Elton John

Caribou (1974)

1.The Bitch is Back
2.Pinky
3.Grimbsly
4.Dixie Lily
5.Solar Prestige A Gammon
6.You're So Static
7.I've Seen the Saucers
8.Stinker
9.Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me
10.Ticking
Bonus Tracks:
11.Pinball Wizard
12.Sick City
13.Cold Highway
14.Step Into Christmas

Recorded in just ten days to fulfil a contractual obligation before Elton John embarked on a tour of Japan, Caribou is a fascinating study in creative speed. Named after the Colorado studio in which it was hastily assembled, the album is, by Elton’s own admission, more patchwork than masterpiece. That he could still produce a global hit record under such conditions is a testament to the sheer momentum of his early-’70s imperial phase. That the seams frequently show is, perhaps, inevitable.

This was Elton’s first full album recorded on American soil, and it sounds like it. The influence of West Coast session culture is everywhere—from the gleaming horn arrangements provided by Tower of Power to the background vocals by no less than members of The Beach Boys and Captain & Tennille. But while the production glistens, the songwriting varies wildly between inspired and indifferent.

The opening salvo, The Bitch Is Back, is a return to glam-fuelled aggression—a swaggering riff-driven rocker that remains one of Elton’s most successful attempts at the form. Taupin’s lyrics, a cheeky self-caricature, pair beautifully with the track’s unapologetic bluster. The album’s other standout, Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me is of a different order altogether—a gospel-infused ballad with soaring backing vocals (courtesy of Carl Wilson and Toni Tennille among others) and one of Elton’s most emotionally resonant vocal performances. Ironically, Elton himself initially disliked the track and had to be talked into keeping it.

Beyond these peaks, the terrain is more uneven. Pinky is pleasant enough—a sweetly adolescent love song that charms without quite enduring. Dixie Lily, a mock-country riverboat ditty, is more pastiche than parody and sits oddly amidst the record’s more serious moments. Ticking, however, is genuinely unsettling—a minimalist piano-and-synth ballad chronicling a mass shooting in chilling detail. Long, slow-building, and deeply unnerving, it is a reminder that Elton and Taupin could still take real risks when the mood struck.

Unfortunately, there are more misfires than usual. Grimsby, a weak attempt at working-class nostalgia, plods without purpose. Stinker and I’ve Seen the Saucers flirt with funk and sci-fi, respectively, but collapse under the weight of their own novelty. Worst of all is Solar Prestige a Gammon, a wilfully nonsensical bit of faux-Dadaist gibberish, reportedly composed as a cheeky response to critics looking for hidden satanic messages in pop lyrics. It may be Elton’s most baffling recording—if not his most regrettable.

Even the visual presentation leaves something to be desired. The album sleeve, featuring Elton in a leopard-print pullover on the front and a pastel leisure suit on the reverse, seems to confirm the rushed nature of the entire enterprise. The glamour of Goodbye Yellow Brick Road had given way to sartorial confusion and visual overkill.

Despite its flaws, Caribou reached No.1 on both sides of the Atlantic—proof of Elton’s seemingly unstoppable momentum at the time. But viewed from the vantage point of his larger discography, it stands more as a footnote than a cornerstone. There are great songs here, yes, but they are scattered amidst filler. One suspects that, given even a fortnight more, the whole thing might have been significantly improved.

As it stands, Caribou is the sound of brilliance under pressure—occasionally glorious, frequently flawed, and always unmistakably Elton.

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