Coming of Age with Elton John's Greatest Hits

by editor Michele Catalano

I was 13 years old, in 1975, a rebellious fledgling teenager living off the adrenaline of rock and roll. Led Zeppelin. Kiss. Bowie. Pink Floyd. That’s what we were listening to in the converted garages of suburbia, cramped together in the teenage version of clubhouses pretending to be cooler than we actually were. It’s hard to be cool at 13. You still wear a thin veneer of childhood at that age, a softness that belies the affectation you present as you sit there sipping a stolen Rheingold beer while listening to music whose meaning still escapes you. We liked to believe we were hardcore, the kind of kids who wanted to rock and roll all night and party every day, and despite the fact that at 13 we had already perfected the art of rolling a joint we were still soft. When we left the garages we went home and let our guards down. Everyone had their thing they hid from the others, that one thing that might stop you from looking like the juvenile delinquents hopped up on rock and roll we wanted to be seen as. I know Eddie had his Archie & Veronica comic books. I had Elton John.

I had harbored a secret love for Elton since 1973 when “Daniel” entered my heart and “Crocodile Rock” got stuck in my brain. I bought Don’t Shoot Me, I’m Only the Piano Player with my allowance thinking it was the epitome of anything Elton John could ever accomplish musically and then later that year Goodbye Yellow Brick Road came out and I was blown away. I was eleven then, too young to really get the nuances of the album but old enough to know it was brilliant.

I never told anyone about my Elton John obsession, how I would collect magazine articles about him, cut them out and carefully tape them into a scrapbook dedicated to all things Elton. I had no Elton John posters on my wall, no album covers hung as art. I had a hard enough time maintaining friends as it was; my loose circuit of garage rock kids was just a bunch of superficial friendships held together by Robert Plant and the lure of getting high while discussing the meaning of “Stairway to Heaven.” I couldn’t let what few friends I had know I was secretly the biggest Elton John fan on Long Island.

Caribou came out in early 1974 and I had to hide it from my little sister because “The Bitch is Back” was kind of scandalous as no one cursed on the radio in the 70s. I didn’t buy it; money was precious at 12 and I spent most of my allowance on Slurpees and Fun Dip. I would have to wait until Christmas if I wanted it. But then in November of 1974, Elton put out a greatest hits collection. All of my favorite songs in one place! I immediately put it on my Christmas list and mom and dad delivered. They were more than happy to buy me wholesome Elton John records; they enjoyed his music also, unlike Led Zeppelin or David Bowie. They let me put the record on after Christmas dinner and I danced around the living room to “Honky Cat” and sang “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road” to my five year old sister.

I kept the album with the living room stereo in case I had friends over. I didn’t want them to see it in my room. I felt bad about being embarrassed to let them know I was an Elton John fan, like it would be an affront to Elton if he knew. I wouldn’t come out to them until after Captain Fantastic was released. But for now, at that moment, I was too scared of losing my scant amount of friends over this. I think about this now, how absurd it is to lose friends over music, and I don’t think any of them would have stopped talking to me, but they would have laughed, and that’s worse. So I kept my fandom hidden.

In a way, that was best. I felt like I had Elton to myself, that he was special to me. I was bonding with him by keeping him secret; it was something between me and Elton, and, to a lesser extent, Bernie Taupin. Listening to Greatest Hits felt like a ritual where I was summoning Elton and Bernie. I was a little frustrated at not having my own space to listen in - I wouldn’t get my own turntable until the next Christmas - but sitting cross-legged in front of the stereo cabinet in the living room became part of the ritual. My middle sister would almost always join me for “Bennie and the Jets,” and my mother loved to sit in the room while “Daniel” was on. My listening sessions felt private to me at first, but then became communal as the rest of the family joined me. With them, I could be myself, let my love of Elton John flow freely. They wouldn’t make fun of me. They wouldn’t desert me. They recognized the joy within listening to Elton John and celebrated that with me.

I kind of lost touch with Elton after Captain Fantastic. I found other music to thrill me and he never put out another record that I truly connected with. But I still go back to his earlier records, especially Goodbye Yellow Brick Road and Madman Across the Water. But it’s the Greatest Hits album that stays with me, that brings back all the great memories of listening both with my family and on my own.

I mentioned on social media that I was writing about this album and someone said that writing about a greatest hits album was cheating. I don’t agree with that. Not only did this album provide me with some charming moments of singing along with my family to “Bennie and the Jets,” but it brought me close to Elton, helped me really connect with his and Bernie’s words and his music. I have vivid memories of bellowing along with “Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me” and dancing to “Saturday Night” and that makes it worth writing about.

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