Mesmerizing oneself among the rustle of opinion discs, a 1972 album was found mocking the stylings of rock. Elton John, disguised as a studio apartment with a view, enclosed in an air cage the non sequitur of the croaking foul language. With the sobriety and arrogance of a Spanish viceroy, he nailed to the muddy wall of personal opinions the notes of the artist's velvety boasting (which he would lose a few years later among his glasses). A (villainous) example of ingenious cowardice is provided to us by the list from the pouring without appearing fallacious or, if you like, frivolous. "I Think I'M Going To Kill Myself" sang our host, watering the yellow roses in his garden. He probably wrote "Honky Cat" carefully not to step on the lilac plaster of his meticulous neighbor, but by golly, one could already glimpse "Mona Lisa And Mad Hatters" slipping savory among the cereal sticks scattered on the gas pump (near the dog's kennel). "Rocket Man", "Salvation", "Hercules", all the songs play, after the break, beautifully laid on an evergreen and chic record.
If fanaticism consists of doubling efforts (and splendor) when one has forgotten the purpose, then this work is presented to us as a perfect adverb of a homemade dinner.