Elton John

Empty Sky (1969)

1.Empty Sky
2.Vahalla
3.Western Ford Gateway
4.Hymn 2000
5.Lady What's Tomorrow
6.Sails
7.The Scaffold
8.Skyline Pigeon
9.a)Gulliver
b)Hay Chewed
--bonus tracks--
10.Lady Samantha
11.All Across the Havens
12.It's Me That You Need
13.Just Like Strange Rain

By the late 1960s, the British music scene was awash with shifting currents and unmoored ambitions. It was amidst this climate that an advert in New Musical Express led to one of pop’s most enduring partnerships. A young Reg Dwight (soon to be Elton John), searching for a lyricist, was paired with a teenage Bernie Taupin, who in turn was looking for someone to give his verses musical life. It is now tempting to view the event as serendipity verging on the divine.

The pair were taken under the wing of producer Steve Brown, and Empty Sky was the result. The album, recorded in a brief burst of exploratory confidence, was very much the sound of two young men testing boundaries—of style, of taste, and of each other. It bears all the hallmarks of a debut: sometimes overreaching, occasionally awkward, but rarely boring. There is, above all, a palpable sense of creative searching.

The opening title track is a minor triumph—a swirling fusion of late-sixties psychedelia with a melodic sensibility that already hinted at John’s future direction. It channels the rougher edges of The Rolling Stones, filtered through an emerging sense of theatricality. Elsewhere, Valhalla seems to drift purposefully into Procol Harum territory, and not without charm, while Western Ford Gateway adopts a quasi-narrative structure that would later become one of Taupin’s trademarks. The influence of the era is inescapable: fuzz guitars, flute breaks, and “hippie” lyrics abound, the latter often nonsensical, though delivered with conviction. Taupin has since admitted that he believed impenetrability was a virtue—a stance most obvious on Hymn 2000 and The Scaffold, both of which teeter on the brink of self-parody.

But it is Skyline Pigeon that stands tallest. Stripped of ornament, the song rests on a stark harpsichord and Elton’s voice, each confined to its own stereo channel. The result is haunting, minimal, and undeniably moving—a clear precursor to the emotional directness that would define his most celebrated ballads. Though it would later be re-recorded (several times), the original possesses a peculiar intimacy that was never fully recaptured. The album ends on a low note with Hay Chewed, an unfortunate patchwork of earlier motifs that plays like a hurried collage rather than a finished piece. It underscores the one true flaw of Empty Sky: its inconsistency. But then again, what debut isn’t? The aim was not perfection but possibility.

Empty Sky was held back from U.S. release until 1975, by which time Elton was already among the most bankable stars in the world. In that sense, it arrived not as a prophecy, but as an archaeological artifact—evidence of talent in raw form, yet to be fully realized. Still, there are enough moments of insight, eccentricity, and melodic promise to merit the attention of any serious listener. It may not be essential Elton, but it is undeniably formative. And for that reason alone, it earns its place in the story.

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