One Man, One Piano, One Version

Elton John show review by Bernie Strand

What am I doing writing about music? I'm no music critic. I'm not impartial; I'm a fan. I followed Elton John long before Laramie, before Princess Di, before Billie Jean King, and before the new hair. I liked his music when he was a bald, slightly overweight, rock and roll version of Liberace, with glasses.

Missing on that night of June 1st, 1999, were the flashy glasses, the elaborate costumes, the back-up singers, the supporting band members. Present was The Man, and the stunning way he made a single piano conjure sounds, images, emotions that exceeded anything I had ever experienced. I took piano lessons for a time, and I assure you, nothing ever emerged from my sound board that was remotely in the same universe as what embraced us for 3 hours on that warm night in Laramie, Wyoming.

Expecting the concert to start at 7:30, the audience tolerated the thirty minute delay as security searched everyone entering. No photographic and recording devices were allowed into the auditorium. And something else. No guns. In the wake of the murder of another gay man in Laramie, and the tragedy at Columbine High School, just down the Rocky Mountain road, no one complained about the caution displayed. What a sad commentary on our times. When searching the Internet, the address "www.eltonjohn.com" ironically brings up the site for a personal security firm.

And then, the moment arrived. He emerged, ran up the scaffold steps to the stage, and without ever touching the keys of the single grand piano that adorned the stage, received a standing ovation. Had he, at that moment, turned and left, I would have felt I'd gotten my money's worth. Here in Wyoming, was a man who traveled a controversial and personally painful road.

Professionally, Elton John's career began with classical training in England, drifted into contemporary Top 40, and landed firmly as world-renowned Superstar. His personal journey wound through awareness of sexual orientation, depression, and failed marriage (OK, you homophobes, at least admit the man tried to go straight). Honored by royalty, he also champions society's pariahs. I admire the man's humanity, and his tenacity.

Underlying every moment was a profound sadness. Far from using this venue as a grandstand to incite political insurrection in favor of gay rights, Elton John remained on the high road of artistry. Occasional comments, dedications really, imparted to the audience the emotional investment he places on his music. He related to us his frequent thoughts of Matthew Shepard and the irony of his life and death. Only afterwards was I aware of the hypocrisy that tainted the evening, another of life's ironies. I heard that Matthew's parents were there that night, and sitting immediately behind them, was the Governor of Wyoming. My opinion? It was a strategic, and transparent attempt to gain political ground via sympathy in the absence of substantial evidence toward making our state safe for all its citizens. A night intended to be an affirmation of the purity of humanity's spirit, evoked the worst of our greedy nature.

But I digress into sociopolitical rhetoric.

Born Reginald Dwight, Sir Elton John is just a man. He revealed his limitations when concerned he might not recall the lyrics to "Candle in the Wind", recently displaced with lyrics to "Good-bye England's Rose" since the death of his friend, Lady Diana of England. He admitted vulnerability by thanking a friend who flew to Laramie as moral support during this particular appearance in his tour. Courage, he showed in affirming to a potentially deadly audience, that as a gay man, he felt compelled to appear here to pronounce his solidarity with other gays striving to exist within hostile environments. The comment, almost a prayer, midway through the concert that, surely, most people in Wyoming were caring and open-minded, bespoke his fear. How much courage must it have taken to appear in the venue of a town, imbedded in the heart of right-wing, homophobic, cowboy country, with a history of murderous vengeance on the weak, the defenseless, and the different. Granted, many of us in Wyoming do not fit that description, but there are solid grounds within our communities for the stereotype we bear. He revealed a man of hope and of vision reflecting that he could "feel the love" that night. Revealing the frailty of his mortal coil, he shook the blood back into fingers, numb after hours of effort and precision.

And, ahh, THE MUSIC! Most were familiar melodies from the far and near past, with a few surprisingly unfamiliar gems. My favorite? The rip-you-out-of-your-seat-to-dance bouncing beat of Crocodile Rock. The most astonishing? The bluesey improvisational extension of Honky Cat, lasting, gloriously, forever, a frozen moment in time. Self deprecating, he apologized for the roughness of his voice. Seems he strained it the day before shouting for his favorite soccer team as he watched them play a televised match in England. I felt no diminishment in the quality of his performance. While he may not have hit all the highest notes we had grown to expect, he as their author, retains the right to extemporize on occasion. It lost nothing of its beauty and emotion, while reverberating with a richermore mature quality.

Overheard comments included "the piano was like a natural extension of his body," and "the man, the instrument, the music, indistinguishable one from another." I remember sitting, in awe, realizing that this was more than a man. I was seeing more than talent and craft. Anyone can play the piano well after 30 years of practice. This was divine inspiration, emotion translated into melody and rhythm. Feelings were laid bare and set free to rise and consume me. Notes wafted into tendrils, winding around through the air. Some streaking to fill the remote reaches and reverberate back, and others softly drifting, ascending, curling to embrace me, touching my heart, and squeezing forth a tear.

Crashing rhythms nailed me to my seat, while others catapulted forth, energizing my heart, my hands and feet, willing me to soar forth, filled with a surge of energy and power. And I remember holding my breath, feeling meek, sensing my privileged glimpse into something precious and rare.

Here was a man, nothing more, a collection of muscle, bone, brain, blood, and yet, more than the sum of his parts. Before me on a tiny square of wood, in a small Rocky Mountain town, with my friends at my side, I saw a bit of God, of the most supreme evidence of being created in his image. And I was at once edified and humbled. Biologically, there was little difference between the man before me and myself. But in spirit, in potential, before me, shown the sublime; and I, despite my best attempts, remained crap! I felt compelled to be better than myself, to aspire to greatness in my own way. I am reminded that if it is possible for one man to achieve this moment of perfection with mind, body and spirit, that others of us, all of us, have the potential for greatness locked inside.

The key to unlock this treasure of existence? After seeing Elton John in Laramie, I believe it is courage, and love.