Elton John

Ice On Fire (1985)

1.This Town
2.Cry to Heaven
3.Soul Glove
4.Nikita
5.Too Young
6.Wrap Her Up
7.Satellite
8.Tell Me What the Papers Say
9.Candy By the Pound
10.Shoot Down the Moon
11.Act of War *

* CD Bonus Track

After the solid one-two punch of Too Low for Zero and Breaking Hearts, Ice on Fire arrived with all the wrong kinds of anticipation. The ingredients should have worked: Elton John reunited with legendary producer Gus Dudgeon, Bernie Taupin was back on lyrics, and a new cast of capable musicians—including high-profile guest stars—was brought in to give things a fresh coat of paint. And yet, somehow, the entire project misfired.

The old chemistry had gone cold. Dee Murray and Nigel Olsson had vanished once again. Davey Johnstone, while technically present, was used with frustrating restraint. Even Chris Thomas, whose production touch had guided Elton’s early ’80s revival, was replaced. Dudgeon, brilliant though he had been in the past, seemed out of step here—perhaps overwhelmed by the synthetic textures and fashionable studio trickery that defined the era.

Sonically, the album leans heavily on sterile synthesizers, processed drums, and a dance-inflected pop style that flattens rather than elevates. The result is a record that feels less like a continuation of Elton’s comeback and more like an uncomfortable detour into musical territory that didn’t suit him.

The singles tell the story. Wrap Her Up, a duet with George Michael, should have been a highlight. It is, instead, a misjudged pastiche—one of the most poorly received singles of Elton’s career, all bombast and no direction. Soul Glove, This Town, Candy by the Pound, and Too Young attempt to inject swagger but are undermined by plastic arrangements and awkward lyrical turns.

Ballads, historically Elton’s stronghold, fare little better. Cry to Heaven and Shoot Down the Moon aim for drama but collapse under the weight of overwrought production and unfocused melodies. Even the more subdued Nikita, the album’s lone semi-success, is less a triumph than a reprieve. Its wistful Cold War love story, delivered with synth-laced restraint, at least earned substantial airplay and remains the most remembered track from the set—though it’s hardly a career highlight. A CD bonus track, Act of War, a duet with Millie Jackson, closes the door with an unfortunate bang. Loud, directionless, and dated even by 1985 standards, it feels more like an outtake than a bonus.

In hindsight, Ice on Fire feels less like a singular failure than a signal flare. Elton was still in the grip of personal struggles—addiction, instability, and creative fatigue—and it’s hard not to hear those tensions in the album’s patchwork character. Despite his later protestations of affection for the album (he’s spoken kindly of it in interviews), it remains a curious anomaly. Not as campy as Victim of Love, but in some ways more disappointing—because the talent, the collaborators, and the potential were all there.

In a decade of extremes for Elton, Ice on Fire stands as the cautionary tale. A reminder that even giants can stumble—and when they do, it tends to echo.

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