brief solo set. As fate would have it, I ended up strategically positioned to essentially be leaning on the piano for the duration of Elton's performance. He began by asking for requests, and I quietly tossed out something obscure ... perhaps "High Flying Bird", if memory serves me. Elton half-laughed, looked at me and frankly admitted that "I don't remember the chords to that one." Someone tossed out "Daniel", and with that simple word, a delightful evening of music began.
I had met the men who'd been my childhood heroes. During the course of our conversations, at isolated moments in time, these "legends" had come across, quite simply, as people. They had stories to tell, songs to sing, and jobs to do. Their world was exciting, intense and ... I was quite sure ... exhausting. Sure, there were benefits to be reaped, but there was a price to pay for them. And there must have been a stress level that was a Sword of Damocles over everything that occured in their lives.
I must add that, despite all that's been said about his moods and behavior throughout the years, on this particular evening in 1988 two fans managed to capture a few moments free of tantrums or tiaras which gave us the picture of a genuinely nice individual, who was happy and proud to still be making music for us. It's a comfort to know that his current life finds him even happier, clean, sober, and continually as vital to the music world now as he was twenty-five years ago.
And as for my favorite wordsmith ... Well, he was an intense person who seemed genuinely interested in everything that these two "fans" had to say; an example of the rare person who seems to be one hundred percent "there". I suppose the eyes and ears of a writer always needed to be opened ... and that "presence" was the purest evidence. A muse, a statement, a phrase, or a thought that could become the focal point of your next piece of writing could sneak up on you when you least expected it ... and, therefore, you always had to be ready.
My eyes and ears were wide open, too. After all ... I was a writer as well. It wasn't until years after this event, however, that I could comfortably say that, but the time has finally come.
Oh, but let's go back to that evening once again. When it had, indeed, finally come to an end, I stopped and thought about some of Bernie Taupins's chosen lyrical topics over the years. There had often been whole slices ... verging on chunks ... of Americana weaved into his verses. There were criminals, disheartened romantics, and the true sagas of famous stars who had make their mark on him in some profound way. He also had quite a few pieces from days gone by where he had talked about farms. Funny. And then there were the dogs ... yeah ... the man seemed to like dogs. Farms ... and dogs. Hmmm.