Elton John

Victim Of Love (1979)

1.Johnny B.Goode
2.Warm Love in a Cold World
3.Born Bad
4.Thunder in the Night
5.Spotlight
6.Street Boogie
7.Victim of Love

There are moments in every great artist’s career when judgment falters, taste takes a holiday, and the result is something that—if not disowned outright—is at least quietly ignored. For Elton John, that moment arrived in 1979, dressed in polyester and bathed in mirrorball light. Victim of Love is not merely a misstep; it is an outright pratfall.

To set the scene: disco was still clinging to life in the aftermath of Saturday Night Fever, and rock music—particularly of the singer-songwriter variety—was seen by many as passé. New wave was gathering steam, punk had sneered its way into the mainstream, and Studio 54 had become the epicenter of a musical and cultural shift. In this uncertain climate, Elton chose disco. But not just disco—anonymous, machine-tooled, second-rate disco. The sort you’d expect to find wafting through the aisles of a particularly uninspired roller rink.

Unlike his previous album (A Single Man), where he at least maintained some artistic agency, Victim of Love saw Elton all but vacate the premises. He neither wrote nor played on a single track. The result is a seven-song set of non-original material, stitched together with a relentless four-on-the-floor beat that seems designed less for dancing than for endurance training. Each track bleeds into the next in a blur of indistinguishable bass lines and synthetic sheen, the idea being, presumably, to keep the dancefloor moving without interruption—or, perhaps more accurately, to prevent the listener from locating the “stop” button.

The only remotely recognizable tune is a cover of Chuck Berry’s Johnny B. Goode, reimagined here as a disco stomper. Whatever its intentions, the effect is jarring—less homage than hostage situation. Stripped of its original swing and swagger, the song lurches forward like a reluctant guest at a wedding reception.

There’s little point in cataloguing the other tracks; even their titles have a way of evaporating from memory. This is Elton John in name only—a brand slapped onto a product that bears almost no relation to the artist behind it. Victim of Love serves as a cautionary tale, a historical curiosity, and for the completist collector, a box to be ticked (often for under a dollar, and rightly so). For everyone else, it remains one of the strangest and most baffling entries in an otherwise glittering discography.

If Blue Moves hinted at burnout, and A Single Man suggested creative uncertainty, Victim of Love is the sound of Elton momentarily losing the plot altogether. Fortunately, he would recover. But this one—best filed under “miscellaneous” and quietly moved to the back of the shelf.

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