Playboy Interview: Elton John

Five years ago, Elton John was just another schlub like the rest of us. He was broke half the time, he was shorter even than Robert Redford, his hair was already beginning to thin, he was usually more plump than he liked and he wore glasses as thick as Coke-bottle bottoms. Hardly what you'd call a head start in the Rock Star Derby; he would have stumped any "To Tell the Truth" panel asked to make the real next Mick Jagger please stand up.

Last year he made $7,000,000--and did the impossible: released an album, "Captain Fantastic and the Brown Dirt Cowboy," that entered the charts at number one and shipped platinum--music-biz jargon for $1,000,000 worth of sales--overnight. Nobody had ever done both before--not the Beatles, the Stones, Sinatra, John Denver. Then, a couple of months ago, he promptly topped himself with "Rock of the Westies," which shipped $1,400,000 and again entered the charts at number one.

Elton has become the biggest thing ever to hit the music business, partly because he seems to appeal to--or at least not alienate--all sorts of different people. Teeny-boppers adore him; people who would be moved to murder by Led Zeppelin don't go for their shotguns when they hear him; and even Rolling Stone sometimes likes what he does--according to its lights, anyway. That's why his string of singles lighting up the charts stretched uninterrupted for nearly four years, broken only briefly last fall, a record topped only by--can you guess?--Pat Boone. Converting that into plastic, it means nearly 35,000,000 singles have sold world-wide; and his 13 albums are somewhere in the 40,000,000 range, which makes it easy to understand the vinyl shortage. All that vinyl in turn converts, along with touring and little asides like being the platformed Pinball Wizard in the film version of "Tommy," into $7,000,000 annually, which in turn converts into a $1,000,000 house in Beverly Hills, another outside London, 200 pairs of shoes, eyeglasses of every shade and outrageous configuration, his own record company, a budding art collection of elegant ceramic deco ladies, more singles and albums than he can count, jukeboxes, pinball machines--whatever gleams next in his eye.

But in August of 1970 he was another unknown here. That changed in a week. On his first trip to America, he played the Troubadour in Los Angeles to audiences consisting mostly of the rock press and assorted music-biz types--a group of people who generally strive mightily to be as jaded and blase as they are sun-tanned and lean. This time they all went berserk. In a famous review that launched Rocket Man into the skies, Robert Hilburn of the Los Angeles Times began: "Rejoice. Rock music, which has been going through a rather uneventful period lately, has a new star. He's Elton John, a 23-year-old Englishman whose United States debut ... was, in almost every way, magnificent." Back here in colder regions, we thought at first that all of them had been out in the sun too long. His first American album, "Elton John," was all gloomy and doomy, with a brooding, poetic portrait of him on the front and strings to boot--not bad, but not our idea of rock 'n' roll. What were those people hollering?

We found out when first we saw him live, Mr. Hyde incarnate, pounding the piano like Little Richard possessed, jumping around on top of it wearing a sequined something or other and a feather boa and flashing neon sunglasses and God knows what else, manic and sweating, forcing the energy to levels higher and higher ... and, yes, that was rock 'n' roll.

In the years since, we have watched him become, in the astronomy of the hype wizards, a megastar (better and more durable than a nova or a supernova, with their depressing implications of grandly dying light). And as that's happened, we've all heard more and more about his life out of the studio and offstage, when the Alice in Wonderland costumes are back in the closet:

His passion for tennis, and Billie Jean King as a partner; his long-distance collaboration with lyricist Bernie Taupin, who's written almost every word that Elton's made famous; popping up onstage to jam with The Rolling Stones; stark tabloid pictures of him decked out in spangles and fur at some fancy L.A. bash, his arm around Bob Dylan or Cher.

It seemed a good time to get his version of it all, find out how it all looked from the roller coaster. So we sent freelancer Eugenie Ross-Leming and Staff Writer David Standish (the same team that got Cher to say all those surprising things in last October's interview) to talk with him in his newly bought mansion up in the canyon hills. As Eugenie told us about it:

"Nine A.M. is too early to talk to anyone other than the milkman, let alone an anointed megastar, but with our rented Dodge overheating and our own heads in that peculiar brain-baked state that hits you in Southern California, we headed east on Sunset toward Elton's Benedict Canyon home. We followed PR man Dick Grant's secret and thorough instructions and continued our cruise up streets lined with palm trees sprouting along the curbs like hormone-infused pineapples. The canyon road steepened and close to the top, right below Alice Cooper's place--which had mysteriously burned down the previous night--was Elton's house. It's Moorish, with a high wall in front and an arched walkway, a fountain and lush greenery--sort of an Alhambra a go-go.

"We talked with him by the pool, under a Bedouin-style enclosure. Coffee and cookies kept us going, although Elton had already played several sets of tennis before our arrival. We talked about superstardom, sex, drugs, politics, music, and just why he is where he is--living the laid-back life in a house smelling of bougainvillaea and Twenties decadence, with the ghost of Garbo listening in his gazebo--and, of course, where he's going from here. We started by asking him, well, why him?"

[Q] Playboy: You were recently voted Rock Personality of the Year. Why do you think people are so fascinated by you?

[A] John: Most people are nosy.

[Q] Playboy: Any other reasons occur to you?

[A] John: Well, most people think I've got so much money, more than I really have. Hell, Paul Simon has more money than me. He's into his own publishing. But people are fascinated by anyone who's got money.

[Q] Playboy: Some press reports estimate that you make $7,000,000 a year, which is a healthy allowance.

[A] John: I wouldn't say that. I probably flaunt it more than anyone else. I spend lots on myself. That's probably why I got that Rock Personality thing, 'cause I'm the only one who spends money. You forget about the quiet rich--at least you can gossip about me. I dress for it.

[Q] Playboy: Yes, you do. Would flamboyant be too strong a word?

[A] John: Oh, I just like to get up and have a lark. I do it tongue in cheek with an "up yours" attitude. I love people who expect me to wear great, feathery costumes--and I do it. It's like an actor getting into his costume for his part. I don't really feel the part until I'm into whatever I'm going to wear.

[A] I'm pretty well making up for lost time. Not having had a real teenage life, I'm living those 13-to-19 years now. Mentally I may be 28, but somewhere half of me is still 13. That may be why I dress like a kid onstage. I know I look ridiculous sometimes, absolutely idiotic, but remember, when I started, I was quite rotund. I mean, I'm not exactly your normal teenage idol.

[Q] Playboy: What makes you say that?

[A] John: For one thing, I'm quite aware that my hair's falling out--which is a real drag, because it didn't happen to the rest of my family. It must be because I was a silly cunt and dyed my hair a lot. So, since I've just discovered I don't want to be bald, I might have a hair transplant. It's just a matter of going down there with the courage to say, "I want some more hair, please."

[Q] Playboy: The rock press ought to have quite a time with that bit of news. Given your enormous publicity, what's the worst thing you've read about yourself?

[A] John: Well, let's clear up that incident with The Rolling Stones.

[Q] Playboy: You mean the one reported in Rolling Stone magazine--that you barged on stage during the Stones tour and they weren't exactly happy about it?

[A] John: Yes. Here's what happened: Mick Jagger asked me to sit in on Honky Tonk Woman. I did and then left the stage to watch the show. Later, this roadie gets me and says Billy Preston wants me to join them. So I did. Then I read in Rolling Stone how Keith Richard was pissed that I wouldn't split the stage. I'm fed up with those damn fucking lies. They don't get their fucking facts right. Rolling Stone is becoming the National Enquirer of rock 'n' roll, and they have no sense of humor whatever.

[A] Now, Creem magazine I adore. They have a sense of humor. They run some very good pieces, and often you'll read something about yourself that's entirely insulting but very funny. In their poll this year, I figured in every section. Asshole of the Year, Hero of the Year, Rip-off of the Year.... I really liked that, because it was funny.

[Q] Playboy: What are some of the more bizarre rumors about you?

[A] John: There's one guy who writes for the Daily Express; he's got a gossip column. He's printed a couple of things about me--they've not been nasty or anything, they've just been absolute rubbish. When Evel Knievel was supposed to jump that canyon in the rocket, I was supposedly by his side, singing the national anthem. There I was, sitting in my house, going, Oh, yeah? And silly stuff like having my head superimposed on someone else's body or headlines like "Elton Loves Ann-Margret" or "Elton Elopes with Cher." Well, Cher's eloped with everyone. The National Star wrote that I'd become an egomaniac when I broke up the band and said I believed after my role in Tommy that I was the world's biggest film star. At that time, I was hiding behind the walls of my Hollywood mansion. Not even my servants knew where I was.

[Q] Playboy: Does that stuff piss you off?

[A] John: The things that upset me are the lies. I get very mad at people saying I'm a four-chord musician, with only a four-chord style. I was trying to think of one song I'd written with only four chords in it but couldn't come up with one. That upsets me. I hate trash magazines. People believe them, that's the thing about it.... When I read something in the National Star which is absolute rubbish, I say, "Well, how dare they print that?" But then I'll go on to the next page and read something about someone else and I'll go, Hmmm ... did they really do that? I mean, I'm the first person to get sucked in. But some of them are really sickening. People behind gossip magazines should be run off the street, tied up in stocks, and everyone should throw bad cabbages at them. I'll lead the way!

[Q] Playboy: Do the rumors and publicity make you want to hide, get away?

[A] John: I refuse to become a recluse. And there are inconveniences to stardom, but you just put up with them. If I get stopped for autographs 1700 times a day, then I get stopped. I'm certainly not gonna shut myself away; I still go out and buy my own groceries. But crazy things can happen. One day recently, I woke up and there was this chick sitting on the bed right next to me. I'm a bit blind without my glasses. I said, "Who are you?" And she said, "Oh, you don't know me." She'd gotten in without a key. Christ, it could have been someone with a fucking gun.

[Q] Playboy: How did she get your address?

[A] John: The CIA should have the sources these kids have. We never told anyone where I live. Eight people have the phone number, and still it's gotta be changed every two weeks.

[A] Another weird thing is the fans' morbid curiosity. Like, the other night Alice Cooper's house burned down. And people are driving up with their girlfriends and asking, "Can we park?" I mean, it's fucking sick. People just want to see what's going down. They probably don't believe you go to the toilet.

[Q] Playboy: There must be some fringe benefits to celebrity--the groupie scene, for example.

[A] John: I don't really attract groupies. In fact, except for the chick on my bed, the only groupie I even remember meeting was the "Butter Queen." And I got on with her famously.... I mean to say, she was quite a sensible human being.

[Q] Playboy: Well, what kind of women do you attract?

[A] John: Bus spotters and stamp collectors.

[Q] Playboy: Surely, when you tour, the local lovelies come out to mix.

[A] John: We were in Japan for three weeks and didn't see one groupie the whole time. We all ended up going crazy because no one spoke bloody English. Then the Faces arrived the day we were leaving, and they'd been in the Tokyo Hilton only a half hour before the whole lobby was crowded with all these Suzy Wong bits. They just came out of the woodwork. In England, I tend to collect bank clerks and shop assistants.

[Q] Playboy: How do you explain that?

[A] John: I suppose it's my image. I'm the John Denver of rock 'n' roll. In England, it does take me half a year to escape from a building, but over here we don't have that problem. Probably because the girls are all out on Quaaludes. All they can do is say, "Hey, man," and all that shit.

[Q] Playboy: But let's face it: You don't exactly shun the limelight. In fact, you caused something of a stir on that rock-awards show on CBS this past summer.

[A] John: Oh, yeah, I was quite pleased that it was transmitted live and I was able to mention Quaaludes and say naughty things like, "Friggin' Cher" and "Friggin' computer." But otherwise, it was like The Price Is Right.

[Q] Playboy: Why?

[A] John: You can't talk to those network people. We had a script meeting with CBS and it was the most disgusting thing I've ever heard in my life. They wanted all shark jokes, so they could reach middle-aged people in Peoria. I mean, they had David Janssen and Brenda Vaccaro and Michael Douglas presenting awards. What a joke!

[A] I was gonna get out, but I'd asked Diana Ross to be hostess on the show, and she was pregnant and someone pointed out it could be harmful to her if I left her in the lurch. But it depressed the shit out of me. After all, no one would blame Don Kirshner, the executive producer--they'd blame Diana and me. We never had a complete run-through and I'd never emceed a live show. Kirshner didn't know which way was on or off the stage--he even walked off without the award. It was so fucking stupid. He sent me some tennis balls. Thanks, Don.

[Q] Playboy: All right, let's move on to more cosmic subjects, such as what stardom does to your head.

[A] John: It all depends on the type of house you buy.

[Q] Playboy: Come again?

[A] John: I've been to a lot of people's houses that are so big the house has overtaken them. You can feel a house's personality, and it's frightening. I've even fled from some houses back in England.

[Q] Playboy: Well, one could hardly call your house understated.

[A] John: I consider it rather a bargain, nearly $1,000,000 and it has two bedrooms. Plus the house has quite a history. Ted Ashley, the head of Warner Bros., owned it before me. Originally, it was owned by John Gilbert, the silent-screen actor. Then Greta Garbo moved in. There's a little gazebo in the garden she had built to sleep in when it rained. Also, she had a waterfall put in, so she could hear the sound of running water. After that, Jennifer Jones and David O. Selznick owned it. It became the orgy house. In the bath, there used to be a trap door where Gilbert used to get rid of all his ladies by catapulting them down into the bedroom below.

[Q] Playboy: Sounds like a typical Los Angeles cottage.

[A] John: Yeah, good old L.A. There are a bunch of weirdos around this town, like Charles Manson. I never got that feeling from any other town, even New York. There the weirdness is different. At least it's straightforward, like, "Give us your fuckin' money." I don't really want to get involved in ritual killing. So currently I'm having my gazebo turned into a machine-gun turret.

[Q] Playboy: Why live in L.A., then?

[A] John: First, it's convenient; it's the center of the record business and I'm one hour from tennis in Phoenix or from San Francisco. Anyway, it was the first place I came to in America, so I regard it as a sentimental "home" sort of thing. I like playing other places in the States, but I prefer to live here.

[Q] Playboy: Aside from your modest house, what else do you spend money on?

[A] John: I've got a passion for cars. I had a Ford Escort and I was very happy with it. But John Reid, who'd just become my manager, said, "You can't drive around in a bloody Ford Escort." So I went out and bought an Aston Martin, and he had a heart attack. I've been through so many cars. I've got at the moment a Rolls Cornish hardtop, a Rolls Phantom VI limousine that I use for touring and a Ferrari Boxer. I've been through every make of sports car. The cars I've got now I've had for over a year. I've gotten over the phase of getting rid of them on a whim.... I got rid of a Mercedes one morning just because the roof wouldn't go down properly.

[Q] Playboy: What other toys have you accumulated?

[A] John: I like gadgets. Ringo and I are gadget fanatics. I like pinball machines. I've got pinball machines and games and things like that. Funny lanterns, neon signs, you know, anything that's really stupid, anything that will do something for five minutes. But I spend most of my money on things like art.... I like art deco. I've always collected art nouveau and that sort of stuff. I've probably got one of the biggest collections of ladies in the world. They're my favorite things to collect, ladies. I like collecting art, too. I like new artists. But I've never bought a picture for the investment value. I mean, I've got a five-dollar parchment of the Mona Lisa, and she's hideous in maroon, but I prefer it to some of the things I've been told to buy as an investment.

[Q] Playboy: Pardon the old cliché, but has your wealth made you happier?

[A] John: I think I had more fun, actually, looking back to when I was just earning a few pounds a week, than I do now that I've got all the money. Because there isn't really much limit to what I can or cannot have. If I wanted my own jet, I suppose I could have it--but who wants his own jet?

[Q] Playboy: Oh, executives, certain magazine publishers.... But for you, there must be other rewards as well--for instance, you're now hanging out with people like John Lennon and Ringo Starr, who were once your idols. How does that feel?

[A] John: It's very strange. I still can't meet John or Ringo without being a little awestruck, and I know them quite well. I used to go and see the Beatles at their Christmas show, and now here I am, playing on Ringo's album. It's mind-boggling, 'cause I am still very much a fan.

[Q] Playboy: Do you hang out with other rock artists?

[A] John: Well, I am not much of a mingler with rock-'n'-roll people. Socially, I mix with very few. Besides John and Ringo, I know Rod Stewart quite well. And I know Alice Cooper. But I don't mix with many other rock-'n'-roll people, because I find them boring.

[Q] Playboy: Not that we disagree with you, but why are they boring?

[A] John: Well, they're just thick. They haven't got much conversation aside from dope, sex or "What kind of guitar strings are you using?" I would say that 20 percent of them are really nice, really intelligent, decent conversationalists. But some of them--if you're stuck on a plane together from London to Los Angeles, you say three words altogether. I don't like to talk rock 'n' roll all the time. I just like to, you know, have a laugh, and there're not many people with a good sense of humor.

[Q] Playboy: How do you sort out friends from toadies?

[A] John: I'm very cold with people, as far as that goes. I'm hard to get to. It takes a long time to be a friend of mine. I've still got the same friends I had six years ago, and I'm quite happy with them. If anyone new wants to get in close, they've got to prove it's not because I'm Elton John. New friends think I'm good for a Rolls-Royce.

[Q] Playboy: What do you look for in close friends?

[A] John: People who were with me when Bernie and me were struggling. The people who will ring me up when I'm depressed and make me laugh, who'll come around any time, day or night, if I'm feeling desperate. And I'm lucky to have a good set of friends for that.

[Q] Playboy: Did you have many friends as a kid?

[A] John: Oh, yeah, a certain number, at school. But Monday to Friday I went to school. Saturday was the Royal Academy of Music. Sunday I had to sit home and practice and do my homework. Apart from school holidays, I was really up shit creek without a paddle. I was very introverted and had a terrible inferiority complex. That's why I started wearing glasses--to hide behind. I didn't really need them, but when Buddy Holly came along, God, I wanted a pair like his! I began to wear them all the time, so my eyes did get worse.

[Q] Playboy: What were things like at home back then?

[A] John: My father was so stupid with me it was ridiculous. I couldn't eat celery without making noise. It was just pure hatred. You know, he never saw me for two years. I mean, I was two years old when he came home from the air force. He'd never seen me. And it got off to a really bad start, 'cause Mother said, "Do you want to go upstairs and see him?" He said, "No, I'll wait till morning." He'd been in Aden or somewhere, and he came home after two years, after not seeing me born or anything. Mother was all excited. But he said, "No, I'll wait till morning."

[Q] Playboy: How did your father feel about your interest in music?

[A] John: He didn't want me to go into music, and I can never understand that, because he was a trumpeter in a band. I mean, he did influence me. Used to play me George Shearing records. A four-year-old listening to George Shearing is a bit off. I was more into Guy Mitchell. He even gave me the first album I owned when I was nine: an Eddie Fisher album. Just what every nine-year-old needs.

[Q] Playboy: You sound a bit bitter.

[A] John: Not anymore. When I left home, at 14, when my parents got divorced, there was a point when I did feel bitter because of the way my mom was treated. When they got divorced, she had to bear all the costs. She more or less gave up everything and had to admit to adultery, while he was doing the same thing behind her back and making her pay for it. He was such a sneak. Then he went away and five months later got married to this woman and had four kids in four years. My pride was really snipped, 'cause he was supposed to hate kids. I guess I was a mistake in the first place.

[Q] Playboy: What's your relationship with your mother like?

[A] John: Oh, good. She lives two doors away now. We've always had a good relationship. My father was an ogre to her, but she was always great to me. She's just straight about everything and can smell a rat for a mile. She'll say, "Don't bloody well trust him! He'll run off with all your money." She's always been right.

[Q] Playboy: So you rely on her for support?

[A] John: I trust her opinions. When Bernie and I first got this flat in Islington, when I was 19 or 20, 1 thought, Christ, I'm my own boss now. But the move proved to me how much I had relied on home. I didn't know what a washing machine looked like. My mother had done everything for me. I mean, wiped my ass and everything. I was very dominated at home.

[Q] Playboy: What did you do to keep yourself sane as a kid?

[A] John: I got involved with music, used to listen to records all the time. I would buy records and file them. I could tell you who published what, and then I would just stack them in a pile and look at the labels. I like my possessions. I grew up with inanimate objects as my friends, and I still believe they have feelings. That's why I keep hold of all my possessions, because I'll remember when they gave me a bit of happiness--which is more than human beings have given me.

[Q] Playboy: Were you much of a student?

[A] John: School I found was really boring. I used to mess around and play truant. If there were any sporting events, I would go to them. I started to play semiprofessionally when I was 14, Little Richard and things like that. And then we used to try to find the most obscure blues--when everybody else was playing rock 'n' roll. I used to play piano in a pub while I was still in school, singing Al Jolson songs. Sing-along-type songs, Mitch Miller. I was paid a pound a night and my father would come round and collect with a box. Then I would sing some top ten and I started to know the American songs.

[A] Jerry Lee Lewis was always a big influence on me. He's the best rock-'n'-roll pianist ever. There isn't anyone to touch him. I couldn't play like him, 'cause he's too fast. I've got terrible hands for a pianist--they're midget's fingers. I play more like Little Richard. I used to go and see Little Richard at Harrod's Granada--and he used to jump up on the piano and I'd think, I wish that was me.

[Q] Playboy: What happened after you quit school?

[A] John: I used to hang around with soccer players and record-business people--then I got a job as a teaboy for a record firm and decided to turn professional. A five-piece group with a brass section. God, we used to work. Once, we did four gigs in one day. We played an American Servicemen's club in London and then went to Birmingham and did a double--two ballrooms. Then at about six in the morning we went back and did the Cue Club, which is a black pub in London.

[Q] Playboy: And you had to schlep all the equipment around yourselves?

[A] John: Certainly. And I had the most of anyone in the group. But I'm not electrical at all, and I never once had my equipment repaired. It was all falling to bits. The organ used to fart and make terrible sounds. At the end. when we were playing the ballrooms. I finally destroyed my amplifier, my Vox 80. by kicking it in during a bingo session. But we used to have a great time. It was when London was really swinging and all those clubs were around and we played them. The Beatles would be there and the Animals and Gene Pitney. I didn't know anybody.

[Q] Playboy: That was before you teamed up with Bernie Taupin?

[A] John: Yes. I met Bernie through this job advert. It was for a record company, saying, "Talent wanted," Liberty Records. Bernie had applied, and I was talking to a guy named Ray Williams, who was the one who brought us together. I was saying, "Listen, I think I can write songs, but I don't write lyrics." Bernie's letter was on his desk and Ray said, "Here, this guy writes lyrics." And that was it.

[A] Bernie had heard some of the stuff I was doing and he quite liked it. So I said, "Should we write together?" And he said yes. Eventually, we signed up with Dick James Music. He guaranteed each of us ten pounds a week as a guarantee against royalties, and that's when I quit the group I'd been playing with.

[Q] Playboy: What sort of stuff were you and Bernie writing at that point?

[A] John: There must be an album lying around--things like Scarecrow and A Dandelion Dies in the Wind. It was like acid 1968 or '69--all that Windmills of Your Mind and Canyons of Your Bowels kind of stuff. We still have all the lyrics. I found them in a suitcase recently, and I was beside myself with laughter for about two days. I mean, we used to sneer at people who wrote bloody psychedelic lyrics, and there we were, writing the biggest load of old garbage you ever read. When we signed with Dick, we had to regiment ourselves into doing things we didn't like. I released one record called I've Been Loving You, which is another collector's item on Phillips; it's very, uh, Engelbert Humperdinck. It's credited as being John and Taupin, but I wrote the lyrics--something which Bernie will never forgive me for. But when we signed with Dick, it was like two years of misery, writing garbage.

[Q] Playboy: When did you both leave James?

[A] John: We were so unsuccessful writing garbage. No one ever recorded any of our songs. At this point we were near to quitting and giving it all up, because we were so disillusioned. But Dick had a record-promotion man named Steve Brown, and we played Steve the commercial stuff we'd written and some of our own stuff. He said, "Well, obviously, your stuff is better than the commercial stuff. You should forget what Dick said"--which was a very brave move for him to make, because he was just an employee--"and write exactly what you feel and don't pay any attention to Dick anymore." So we started doing just that. I think the first thing we wrote was Lady Samantha. That was the turning point. I don't think we've ever written anything commercial--except for the Friends sound track--since then. And, luckily, Lady Samantha caused a lot of attention and more or less convinced Dick that we were right--or that Steve was right. Lady Samantha, I pick that as my first record as Elton John.

[Q] Playboy: When did things really start rolling for you?

[A] John: It took a bit of time. I wasn't doing gigs. I hadn't got a band together. In fact, when Lady Samantha came out, it was a turntable hit, not a real financial success. And then It's Me That You Need came out, followed by Empty Sky, and they got good reviews but didn't sell. I also made another single called Rock 'n' Roll Madonna, which was a bit of a disaster.

[A] Finally, we came up with the idea for the Elton John album, but Steve didn't want to produce me anymore--he thought I should have a proper producer--so we phoned Gus Dudgeon and an orchestral arranger named Paul Buckmaster. They helped us plan the Elton John album and the Tumbleweed album as well. Dick spent 6000 pounds on Elton John. That was just unheard of in those days--really seemed a gamble.

[A] Basically, the Elton John album was done live--playing with the orchestra. Just the vocals were overdubbed. I was shitting. There I was, with all these string players who could really read music, and I thought, If I make a mistake.... It was a real nightmare week, but it all worked out. When the album came out, it got incredible reviews in England.

[Q] Playboy: By that time, you and Bernie had obviously created your unique working relationship. Was your collaboration really as separate as we've heard?

[A] John: Oh, yes. Even back then, when we lived together, he'd give me lyrics and I'd go into the next room and play. I could never do my songs with him in the room. I'd be embarrassed. He's never sat down on the piano stool next to me and said, "Well, I don't like this or that." Sometimes he'd say, "Well, that came out different than I imagined it." He's been constantly surprised at how songs turn out. But I just leave the lyrics to him.

[Q] Playboy: Have you grown apart as friends since those early days?

[A] John: We sometimes saw too much of each other back then, but now I don't see him as much as I'd like. It's really boring for him to come on tour, because he's standing backstage at night, picking his nose. He comes on a couple of weeks of tours, but the recording sessions bore him. He's a lazy little bastard!

[Q] Playboy: He hasn't become a recluse, has he?

[A] John: If you call staggering out of someplace at six-thirty in the morning with a bottle of wine a recluse. No, he's quite busy. He's got a book coming out, he's producing the Hudson Brothers--but he's very loyal and an integral part of the group. I could never find anyone who could take his place.

[Q] Playboy: So it was the Elton John album that began to make you and Bernie rich?

[A] John: No, even after those reviews, it just didn't--It sold about 4000 and never appeared on the charts. And we had to sit down and say, Why? We came to the conclusion that I would have to go out on the road with a band and promote the record--which I'd fought against tooth and nail for a long time. And I suddenly just decided that was the only answer. Otherwise, the records were never going to sell.

[A] So I got Dee Murray and Nigel Olsson together, and we started doing gigs, and the records finally began to pick up. But even so, they still didn't really sell in England until I'd made it in America. The turning point was my gig at the Troubadour in Los Angeles.

[Q] Playboy: How did the gig at the Troubadour come about?

[A] John: The Elton John album was receiving a lot of attention on American radio, and I'd just been signed in America by MCA, so they told me it would be good to play the Troubadour.

[A] At one point, the idea had been for me to play the Troubadour with Jeff Beck; I'd met him in London and got along with him fantastically well. But Jeff's manager stepped in and said that because he was already so big in the States, I'd get ten percent and Jeff would get 90. He was telling my manager, Dick, that Jeff gets $10,000 a night in some places--and it'd take Elton six years to build up to that. So I'm sitting there, wanting, thinking, $10,000 a night, wow! And I hear Dick saying, "Listen, I guarantee you this boy will be earning that much in six months!" And I say to myself, Dick, what a dippy old fart you are! You'd be picked immediately in a Cunt-of-the-Month competition! What a schmuck....

[A] So the Jeff Beck thing fell through and I was sulking. But I ended up going to the Troubadour anyway--Dick paid half. MCA paid half and we came over. It was very exciting. We were met with a banner that said, Elton John has Arrived. So we played the Troubadour, but it only happened because of all that rubbish.

[Q] Playboy: And your Troubadour performance started the whole Elton John phenomenon in the States?

[A] John: Well, I honestly can't remember a thing about that first week in America. All I can remember is that they have artificial turf on the top of the Continental Hyatt House. And I went to Disneyland. But I was suspicious of all the excitement in L.A. Maybe people were just coming to see me because of a glowing review in the Los Angeles Times by Robert Hilburn. But we played a couple of other places, like the Electric Factory in Philadelphia, where the house was packed.

[A] We went back to England for a month, where we did the sound track for Friends and the Madman Across the Water album, and then returned to the States for another tour. And what do you know? In six months I was earning $10,000 a night! I was really furious, because Dick had been right. Now we sometimes earn $20,000 a night.

[Q] Playboy: That means kids are putting out seven-fifty or eight-fifty a ticket to hear three hours of music. Do you think that's a fair price?

[A] John: We had an eight-fifty top on our last tour. I think it was the highest price we've ever charged. If kids want to see you, they'll pay anything--but I'm very anti putting the price beyond eight-fifty. I think charging $15 for a ticket is absolutely monstrous. To see a Sinatra, to see a Piaf if she were still alive, to see a Dietrich, yes, I would say charge what you like, because you're only going to see these people once in a lifetime. Or you're The Rolling Stones and you tour once every two or three years, you can charge ten dollars and up. That's pretty fair. But for people who are on the road constantly like me ... if I started putting my prices up to $12.50, which I could probably ask for, I wouldn't feel very pleased about myself.

[Q] Playboy: You have to wonder where all that money goes--or who gets most of it.

[A] John: Who knows?

[Q] Playboy: It's just hard for those of us outside the music business to understand how the Beatles, say, generated all that money and managed to piss most of it away.

[A] John: In the case of the Beatles, nobody had ever earned that kind of money before. It was all new. And, of course, when big money is around, everyone's going to leap on you. It wasn't Brian Epstein's fault; he made mistakes, not because he was a bad manager but because it was a difficult position to be in. And everyone has learned from that since. The Beatles and the Stones were examples of how not to do your business deals. Ringo and John laugh about it now. They say that they had three people working at Apple just to handle travel arrangements. I'm really lucky, because I've got a good manager. I don't want to know anything about the business side. I'm not interested. I know that I've got X amount more money than I know what to do with--although the British government will find something to do with it. Still, I could never spend all I have and I can't take it with me when I die.

[Q] Playboy: Do you ever wonder if you're really worth all the money that's spent on you?

[A] John: I don't force people to go out and buy my records. After all, it was quite a steady slog to the top, and I've paid ridiculous amounts of taxes. So I don't feel guilty about having a house, because I'm supporting half the government with my money. They take over 80 percent of what I make.

[Q] Playboy: Where does most of your money come from?

[A] John: Record sales are the most lucrative things. Touring--you get figures bandied about and you laugh at them. People say, "Oh, he just did a $9,000,000 tour"--but for a start, the expenses are absolutely ludicrous. If I do a tour that grosses $5,500,000--which is more accurate than the $9,000,000 you keep hearing about--by the time we pay the agent and everything, I'm lucky to come out with $800,000.

[A] I don't tour to make money. I enjoy touring. I really do like it, but record sales are what really bring in the money. Songwriting is all right, it pays the rent, but it's not even a tenth as lucrative as the records--if you've got a good recording contract, that is.

[Q] Playboy: And if your records become hits.

[A] John: You can never predict what is going to be a hit. Like, Bobby Vinton had a number-one single recently--the worst single I ever heard in my life. I couldn't believe it, nobody could believe it. Of course, hit singles depend on the AM play lists. But singles are a dying art. They've put the price up to $1.29 now, which is ludicrous, and since then, single sales have been disastrous.

[Q] Playboy: If the singles market is shrinking, why bother with them?

[A] John: Singles are a necessity to have hit albums. If you have a single that goes up the charts and gets to number one or something, and you have an album out at the same time with the single on it, the album will go right up as well.

[Q] Playboy: But of course they have to be commercial singles.

[A] John: I don't consider myself commercial, really. As far as singles go, I've just been incredibly lucky. You know, they even flip over the singles and give the B sides air play. I don't know. It baffles me.

[Q] Playboy: You're quite a collector of singles yourself, aren't you?

[A] John: I own 25,000 singles--and I don't know how many albums I've got. I go through Cashbox, Record World and Billboard and write down all the records I want. I put them in alphabetical order and then just go to a record store. If it's New York, it's Colony. I'm crazy. I buy a set of records for here and a set of records for England. If I buy a single, I buy four--one for my collection, one for the jukebox here and the same in England. If I buy tapes, I buy two of everything, too, two cassettes and two eight-tracks. I keep Tower Records alive. I mean, when I first saw Tower Records, I died. I didn't know where to start. Now I know it back and front. In fact, people come up to me and ask me--I'm always in there, sort of browsing around--they ask, "Do you work here? I'm looking for The Temptations." And I say, "Step around this way...." They even open up the store for me at eight o'clock in the morning, so I can browse around in peace and comfort. I refuse to take free albums. I always buy them.

[Q] Playboy: Do you collect classical music, too--other things besides rock?

[A] John: Always. And spoken-word records and nostalgia records--everything. The only thing I don't really have a good collection of is sheer country-and-western music or straight, square-type singers. You must understand that if it all ended tomorrow, the job I would most plug for would be to work in a record shop--work at Tower Records or open my own shop.

[Q] Playboy: Does your record "habit" explain why you occasionally show up unexpectedly at radio stations to do stints as a disc jockey?

[A] John: Yes, I love it. I just like watching records go round. They fascinate me.

[Q] Playboy: What about the recording process itself? Do you enjoy that as well?

[A] John: A recording session is like an examination in school. You go in there without knowing what the results are going to be. So I enjoy that--sitting back and listening to it when it's all done. That's exciting. And it's exciting when I have a record out: I'm always on the phone. "How's it doing?" I'm always paranoid; even now, I worry about reviews and about how it's going to be accepted.

[Q] Playboy: And how about live performances?

[A] John: There's nothing like actually getting on stage. It's the biggest buzz of all for me. It's like two hours of, I don't know, it's like fucking for two hours and then suddenly finding out there's nothing you can do after that. It's so emotional and so physical you don't want to do anything else. It's the only point in this business that gives you an adrenaline rush.

[Q] Playboy: Was that the sort of rush Rolling Stone wrote about when it reported that you broke down and cried during a concert in New York with John Lennon? The reporter suggested it was because your mother was at the show.

[A] John: That was ridiculous. I was so knocked out by Lennon--everyone was just standing there in amazement. I was halfway through Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me--which I always do with my eyes closed--and suddenly there were all these lighted matches in the audience. Usually they do that at the end, when you come back for an encore, but this time it was right in the middle of the song. And I just started to cry. As far as getting emotional over my mother--oh, bullshit! The rush I felt came from the audience--and from Lennon, who really stole the show. It was magic.

[Q] Playboy: It's still hard for most of us to think of Lennon separately from the Beatles. They were very important to a lot of us. And they still must be, considering how big your version of Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds was last winter. Were you surprised, especially since it wasn't very different from their version?

[A] John: It didn't surprise me in England, but it surprised me over here. Sergeant Pepper is a revered album in England--it's the most acclaimed album ever released. It's like the Bible. So all the kids knew it, anyway--even the very young kids that I attract to concerts. They all knew it. But over here, it was a different ball game. People went nuts when I did Lucy from that album. Some kids hadn't even heard it. And that really floored me. I thought, Oh, my God, there's a new generation coming up somewhere! I told Ringo about it and he said, "It's true. People come up to me and say, 'Hi, you're Ringo Starr and you made the No No Song and Oh My My and things like that. They don't say, 'Oh, you were one of the Beatles.' "

[Q] Playboy: Did he say how he felt about that?

[A] John: He didn't mind at all. He wasn't upset about it. It's just very strange-- we're getting old and there's a whole new generation beginning to loom up.

[Q] Playboy: Why do you think the rumors about a Beatles reunion keep turning up? Why do people seem to need or want that to happen?

[A] John: Well, it's like gossip. I mean, people are always wanting Elizabeth Taylor to go back to Richard Burton. And every so often she does it. The only thing good about getting the Beatles back together would be to watch how Lennon and McCartney write songs and how the four would get on. It's an absolutely impossible situation; there's no way they will. If somehow it did happen, there's no way of telling--it could be a disaster or it could be great. I don't think anyone has come along since the Beatles to match their popularity, or their achievement, when you think of the songs that they wrote in that space of time that have become more or less standards.

[Q] Playboy: What do you think of their work since they split?

[A] John: I love Lennon's work all along the line--except I didn't like Sometime in New York City very much. It had a couple of nice things. I liked Woman Is the Nigger of the World. I'm basically a fan of John's writing more than I am of Paul's--although I did like a couple of Paul's albums. I think he took a lot of criticism because people were expecting him above all others to be the brilliant one. He was the cute one and he was always the one who wrote the Beatles' classic songs, like Yesterday.

[Q] Playboy: What about George and Ringo?

[A] John: I was really pleased with George when All Things Must Pass came out. I thought, Great. Here's a guy that's come out of left field, his writing had just matured on the Abbey Road album. That album I thought was brilliant, but since then, he's disappointed me a bit. And Ringo ... well, all Ringo wants to do--by his own admission--is make hit singles. And he does that very well.

[Q] Playboy: The Beatles represented one sort of influence--but what about The Rolling Stones?

[A] John: Well, the Stones were the original rebels. They were the first people who pissed in a petrol-pump station. When people first saw them, they said, "My daughter's never going to one of their shows." But to see them is an event, an incredible event. They probably outdraw anybody. Everyone saying, "Did you see the Stones?" or "You didn't see the Stones?" Now it's rather macabre: "Should we see them 'cause they might not be around next year?"

[Q] Playboy: More recently, people like David Bowie--or even Led Zeppelin, when they showed up at an L.A. party in drag--have outdone the Stones in kinkiness and in projecting an androgynous image. How do you react to that? In fact, do you get off on the bisexuality scene?

[A] John: Ah, I sort of got pneumonia sitting out in this theater last night. So fucking cold.... And, um, I played tennis on the court the other night. It was so foggy I couldn't see the other players.

[Q] Playboy: Our question had to do with your feelings about the bisexual-chic trend.

[A] John: I really don't know what to say about it.

[Q] Playboy: Well, do you think it's more of a commercial act than a way of really turning audiences on to different kinds of sexuality?

[A] John: You hit the nail right on the head. Very few people can carry it off, at least enough to impress me. Very few people can enter a room and make me gasp.

[Q] Playboy: Who can?

[A] John: Oh, my God. Jagger, Sinatra, Elvis, probably. Also people like Noel Coward, Edith Piaf and Katharine Hepburn. They could do it to me.

[Q] Playboy: Anyone else?

[A] John: Dietrich. Uh, Mae West. No, maybe not. She's been seen at too many functions recently. Judy Garland had it. That was an awful mystique she had. She just wanted to destroy herself. Like when they booed when she was bad. Then when she was dead, everyone said, "Isn't it a shame?" It can get to you, if people don't like you and you take it to heart. I'm sure that's what happened to Garland.

[Q] Playboy: You've mentioned a lot of women. How do you like working with them?

[A] John: They're far more vulnerable to attack than men. They're more sensitive.

[Q] Playboy: How so?

[A] John: Well, if I took notice of all the bad things that were said about me, I'd be in a loony bin by now. If somebody has written something shitty about me in the past, I don't rush up to them and say. "You cunt!" I just shrug it off. It's not so easy for a woman. Female entertainers are the most indecisive creatures in the world. They're all paranoid. You gotta understand where the ladies' heads are at. You have to push them all the way. Kiki Dee's one of them. She's got one of the greatest voices of all time, but when I produced her, I had to be really hard on her. She was in tears. After four hours in the studio of her trying to sing I've Got the Music in Me, I streaked. Bette Midler is exactly the same. She's always asking, "What should I record? Who should I record? Why don't you produce me?" And she's always down in the dumps. Seems most ladies are like that. I haven't met one female singer who's really on the ball. I do have a feeling Joni Mitchell might be different. Still, I prefer working in the studio with them, because it's such a challenge.

[Q] Playboy: How do men react under the same pressures?

[A] John: A male is usually very arrogant and he knows what he wants, right or wrong. He just steams ahead. Men are straightforward. For a man, admitting you're wrong or that you don't know what to do is a weakness.

[Q] Playboy: But isn't the heavy drug use among rock musicians their way of giving in to the same sort of pressures? Otherwise, what's the appeal of heroin to someone like Johnny Winter or Eric Clapton, people who are successful, loved, talented and rich?

[A] John: It's just something new to try. Everyone's always looking for something new. Especially in America. The kids have done everything, sexually, drug-wise--anything to do physically with their bodies--by the time they're 18. A lot of kids I've known say, "Well, I've done every sort of dope, I've been to bed with chicks, I've been to bed with guys--what am I going to do now?"

[Q] Playboy: Have you gotten into the drug scene yourself?

[A] John: I've got a completely split personality. One minute I'm up and then I just change like the wind. I'm just completely unpredictable. I'd like to take LSD to find out what it's like, but ... it's like going into the unknown with a paranoid attitude. One half of me would love to do it, but the other half owns up to the fact that it might be a bit of a disaster.

[Q] Playboy: Do you think of yourself as a Jekyll-and-Hyde personality?

[A] John: Yeah, and if I took LSD, the wrong me might win. Anyway, I'm not interested in finding out about my deeper consciousness or my inner soul. I'm quite happy being what I am.

[Q] Playboy: Have you ever had an unpleasant drug experience?

[A] John: I've had loads of unpleasant drinking experiences. Drinking's just as much of a drug as anything else--it's a depressant.

[Q] Playboy: How heavily into drinking are you?

[A] John: Well, I've given it up for the last two weeks. When I'm making an album at Caribou, I drink a lot of wine. And I started drinking 100-proof liquor and getting really out of it--for no reason whatsoever. It was a habit. I'd get up feeling all grumpy and go through spasms of drinking. When you work supper clubs, you drink gallons, usually to be social. I used to obliterate myself. I put on so much weight and there was whiskey floating all around my body.

[Q] Playboy: Do you still have a problem with your weight?

[A] John: Yeah, I fluctuate. But I'll never be really skinny, because I have a big frame. I do like garbage food, I must admit. If I could have anything in the world changed, I would want to be able to eat just as much as I want without gaining weight. I'd love to be like Mick Jagger, all lithe and slim, and come out looking great. But I'm never going to be like that, so--let's have a laugh.

[Q] Playboy: When you're not having a laugh, do you get depressed?

[A] John: I sometimes get depressed for no reason whatever, just stay in bed and get really miserable. Usually, they're one-day jobs, just out of the blue. It's quite frustrating. I just say, "Oh, Christ, let's get on to tomorrow."

[Q] Playboy: How do you deal with those depressions?

[A] John: Take a Valium and go to sleep. Or talk to someone on the phone who will make me laugh.

[Q] Playboy: Have you done the psychoanalyst trip?

[A] John: No. If you can't solve your own problems, then you're in a bum way.

[Q] Playboy: But, like everyone else, you must have fears--of rejection, of failure.

[A] John: Sure. I think how, suddenly, overnight, my records could stop selling. In this business, nothing's for certain. I'm constantly saying, "This is ridiculous. It can't go on forever." But really, I'm quite ready for the time when record sales level off or decrease, and I know that around the corner the next biggest "someone" is lurking. That's what it's all about. I've really only been on the top for five years.

[Q] Playboy: How does competition--the prospect of a new superstar around the corner--affect you?

[A] John: I thrive on it. I like the struggle to stay at the top. It's what keeps me going. I don't begrudge anybody else his success; you have to pay attention to what others are doing, keep listening to what's happening in order to grow. For example. Stevie Wonder can eat me for breakfast as far as musicianship goes, but that doesn't make me angry or jealous or uptight. I'd give anything to have his talent, but I'm not paranoid about it. Perhaps one day I'll be able to write as good as he does.

[A] I'll admit when I wasn't making it, I was a little naïve and a little jealous. When I first played the States, I played second or third on the bill to other people. My attitude was a nasty one--like, "I'm going to go on stage and make it really hard for you to follow!"

[Q] Playboy: Have you ever faced a hostile audience and been thrown off the stage?

[A] John: No, I've been pretty lucky, I never really played a hostile audience--even in England. It is much harder to get an audience on your side there. They are more laid back and critical than an American audience. An American audience will just let itself go, no holds barred--which I love about American people. They just steam in to it, and if they don't like it, they'll tell you. In England, they just sit there and clap politely.

[Q] Playboy: What's your reaction to other countries you've played in?

[A] John: I'm not keen on Italy. Germany is very cold. I think Scandinavia is the nicest place to play.

[Q] Playboy: Why Scandinavia?

[A] John: 'Cause they're clean. I'd never tour a hot-blooded country, like Spain or Portugal. You can't get a straight answer from anybody there. I've never played live in France. They couldn't organize a piss-up in a brewery! I've had nothing but bad experiences in France. I've had to do three taping sessions there and they've all been disasters. The French are chic but too arrogant and offhanded.

[Q] Playboy: What about Japan?

[A] John: It's strange, because they're calm and receptive after each number. Then all of a sudden, they'll storm the stage. We had a riot in Osaka. But we just carried on playing with about 150 Japanese fans right up there onstage with us. Very strange, crazy people, very polite. I could never understand why they went to war, because they always bow. I quite like Japan; the only thing is, nobody talks English.

[Q] Playboy: What about your own country? How do you feel about what's happening in England?

[A] John: It's falling apart. The English never take anything seriously. You could say there's an atom bomb falling in ten minutes and no one would take a blind bit of notice. We're a very apathetic race who weather every storm. We have no statesmen to lead us out of the quagmire. Inflation there is incurable and the politicians are useless.

[Q] Playboy: How are things different, politically, in the States?

[A] John: There's a note of honesty creeping into American life after the whole Watergate thing. I'm really pleased that whole thing came to light through just a newspaper, really. Now, if they could only unravel the truth about the Kennedy assassinations. I try not to think much about U. S. politics, because all those powers and powers behind the powers frighten me.

[Q] Playboy: Why do so many British performers come to America? What's the great appeal?

[A] John: It's everybody's dream to make it big in America. I suppose because of Elvis Presley and all that great early rock 'n' roll. When I first came to America to play the Troubadour, all I wanted to do was go to a record store. But the great Americana is the lure--the motels, the Holiday Inns. People in England just get excited about that. Basically, I think, for a musician America is where it is at. For example, when my first album came out, I used to help out at a record store in England. And even though the album was issued in England, people would go and buy the American copy, because they really believed it would be better. Me included. I would always say, "I have an American copy." And Americans must have an English version because it sounds better. All of which is absolutely rubbish.

[Q] Playboy: What was the appeal of early American rock in England?

[A] John: Well, we were ready for it in England. Up until that point, the songs we heard there were very prim and proper. Then we got things like All Shook Up, which, lyrically, were far and away different from Guy Mitchell doing Singing the Blues. All of a sudden you had Bill Haley singing Rock Around the Clock, Little Richard screaming on Tutti Frutti--lyrically it was a whole new ball game. It was wide open; something just exploded.

[A] Before that, there was nothing for kids to identify with, especially in England. And all of a sudden there was a different breed, a different look, a different style of singing--and the guitar became the instrument. The time was just right. Same as the time was right when the Beatles came along. It seems things tend to work in 15-year cycles, so I suppose we are due for something else now.

[Q] Playboy: Do you have any sense of what--or who--it might be? Could it be you?

[A] John: No, no, I am not trying to do it. Nobody knows what it's going to be, or even if it will ever come along. That's the thing I find fascinating about the music industry--that nobody can ever predict what's going to happen. No one can predict a gold album or a gold single, unless it's a Led Zeppelin or a me. The unpredictability of it all is quite exciting. I like it. I'd like someone to come along, steaming from out of left field, and make a fortune, make it big. It would give the industry a shot in the arm. It's a bit predictable at the moment, with the big names still churning out the records, but I think the time is right for somebody new.

[Q] Playboy: What are the chances of your settling down, having a family?

[A] John: I eventually would like to have a family, but I've seen so many marriages hit the rocks. How can you have a kid and be gone for six months a year? I had such a horrible childhood I'd want it to be more pleasant for my kids.

[A] But I can't really see myself settling down till I'm about 33. There's a lot of my life left. If I settle down, I'd have to slow down, too. I'm at the top of the heap, I'm really enjoying what I'm doing. But I won't be doing Crocodile Rock in six years' time. I don't want to become a pathetic rock-'n'-roller and take a slow climb down, like a lot of people do. I don't want to be Chuck Berry. When I'm 40, I don't want to be charging around the countryside doing concerts. I'd rather retire gracefully--get out when people least expect it--and live semidetached in England, become part of something else.

[Q] Playboy: Such as?

[A] John: My real ambition in life is to make enough money to retire and become chairman of my favorite soccer team, the Watford Football Club. It would be like returning to the pub, in a way, mixing once again with the people I grew up with.

[Q] Playboy: In reflecting back over the fantastic, fast-paced life you've led so far, do you have any major regrets?

[A] John: Yes. On my Madman Across the Water album, I wish I'd done more vocals--'cause I hate them.