Elton John
Tumbleweed Connection

"Tumbleweed Connection" is Bernie Taupin's most country and American work, lyricist and friend of Elton, probably inseparable friend. Yes, an album by Bernie, never has his influence been felt so strongly in every single track as in this work. The outlaw lyrics, with words that run from sheriffs, also flee from any attempt at real comprehension because it remains once again impossible (in this, the eponymous album to the artist just a few months earlier, also from 1970, had well prepared us) to find a logical thread, or perhaps a character/s for a concept. The only theme, which makes Tumbleweed a concept, if we may allow ourselves, is precisely the passion for the warm, arid, and dry desert of the heart of the States, where the Indians, still unbound from reservations, ran supreme, and where traces of more western civilization were found in the caravans of Cowboys, ready to unload a revolver on a friend from the previous evening. The brown dirty cowboy, after all, required his artistic and interpretative part in the duo, if it was such. Bernie indeed ceded the success to the musical and stage mind that was Elton, but he at this moment also partly acted as manager. Manager, yes, because the dear lyricist saw far, as it's only possible to do from one of those immense expanses perhaps near the Grand Canyon. Landing in America meant having success, a stellar following, a page-turner that had become a classic among promising British stars, perhaps to chase the trail of the most famous storyteller from Minnesota, or even to make the crowd dance as a young man with lacquered hair, flared trousers, and ultra-tuned Gibson had enjoyed doing a few years earlier. But here we are far from any form of rock'n'roll Madonna, just to stay, or rather return, in Eltonian theme. Here there is a block of 10 engaging yet alternating songs in tone—high and low, melancholic and shameless. Ballads, as we understood from the previous work, accompanied by an orchestra, that of Paul Buckmaster, more refined, which showcases its talent only when strictly necessary, just like Elton and his piano, amalgamated into the entire sound department, except for a few exceptions. The first is also a ballad by title, and it refers to an unknown guy, Bernie gets bored of giving fake names, an outlaw who, by synecdoche or merely by the culture of the great West, is only associated with a gun, presumably a revolver. And so is born the dynamic and solemn ballad of the "well-known gun." The tone immediately changes with "Come Down in Time," also available in an unprecedented jazz version. The calm and peace this song paints are unique, creating quiet even in the most refined baron of the wild west. The third song is, in a sense, the missing title track: "Country Comfort" is the emblem of the entire album; a Country with a capital C, a piece of great significance, so to speak, which was also graced by the attention of Rod the Mod, who, guess what, covered it, strange from someone like Rod Stewart, right? The air then begins to humidify, muggy, blinding. The scorching heat increases with each track, makes us sweat, hotter than July, to quote another friend or just a colleague of Reginald Dwight, dear Stevie. After this heartfelt dedication to life in the Far West (calm and daily, not what they tell in Spaghetti Westerns), everything is rhythmed with the fast and frenetic "Son of Your Father," with a crazy harmonica and orchestral arrangement at the highest levels. So far, the work appears more than good, indeed surprising from a young lad with all the mannerisms of Albion as Reg, but closing the side A of the 33 RPM is the apotheosis of the entire star's discography. It's no coincidence that the best piece is placed at the end, at least of the first side; it had already happened innumerable times. The reason is more than obvious, leaving that cathartic silence at the end when everything stops. "My Father's Gun" is truly the perfection of music, at least that of this genre, of those years, for people like me. But even just objectively speaking, one cannot fail to recognize its greatness, the ecstasy of the sounds and artistic expression that here reaches levels of Mount Olympus. The epitaph that a son creates for his departed father is a tradition passed down from generation to generation, and so this young man takes on the guise of the parent, also takes his gun, and continues what had already been started. A blood pact, a promise, that keeps alive the frenzy for the distant West, wild, belligerent, but also tremendously fascinating. Here there is no parental detachment that will be present in "Levon" from Madman, but rather a great bond. The almost gospel-like choirs at the end make the track over 6 minutes engaging, despite the simple and short lyrics, with an extremely repetitive chorus. However, when one manages to fend off boredom but enriches the song with a handful of verses repeated ad infinitum, it means that beauty transcends, goes beyond, and makes "My Father's Gun" a timeless masterpiece. After the long pause that causes the turntable needle to stop and after changing the side of the vinyl, there presents itself what is one of the more rhythmic and perhaps most "pop" pieces of Tumbleweed. "Where to Now, St. Peter?" with this cryptic title talks about the crisis of faith, of every human religion. A mortal finds himself alone, is shown the way to follow but is afraid, as he is vulnerable. Elton's semi-falsettos here introduce the chorus, well punctuated by piano chords that repeat jerkily. Overall it is an excellent piece, with an intro that repeats at the end to close a circle. The only cover of the album is "Love Song," sung in a duet with the star's author and backing vocalist Lesley Duncan, the only piece to highlight the total absence of piano. A deafening silence, unnatural for Reg listeners, accustomed to choirs, orchestras, and keyboards. Here the bare acoustic guitar creates a genuine unplugged that gives breath to the work, to the entire listening experience. Then it returns to original tracks with the fabulous "Amoreena," once again reaching the highest peaks. The intro explodes with a progression in a duo between piano and drums, Nigel's, of course, who tops the guitars and the semblance of a blues organ. Reg's tired voice combines perfectly with everything, to sing of Amoreena, goddess of beauty and purity, in a meticulous description of her personality, and her body. Perhaps they are childhood memories, or maybe of youth, perhaps only unrealized dreams, those of rolling through the dry prairies, and laughing until exhausted, but after all, Elton here misses Amoreena, misses those moments spent together, and "cries" in this captivating ballad. We are approaching the finale with a great composition by Bernie, did you remember him? He never left, he always remained there writing lyrics and aiming at vast spaces. "Talking Old Soldiers" is the darkest tale of the work. For tones and arrangements, it could be inserted within "Elton John," the album of "Your Song," to be clear, which apart from this included tremendously gothic and medieval ballads, somewhat like this. The theme of the West, the decayed rockabilly, however, makes the track more than ever appropriate in the place where it is found. It allows us to reflect on the transience of time and life events, invites us to enter one of those inns on route 66 in the golden times, literally, maybe during the crazy gold rush, to drain a mug of beer, and then another, to try to forget. The end is with "Burn Down The Mission," with a piano riff that repeats between one chorus and another. A piece that starts with a certain calm, then destined to be exhausted in a matter of minutes. "Burn it down, burn it down," blow up the mission, unplug everything, let's escape, the sheriffs are coming, thus ends the story of Bernie's West, who all this while remained behind the star, even on the same cover, on the back cover, to be exact. So the train is taken to return to Europe, or perhaps not, because after all Madman will remain here, will move towards the Pacific Coast, but without losing those country-rock tones we have come to know. Everything then stops at the station (in England, paradoxically) that is shown on the cover, with an Elton not yet Sir, not yet Hercules, not yet Rocketman, simply sitting on the wooden steps, which will remain there for another century and more, just like "Tumbleweed Connection" destined to remain as the epitaph of a finished, dead music. But you only die once, and this is forever.