Like Don’t Shoot Me I’m Only the Piano Player and Caribou before it, Rock of the Westies follows a major work with a comparatively minor one, though also like those other two, it’s not without its pleasures. This is the part where this project gets interesting for me, since I have basically no familiarity with John’s records going forward, outside of a few isolated songs (and The Lion King, which we will sadly not be covering here). And John would no longer enjoy the rapturous reception that he had during his early 70s peak; this album was the final of his six consecutive number-ones, and critical reception was decidedly mixed.
Recorded largely at Caribou Ranch in Colorado, where Caribou was also partially recorded, it shares that earlier album’s tossed-off feel, made up largely of the kind of loose, kitschy blues rockers that Elton made is name on. It’s also notable for no longer featuring John’s core band of Davey Johnstone, Dee Murray, and Nigel Olsson, with Murray and Olsson having been dropped from the band prior to recording. They were replaced by Ray Cooper, who had been involved with John’s band in one form or another for years, on percussion, Roger Pope on the drum kit, and Kenny Passarelli on bass. Another notable addition is James Newton Howard on synths, who would go on to have a highly successful career as a film composer, scoring such films as The Dark Knight, The Hunger Games series, and many others.
Sonically, the album isn’t a whole lot different from the vibe that Elton had been working in for a while, with his piano largely playing rhythm under Johnstone’s crunchy guitar and Pope’s steady, rhythmic back beat. Howard’s synths also play a much more prominent role than on past John records; where they had largely provided some texture in the past, here they stand in as bass, percussion, orchestra, and any number of other things.
Bernie Taupin’s lyrics are mostly functional here, sticking mostly to horny musings, bluesy-sounding nonsense, and some iffy excursions into exotica. “Island Girl,” the album’s hit single, is a catchy number with some vaguely Caribbean rhythms and lyrics about a Black prostitute that are fairly cringey by today’s standards. Possibly even more so is “Grow Some Funk of Your Own,” where Elton sings in a goofy faux-Mexican accent in a song about hitting on a “señorita,” complete with synth castanets. It’s all clearly meant as a goof in the same way as “Jamaica Jerk-Off,” but it’s a gag that probably rightly wouldn’t fly today.
More successful is the second track, “Dan Dare (Pilot of the Future),” a lewd riff on B-movie sci-fi that feels like a camp inversion of “Rocket Man’s” sincere tale of space exploration. It’s also surprisingly forward in its sexuality, with Elton singing “my eyes never saw a rocket that was quite that size.” It’s one where the camp element actually accentuates the song rather than hinders it.
Things slow down for a bit on the side 1 closer “I Feel Like a Bullet (In the Gun of Robert Ford),” an Americana-leaning ballad that hearkens back to the Tumbleweed Connection days, but with a bit more pomp, circumstance, and synth strings. Side 2 picks the tempo back up for another round of bluesy rockers, though with a bit more lyrical depth. “Street Kids” is sung from the point of view of “a juvenile delinquent / in an East End gang.” It’s the same kind of faux tough guy put-on he used in “Saturday Night’s All Right for Fighting,” with a more fatalist bent, its narrator aware of his life’s precarious nature. “Hard Luck Story” is a tale of working class woe, its narrator turning his anger over his powerlessness over onto his wife. He seems aware of this cycle of abuse, and tries to acknowledge her own suffering, while at the same time being unable to break the pattern. “Feed Me” is a disturbing descent into madness, with a refrain that was enough to convince me that an Elton John-voiced Little Shop of Horrors monster Audrey II is something I need in my life.
Overall, Rock of the Westies is an enjoyable record, but one that can’t help but feel like a bit of retread. John’s done these kinds of songs before, and better, on Honky Chateau and Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, and these can’t help but suffer by comparison. John and Taupin had been so incredibly prolific, putting out ten records in the span of only six years, and it would be understandable if the tank was running out of gas. The fact that they’ve turned out so much quality music at such a breakneck pace is a testament to their talents, and a mediocre Elton John record is still better than most other rock records.
Discographication 