My Song

This past Friday night, Corey and I went to see Elton John in concert at the newly refurbished USF Sun Dome (a venue which, by the way, is not the best for concerts).  Friday marked my tenth time seeing Elton—I’d been to eight of his shows, and had stood toe-to-toe with him on another occasion.  (See Glitter in the Air, 2/23/12, for the whole story.)  The last time I’d seen him was in Vegas, a little over four years ago. 

Back then, I’d joined my sisters and niece in Vegas, where Julie lived.  I was the only person in the group who wanted to see Elton in his Red Piano show at Caesar’s—the others wanted to go to Cirque du Soleil.   So, for the first time ever, I went to a concert alone.  Since my birthday was coming up, Bunny encouraged me to get top-shelf tickets.  For once, I didn’t disagree.  I ended up in the second row from the stage, one seat from the aisle!  For two hours, I watched Elton play and sing less than 30 feet away.  For the last song—Saturday Night’s Alright—I got to dance on stage with about 20 other fans while he played and sang.   It was one birthday present I’ll never forget.

Elton and I go back a long, long time.  I first heard his music in 1972, which, ironically, is the same year I met Bunny, who was my fifth-grade classmate.  I didn’t immediately fall in love with Bunny (that wouldn’t happen for years to come)—but Elton—oh!  His music spoke to me, inspired me, soothed me.  My family had one record player, and I drove everyone nuts with my repeated playings of the few albums I had.    Looking back, I think my mother kept giving me albums as gifts so the rest of the family could get a respite by getting different songs into the rotation.  Luckily for them, Elton has been very prolific. 

I have a strange habit—which appears genetic, judging by Joey’s and Trinity’s behavior—of never, ever tiring of watching a movie I love or hearing a song I love.  What’s that?  The Godfather’s coming on in an hour?  I’m watching it!  It doesn’t matter that I’ve seen it over 20 times—I find something new to appreciate about it with every viewing.   The Bitch is Back is playing on the radio?  I’m singing along! It’s my anthem!

For a few years running, every Christmas would bring a new Elton album.  Better yet, my neighbor, Mike, often got Elton’s albums for Christmas, too, and his were usually different than mine.   I remember he had the Caribou album, which I didn’t.  How, you ask, do I remember that, nearly 30 years later?  Because that’s the album that The Bitch is Back  was on, and I had to go to Mike’s house to hear it.  I suspect that’s the reason I didn’t get Caribou: my mom figured I didn’t need any encouragement.

From the start of our courtship, Bunny knew that Elton was my favorite recording artist.  Even in his drug-fueled days, Elton’s work was still better than the auto-tuned wonders who would come later.  When we moved to Atlanta, we got to see him in concert several times.  Elton lived in Atlanta, too, so it was almost always a stop on his U.S. tours. 

Before he married me, Bunny had only a passing familiarity with Elton’s work, but he enjoyed the music enough that he kept going with me to concerts.   As with most other things, we found something in Elton’s concerts to incorporate into our short-hand language: whenever he played Rocket Man (which he does at every concert), Elton would go into elaborate, unscripted piano riffs before the last chorus.  These instrumental flights could sometimes last up to five minutes, and would occasionally be punctuated with the refrain “long, long time.”  After our second concert, “long, long time” became code for something that lasted a really (sometimes inordinately) long time. 

So, it had been a long, long time since I’d seen Elton: 2008, BC (before cancer).  Joey excitedly called me in June to tell me that Elton was coming to USF, and I got two tickets.  He and Corey tussled over who would go with me, and Corey won.  We snapped photos of the stage and of ourselves as we sat waiting.  Corey wondered why the stadium was only half-full.  I assured her that the other half of the audience would rush in at the last minute—for some reason, that’s the way it always worked.

 Finally, the lights went down.  2Cellos opened the concert, playing three songs in quick succession.  They are, literally, two (very cute) cello players from Croatia, and you’ve never heard cello playing like this!  Check them out at www.2cellos.com.  Watch the Highway to Hell clip, and you’ll see what I mean.  They’re touring with Elton, and play on many of his songs.

Finally, Elton came out, wearing a sparkly jacket and black pants with sparkly outside seams.  He looked a little heavier than the last time I saw him.  I guess he hasn’t lost the baby weight yet.  Despite my aversion to schmaltz, I usually tear up a little when he first comes out.  I just get overwhelmed with the excitement and admiration and memories.   This time was no exception.

Of the thousands of songs he could have chosen, he opened with Saturday Night’s Alright.  Immediately,  my mind flashed back to that exuberant night in Vegas when I danced onstage at Caesar’s.  So carefree, so secure, so happy: Bunny’s cancer was looming, undetected, and wouldn’t appear for another year.   If I could only turn back time to that night!  Crap!  Now tears were flowing down my cheeks.  I miss Bunny all the time, but it’s during special times like these that I miss him most.  He’d probably have thought up the baby weight comment before I did.

It took several songs before I stopped crying.  The girls (who were at least my age) in the row before ours kept snapping pictures of themselves.  I was growing irritated with them, and irritation trumps tears every time.  Then I noticed Corey making faces every time they snapped a photo.

“We’re in their pictures,” she said simply, screwing up her face for the next shot.  Great!  Somewhere out there, someone’s got about 20 photos of me crying.  Gggrrr!

Elton’s voice was strong and true from start to finish, which was two and a half hours later.  He played a lot of his old songs, with a good percentage of them coming from the Goodbye Yellow Brick Road album.   We also heard other familiar songs from days gone by, like Levon.  I smiled when I heard the first notes of this song, because it reminded me of one of our Abbott and Costello moments.

On about concert number four, about halfway through, Bunny asked me a question between songs.

“Do you think he’ll play my song?”

“Of course!  That’s how he always closes the concert—with Your Song.”  It was true:  the concert would always seemingly end, but he’d come back for one or two encores.  You knew not to leave your seat, though, until he played Your Song.  It was one of his very first hits, and probably his first U.S. hit, and it’s a pretty, sweet love song.

Finally, he played Your Song, and the lights came up.  I nudged Bunny toward the aisle, but he stood his ground.

“But he didn’t play my song!” he said, somewhat petulantly.

“Sure he did!  He just played it!”

“No!  My song has Levon, and Jesus.  He shall be Lee-Von!”  Bunny literally couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket, so he spoke the line.

“Der!  That’s Levon, not Your Song!”  Then we laughed; silly misunderstandings like this one were too funny to take seriously.

True to form, the music eventually stopped and Elton left the stage.  Corey gathered up her purse.

“No, he’ll come back.  Just wait a minute,” I said.  She settled back down and, indeed, Elton returned.

He took the stage again and thanked us all for our loyalty and devotion—he knew that times are hard and that we could have spent our money elsewhere.  Then he started Your Song.  Of course, 95% of the people in the stadium knew the song, so they all sang along.  I couldn’t—my throat was tight from holding back the tears.  Only a few minutes before, I’d been dancing and belting out The Bitch is Back.

Finally, with second part of the chorus, I couldn’t hold back the tears any more: “I hope you don’t mind, I hope you don’t mind, that I put down in words: How wonderful life is while you’re in the world.”  When he was sick, there were days when he drove me to the very edge of insanity: Bunny was the first to admit that he was not a good patient.  But measured against the years of happiness we had together, the memory of those days faded long ago.   For the most part, life was wonderful while he was in the world.

Don’t get me wrong—the concert was awesome! Of all the concerts I’ve seen, I’d easily rank it in the top two, and I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.  It just unexpectedly evoked some powerful memories for me.  Life will be wonderful again, just in a different way.  I may not have Bunny any more, but I’ll always have Elton.