Farewell yellow brick ro.., p.5
Farewell Yellow Brick Road, page 5
MATT BISSONETTE,
BASS GUITAR/VOCALS
“Going back to play in Detroit, my hometown, was a highlight. Playing at Comerica Park and other famous Detroit sports arenas, being such a Detroit sports fan, always seemed surreal. And of course my first gig with Elton, when I had a holy-smokes moment of realizing where I was, that I’ll never forget. I’ll miss being with this special group of guys and gals. The band and crew have become great friends of mine, and I will cherish them forever. It’s amazing when you start something new, for me over ten years now, and you never realize how much further your life will be blessed by meeting people you never knew existed.”
TOUR STOPS #41 AND #42
CITY DALLAS, TEXAS
DATES DECEMBER 14 AND 15, 2018
VENUE AMERICAN AIRLINES CENTER
The crowd welcomes Elton during a performance in Dallas in 2018 as the singer wears a tailcoat reimagined with rock ’n’ roll styling. “OLD-FASHIONED SHOWMANSHIP IS ONE OF THE BACKBONES OF ELTON JOHN’S PROGRAM. HIS EASY RAPPORT WITH THE AUDIENCE HARKS BACK TO THE ROCK ERA WHEN PERFORMERS CAME ONSTAGE TO ENTERTAIN, IN A DIRECT SENSE, RATHER THAN ASTONISH OR OVERWHELM.”
—THE DALLAS MORNING NEWS, 1973
I got to know America well during my first three US tours in the early 1970s. It’s a country I’ve enjoyed touring because it’s so vast and each tour stop is so different. And it always seemed like I was hitting the right note in America. Although I’m British, my home country didn’t embrace me with quite the same fervor when I got my start. By my second American tour, in the spring of 1971, there was a frenetic response from the fans. During the shows, some of them would climb up onstage and try to hug me. “Look,” I’d tell them politely, “you better get off the stage.” It was overwhelming sometimes, but I didn’t have a lot of time to ruminate on how much my life had changed. We toured for the entire year, in America and as far away as Japan and New Zealand. That was the first year I came to Texas.
Being from England, I had a lot of ideas about what America would be like. Texas, for instance, conjured up images of cowboys and the Old West. But when I visited, I realized it was a whole different kettle of fish. The 1971 tour was packed with shows. It was me, Nigel Olsson on drums, and Dee Murray on bass. We started in the UK with a long run of shows before flying to America in early April. We went all over the country and even jetted to Honolulu for a show before taking a few much-needed days off. The advice had been to book slightly smaller venues than we thought we could fill, which worked splendidly—each night the venue floor was heaving with fans. By the time we arrived in Texas, it felt like we’d seen nearly every state in the country. We had four Texas shows on the itinerary: Houston, San Antonio, Dallas, and Fort Worth.
In Dallas, we performed in Music Hall at Fair Park, a performing arts theater not far from the Cotton Bowl Stadium. It held around three thousand people. The vibe in Texas seemed to square with my over-the-top look and performance style. Americans appreciated a spectacle, and that was what I gave them. By the time we came back to Dallas, over a year later, I was playing to nearly four times that audience at the Dallas Memorial Auditorium, now with guitarist Davey Johnstone added to the band. The 1972 tour was bigger and even more overwhelming. The shows blurred together, but I’ll always remember visiting Texas that year because the band and I were invited to the NASA Johnson Space Center in Houston, where we took a tour with astronaut Al Worden. It was a fitting experience, as “Rocket Man” had recently been released.
Original ticket stubs from Elton’s early concerts in Dallas My first really big show in Dallas came the following year at the third annual Cotton Bowl Spectacular. There were more than twenty thousand people in the audience. It was a hot August day, and Steely Dan played right before us. At the time, I was performing several songs from my next LP, Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, which was set for release in October. The band and I were playing something fierce. The 1973 summer tour had seen us performing in a lot of American sports centers and arenas, which I found quite fun. I grew up going to Watford FC matches at Vicarage Road with my dad, and that year I’d become vice president of their football club. Although I was a die-hard fan of English football, I enjoyed seeing where the American teams played. There are two things that really unite people: live music and sporting matches. I love both for similar reasons. There’s something truly undeniable about fans gathered together in a space with a shared passion, whether it’s for a particular musical artist or a sports team.
Sometimes people ask me how I can perform in places with opposing views to my own. How can I take the stage somewhere that doesn’t protect LGBTQ+ rights? Many people were shocked when I toured the former Soviet Union and are still shocked when I visit modern-day Russia. But I have to. I want to draw awareness to problematic situations and be a voice for change, but I also want to be there for my fans. After Matthew Shepard, a twenty-one-year-old gay man, was murdered in Laramie, Wyoming, in 1998, I went there and played a concert at the University of Wyoming the next year. I was so appalled by what had happened. My friend Ingrid Sischy, who was the editor of Interview magazine, helped me to write a speech to give during the concert, which raised more than $250,000 for the Matthew Shepard Foundation and other anti-hate organizations.
“When I fly over America on my broomstick, as I do a lot when I’m touring, I get to physically see and experience what a big country this is—it’s big enough for everyone,” I said. “That’s what this concert is about—ending hate. Despite all the progress that has been made in civil liberties, gay rights, religious tolerance, we’re still living in a world where people are hated, even killed, for the simple fact that they are a different religion, a different color, a different race, a different sex, or living a different lifestyle. Such hate and violence against that which is different may seem ridiculous or unbelievable, but it is painfully real. Many of you in Laramie know how ridiculous firsthand.”
I felt very passionately about what I was saying. It underscored my belief that you can’t shy away from bad things. I wanted to raise awareness for what had happened, but I also wanted to help heal the community. “I felt it was my duty as a gay man to publicly do what Dylan Thomas meant when he said, ‘Do not go gentle into that good night,’” I continued. “I couldn’t just hear about Matthew Shepard’s murder and think about it as something that just happened and move on. I wanted to do a concert in his memory right here in Laramie, where he should still be living and going to school.” I added, “I want this to be a celebration of music, not a wake.” Later, Bernie and I wrote a song, “American Triangle,” in dedication to Matthew.
A decade later, I had another opportunity to practice what I always preach. In 2010, many artists canceled concerts in Israel—a country I’ve always loved visiting—due to political pressure. But why shouldn’t I give the people there something to smile about? If I canceled my upcoming shows, I’d be part of the problem. Instead I performed in Tel Aviv, telling the crowd that I believe music spreads peace and brings people together, instead of separating us. “That is what we do,” I affirmed, noting, “We do not cherry-pick our consciences, okay?” I genuinely believe I can’t avoid cities or states or countries that oppress people or fail to protect their citizens. Texas hasn’t always been the most progressive state, but I love my fans there and they always welcome me as an openly gay man with open arms.
Ultimately, music is a healer. It’s a common thing that brings people together in a shared space, whether they’re politically opposed or religiously opposed. For that two and a half hours—or for however long I perform—they forget about that, which is a very powerful thing. It’s a very powerful thing to bring fans of completely disparate viewpoints together as one. I want to use my spotlight for good. As a gay man, I can encourage fans who come from less tolerant backgrounds to become more accepting. The fans love and accept me for who I am, and I hope for that same level of love and acceptance outside the walls of the venue, no matter where in the world I am.
Elton’s stage costume in Dallas features pearl beading detail on the lapels—a signature look only Elton could carry off. By nature, humans are political. Engaging in society on any level makes us political, whether we identify as such or not. Over the years, it’s been important to me to speak out about causes or issues that are meaningful. Critics sometimes say that celebrities should stick to their art. Fuck that. My art is inherently about acceptance. It’s about being who you are without fear. If I feel strongly about something, I have to make a statement. It’s why I started my nonprofit, the Elton John AIDS Foundation. If I can use my platform as a musician to bring people together and encourage positive change in the world, then it’s all the more impactful. To me, it doesn’t matter whether a state skews red or blue; I’m going to play my best there regardless. I don’t judge my fans for their beliefs. Instead, I want to give everyone a few hours of togetherness without any sense of division. It’s a joyful, hopeful thing to do.
When we arrived in Dallas on the Farewell Yellow Brick Road Tour, I hadn’t been to the city in four years. It felt good to be back. We were dozens of shows into the tour, and by now the band and I were really hitting our stride. I was having the most fun I’d had in years. Already, I felt the tour was the best of my career. Each city had a slightly different vibe, but when a tour is really long, I can often make out where I am from the reaction of the fans. Dallas is a place where I can really feel the adoration. On our first night at the American Airlines Center in 2018, everyone sang along with such enthusiasm. I could make out shouts of glee and praise between each song on the setlist.
During many of the performances, I hoped to genuinely convey how important this connection between my fans and me has been in my career. It means the world to me. In Dallas that night, I marveled, “Ask any musician, and they’ll tell you: The greatest thing you can do is play for another human being and get a reaction. You have given me the most incredible experiences of my life.” I know I said similar things on other nights of the tour. I always meant it. It’s truly staggering to see the extent of my impact on people.
We were scheduled to return to Dallas in the summer of 2020, but those two shows were postponed because of the pandemic. They were rescheduled for January 2022 when the farewell tour kicked off again, but after we played Houston, I tested positive for Covid. I felt terrible that we had to postpone the concerts a second time, but it was out of my hands. It’s always a massive disappointment not to be able to play. Thankfully, I was vaccinated and boosted, and my symptoms were mild. In March, we returned to Dallas and closed out my time in Texas with two shows at the American Airlines Center and another in September 2022 at the Globe Life Field in Arlington.
Like most cities in America, Dallas has been part of my touring life since the early days. Performing there in 2018 was a fond farewell. It also marked our final two shows on that first US leg of the tour. After dozens of concerts, the band and I took a much-needed break. I flew home to see David and the boys, and everyone had a month off for the winter holidays. We would reconvene in Boise, Idaho, on January 11, 2019. A new year, a new set of tour dates, and endless possibilities. I was looking forward to bringing the Farewell Yellow Brick Road Tour to more cities in America, including Los Angeles, where my career as a performer really began.
Elton enjoys the moment while performing a memorable concert in Dallas. “ICONS, PARTICULARLY THOSE IN THE MIDST OF GRADUAL GOODBYES, CAN OFTEN TAKE THEIR FEET OFF THE GAS PEDAL. JOHN, BACKED BY AN AIRTIGHT SEXTET FEATURING SEVERAL LONGTIME COLLABORATORS LIKE DRUMMER NIGEL OLSSON, PERCUSSIONIST RAY COOPER AND GUITARIST DAVEY JOHNSTONE, SHOWED NO INTEREST IN TAKING IT EASY.”
—THE DALLAS OBSERVER, 2018
TOUR STOPS #49, #50, #51, #54, #55, AND #56
CITY LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
DATES January 22, 23, 25, AND 30, 2019 / FEBRUARY 1 AND 2, 2019
VENUE STAPLES CENTER /THE FORUM
Elton performing at the Staples Center in 2019 Los Angeles is the first place in America I ever played, and it was among the most memorable. My concert at the Troubadour, a club opened by Doug Weston in the 1950s, on August 25, 1970, is credited with launching my entire career. Since then, the city has been very supportive of me as a performer. I have a house in Beverly Hills and live there part-time with my family. Each year in Los Angeles, I host the Elton John AIDS Foundation Academy Awards Viewing Party to raise money for my foundation. As we were planning the Farewell Yellow Brick Road Tour, it was important to give fans in Los Angeles as many opportunities to see me as possible. I started with four nights at the Staples Center downtown in early 2019. There was so much excitement from fans in all the venues, but I was most looking forward to revisiting the Forum, an arena I’d been playing for four decades.
Performing concerts in Los Angeles always brings up memories for me. My relationship with the city has evolved over the years, but I will always hold those initial shows at the Troubadour in my heart. Although I’d been Elton John for over a year, I still hadn’t fully caught on with the public. My new US record label, Universal City Records, decided they wanted me to perform some club shows—in America. I didn’t see the point. I’d released my debut LP, Empty Sky, the year before in England, although it hadn’t yet come out in America. My follow-up, a self-titled album recorded with producer Gus Dudgeon and arranger Paul Buckmaster, had arrived in April. We were just starting to get traction in the UK, and I was worried we’d lose the momentum we were building if we went over to America, where no one knew me. Everyone was adamant I should go. An offer came from Jeff Beck for me, Dee Murray, and Nigel Olsson to sign on as his backing band for an American tour. I would get a solo spot to play my own songs as well. It seemed like a decent enough idea. I was ready to agree, but Dick James, who had signed Bernie and me to a music publishing deal, told them to stuff it. At first, I was horrified. But it turned out Dick was right. I didn’t need Jeff Beck.
Still, I wasn’t convinced I was ready for America. Bernie said, “Let’s think of it like a holiday.” I figured at the very least we could use it as an excuse to go to Disneyland or go buy records, which sounded like great fun. I was twenty-three and I’d never been to America, so I shrugged. If it ended up just being a holiday, great. I flew to Los Angeles with Dee, Nigel, Bernie, my managers Steve Brown and Ray Williams, graphic designer David Larkham, and our roadie Bob Stacey. When we arrived, the record label met us with a British double-decker bus. On the side, it said ELTON JOHN HAS ARRIVED. I was so embarrassed. I had been expecting a limousine or a Cadillac, so this seemed ridiculously over the top. As we drove from LAX airport to the hotel, Bernie lowered himself in his seat so no one could spot him through the bus windows. But the city looked exactly like it did on television in The Beverly Hillbillies. There were palm trees everywhere. I remember thinking how everything there looked and sounded amazing.
A newspaper advertisement for Elton’s career-changing show at the Troubadour in 1970 “By the end of the evening, there was no question about John’s talent and potential. Tuesday night at the Troubadour was just the beginning. He’s going to be one of rock’s biggest and most important stars.”
—THE LOS ANGELES TIMES, 1970
Everyone from my US record label was extremely enthusiastic about the upcoming shows. Somehow, they’d created a real sense of hype. I was this unknown kid from England, but everyone was coming. I was set to headline over David Ackles, which seemed ludicrous. I’d been skeptical about performing in America, but now I was fucking terrified. Who was I to be headlining the Troubadour for a whole week? At one point, I told everyone I was going home to London. I threatened to get on a plane. But then I came to my senses. If all of these people were coming out to see me, I was going to give them the performance of their lives.
The evening of August 25 arrived. Before I left England, I’d bought a bunch of clothes from a store called Mr. Freedom, run by designer Tommy Roberts. On the night of the show, I put them all on—yellow dungarees, a T-shirt covered in stars, and bright yellow boots with red wings. It was not at all the way I looked on the cover of Elton John, which depicted a serious singer-songwriter. The crowd, who had never seen me before, certainly wasn’t expecting the version of Elton John who appeared onstage with Dee and Nigel. Neil Diamond, who I’d met for the first time earlier that week, introduced us. As I sat down at the piano, I could hear a surprised murmur in the crowd. I remember it distinctly. I didn’t look like America in 1970. They’d expected some moody guy to come out and play Randy Newman–esque songs on the piano. But we were a rock band.
I opened the set with “Your Song.” I was nervous, my eyes down on the piano keys as I sang. I quickly realized, however, that I couldn’t let the crowd’s surprise throw me. Something shifted. I decided to push up the energy with the second song, “Bad Side of the Moon.” “Right!” I told the crowd. “If you won’t listen, perhaps you’ll bloody well listen to this!” I kicked my piano stool out of the way, just as I’d seen Jerry Lee Lewis do all those years earlier, and started pounding the notes out like Little Richard. Something inside me took over. I went wild. I leapt on the piano. I flung my legs up into the air. I howled into the microphone. The crowd, initially so stoic, responded and began to move along and applaud. I knew this was my big moment, and I had to go for it. At one point during the set, while playing “Burn Down the Mission,” I realized with a shock that Leon Russell was in the second row. He was my idol. I couldn’t believe he was there watching me play. Once the set was over, it was clear something special had happened in that room.
