The 75 Best Elton John Songs: Staff List

Few artists in Hot 100 history have had as much success revisiting their older work as Elton John, who had two No. 1s on the chart in the ’90s with new versions of songs he originally released in the ’70s. Only right, then, that his ultimate chart victory lap should come in the form of “Cold Heart,” a reworking of four older John songs — with a couple of them now sung by contemporary U.K. pop star Dua Lipa — spliced together over a gently throbbing beat by Australian electro-pop trio PNAU. It shouldn’t work, but it does, which has been the general recipe for Elton John’s presence on the charts for 52 years now and counting. — ANDREW UNTERBERGER

Thom Bell, one of the architects of the Philly Soul sound, produced this sparkling single, which features backup vocals by his top clients, The Spinners. The track’s light discofied sound helped put Elton back in the top 10 in disco-saturated 1979. Bell’s nephew LeRoy Bell and Casey James co-wrote the song. As Bell & James, they had cracked the top 15 four months earlier with their own disco hit, “Livin’ It Up (Friday Night).” – PAUL GREIN 

“Tower of Babel” establishes an elegiac tone on Captain Fantastic and the Brown Dirt Cowboy, the loosely autobiographical 1975 album detailing the early years of Elton and Bernie’s partnership. Teeming with images of decadence — it could be detailing the extravagance of stardom or the seediness of a local scene; in either setting, the characters offer no emotional support –“Tower of Babel” gains emotional resonance through the stately Elton melody, which is one of his loveliest and most quietly urgent. — STEPHEN THOMAS ERLEWINE

In the 25 years since its release, The Big Picture has not been recalled very fondly by its creators — Bernie called it the worst album he and Elton ever made together. It is certainly one of the duo’s staler efforts, but it’s not without its fresher moments: opener “Long Way From Happiness” for instance has a deep melancholy in its moaning synths and despairing lyrics that captures the feeling of a pre-recovery Elton — though he had already sobered up and met future husband David Furnish by that point — and the sound of Phil Collins’ better ’90s ballads. And if Elton and Bernie wouldn’t find that musical comparison particularly flattering, well, that’s why they made Songs From the West Coast shortly after. — A.U.

The song that snagged Elton John his second Oscar, “(I’m Gonna) Love Me Again” is a joyous bit of self-affirmation, a rallying call for the bruised and battered. Effectively, it’s a summation of the lessons Elton imparts in Rocketman, the autobiographical fantasia of a musical where he recounts his journey toward acceptance and sobriety — yet the effervescent melody and the vibrant production reign, giving the song a buoyancy. It’s a cheerful self-improvement mantra. — S.T.E.

Elton and Bernie wrote this song for the 1976 double album Blue Moves, but it didn’t make the album. Finally released as a one-off single in the spring of 1978, the upbeat-but-tense song focuses on the dark underside of show business and the pitfalls of being an idol. The video, one of the most expensive and elaborate of its time, played as a trailer in movie theaters — more than three years before the launch of MTV. – P.G.

Something of a shame that Elton never really connected with the Britpop scene of the mid-’90s — not the most obvious palette for him, perhaps, but based on the dreary ponderousness of most of his solo efforts at the time, he probably could’ve used the extra spark. At least with the top 20 Hot 100 hit “Believe,” we did get one of his most Lennon-esque singles in some time, with a towering melody and a chorus sentiment (“I believe in love”) that you practically expect to hear followed by a cascading horn fill. Liam Gallagher probably sang along to it on the radio, even if he’d never admit it to his mates. — A.U.

Elton intended everything about 1988’s Reg Strikes Back album, down to the title, to be a resounding comeback effort after enduring a rough stretch of subpar sales, bad reviews and even worse PR in the mid-’80s. The results were mixed — he had cleaned up his image, but not really his sound or his his substance abuse issues — though it scored one fairly unqualified success in the storming “I Don’t Wanna Go on With You Like That,” a hip-swiveling kiss-off that indeed packed something close to peak-Elton punch. It reached No. 2 on the Hot 100, his highest charter since the mid-’70s. — A.U.

Elton was so scorching in the spring of 1975 that pop radio played this track from the Tommy soundtrack as if it were a hit single. Elton played the Pinball Wizard, the cocky pinball champion, in the Ken Russell-directed film, with this serving as his showcase number. Elton’s super-charged version is hotter and punchier than The Who’s 1969 original, and helped propel the Tommy soundtrack all the way to No. 2 on the Billboard 200. — P.G.

Most of the highlights of Goodbye Yellow Brick Road involved Elton and Bernie branching out into new musical and lyrical territory, but they could also still write a simple song with the best of them. The sniping “I’ve Seen That Movie Too” sees the two of them taking a basic extended metaphor — Elton as unwilling actor in a pre-scripted relationship — and nailing it with pointed delivery and perfect phrasing. Of course, even a simple John/Taupin composition at the time ran six minutes and featured a backwards-playing guitar solo; bigger just happened to be better for the two back in ’73. — A.U.

Perhaps the best song Elton wrote with lyricist Gary Osborne, “Blue Eyes” wraps the melancholic longing of a saloon song within an adult contemporary production. The soft focus of the production is ingratiating, yet it can distract from how this ballad is, at its core, a song designed to be delivered in the twilight hours — when the object of one’s affection is as far away as the dawn itself. — S.T.E.

Hailing from 1978’s A Single Man, his first album not to feature a Bernie Taupin credit, “Part-Time Love” finds lyricist Gary Osborne spinning a swingin’ tale of stepping out on your main squeeze that Elton delivers with peppy relish. While it’s unlikely this disco-tinged soft rocker is anyone’s favorite Elton John song, it’s a silly-n-sweet little trifle that reached No. 22 on the Hot 100. — JOE LYNCH

John reteamed with Lion King lyricist Tim Rice for the Broadway musical Aida, which debuted in 2000 but was preceded in 1999 by a concept album featuring a grab-bag of chart-topping artists, from Janet Jackson to Spice Girls to Shania Twain. The standout is his stellar LeAnn Rimes duet “Written in the Stars,” which opens with the collar-grabbing line “I am here to tell you we can never meet again” and only ramps up the theatrics from there. Lesser artists would overdo it, but Rimes and John are deft vocalists who can easily segue between delicate, clear-cut tones and deep, soulful valleys, and their pipes blended together beautifully on this top 40 hit. — J.L.

You might have missed it in this country, but “Cold Heart” isn’t the first time that PNAU has granted Sir Elton a hit via a crocheted pop lattice of his classic-era cuts: That happened first with the eight-track 2012 set Good Morning to the Night, a U.K. albums chart-topper. All eight of the mini-LP’s concoctions were fairly delectable, but perhaps none moreso than the sublimely resigned “Sad,” setting defeated verse lyrics from Elton’s “Curtains” or a lush pre-disco beat, and using the titular one-word hook (borrowed from “Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word”) as its chorus conclusion. Who knows? If Carly Rae Jepsen had hopped on it at the time, maybe it would’ve gone top 10 here too. — A.U.

Elton’s first single post-sobriety set the tone for his ’90s to come: slower, statelier and more contemplative, with enough echo to make every song sound like he’s playing from the very center of Wembley Stadium. “The One” connected more than most, in large part because of Taupin’s evocative lyric (“When stars collide like you and I”/ No shadows block the sun”), and Elton’s mighty verse melody, which sounds in particular like a warmup for The Lion King‘s “Circle of Life.” The public embraced the recovered idol in his new chapter, with “The One” hitting the top 10 on both sides of the pond. — A.U.

If you’re a fan of Americana Elton, take a long, leisurely stroll down Peachtree Road, his start-to-finish-solid 2004 album. “Porch Swing in Tupelo,” a tribute to Elvis Presley’s childhood home, is a comforting slice of country-rock augmented by lush gospel harmonies, an understated string section and a mellow guitar twang. And while no one is gonna mistake the Rocket Man for a good ol’ boy, it’s still a delight to hear Elton sing “hush your mouth” as if he too grew up in a shotgun shack in Mississippi. — J.L.

Unclear how familiar Elton John was with future touring partner Billy Joel by the recording of 1974’s Caribou — Joel was only just starting to make a name for himself in the States at the time. But it’s hard not to think of the Other ’70s Piano Man when listening to “Ticking,” the set’s 7:34-long closing ballad of a New York mass shooter — it feels in line both with Joel’s anglophilic vocal affectations and taste for overwrought story songs, but also his undeniable sense of cinematic grandeur and ability to wallop with melody. Certainly, it would have made for an epic dueling-pianos duet on their co-headlining treks. — A.U.

“If you listened carefully, you could hear the kitchen sink being dragged into the studio,” Elton head-shakingly (but affectionately) wrote in his 2019 Me autobiography of his Empty Sky debut album. Indeed, the 1969 set is occasionally too busy for its own good — but sometimes the more-is-more approach yields impressive results, as with the eight-and-a-half-minute title track, a building psych-rock romp which doesn’t even really start to take off heavenward until about halfway through. “No man flies from this place,” Elton laments on the chorus; he could have no clue how wrong he’d end up being. — A.U.

“It’s a song he wrote in the late ’70s, and it’s about an aging pop star,” George Michael explained while introducing his cover of Elton John’s “Idol” at a 2011 Royal Albert Hall concert. “Funny that.” Not hard to see why Michael connected with the Blue Moves ballad — not only is its closing-hour jazziness a sound the ’80s megastar would return to throughout his own career, but its lyrical conceit of a public’s disdain for the fallen pop phenom would be relatable to anyone who’s been on Top of the Pops, then not: “His face has changed, he’s not the same no more/ And I have to say that I like the way his music sounded before.” If even Elton could feel that heat — in the mid-’70s no less — well then. — A.U.

Elton John and Bernie Taupin had spent the first decade of their careers writing together in separate rooms — Bernie scribbling lyrics in one, then handing them to Elton to hammer out a melody for in another — but by the end of the ’70s, they’d started to spend time apart, working with other collaborators. They came back together in 1980 for three tracks on Elton’s 21 at 33 album, the best of which was this funky horn-led ode to their working relationship, assuring fans and/or themselves, “Where there is one room/ You’ll always find another.” The phrase Two Rooms eventually titled an all-star 1994 tribute album to the duo’s joint compositions. — A.U.

If “Crocodile Rock” was Elton’s tribute to the rave-ups of his youth, this jaunty 1984 tune is his nod to sad songs on the radio that bring comfort in your down moments. “They reach into your room/Just feel their gentle touch,” he sings. The song (and even moments from the Russell Mulcahy-directed video) were utilized in a TV commercial that same year for Sasson designer jeans, in which the lyrics were tweaked to “Sasson says so much.” Let’s hope he got a big check for that one. – P.G. 

Elton has hundreds of songs, but only one “Elton’s Song” — this heartbreaking piano ballad, with lyrics by punk rocker Tom Robinson (one of the first openly gay rock stars), describing an unrequited and unrecognized love (“They think I’m mad, they say it isn’t real/ But I know what I feel”). The song was particularly notable for its Elton-less music video, a then-rare straightforward gay romance of a schoolboy crushing in vain on an older male classmate. Neither song nor video were autobiographical, at least for Elton — he’s said he felt no real sexual or romantic desire for anyone until his 20s — but it was still a moment of artistic grace worthy of its title, and perhaps the greatest work to come from his time away from Bernie. — A.U.

Elton and Bernie didn’t get into Moody Blues or Emerson, Lake & Palmer territory too often in their career together, but listening to “The King Must Die,” it’s easy to imagine a world where — had pop stardom not greeted Elton as quickly as it did — they might have had an orch-prog opus or two in the tank. Luckily, the two are more than committed enough in their performance to justify their budget on strings and horns (as well as lyrics like “No man’s a jester playing Shakespeare/ ‘Round your throne room floor) with one of Elton’s most striking piano licks tying it all together, an epic hip-hop hook just begging to be sampled. — A.U.

In 2010, Elton teamed up with fellow ivory tickler Leon Russell for the collaborative album The Union. The late Russell was an early musical idol of John’s, and you can feel the Rocket Man’s exuberance oozing out of every piano roll on “Hey Ahab,” a bluesy, gospel-inflected rocker that’s become a staple in his setlists. Whenever it’s a damp, drizzly November in your soul, hit play on this one. — J.L.

Elton’s Leather Jackets album was universally panned, by no one more loudly than Reg himself. But closer “I Fall Apart” was one of his most poignant songs of the whole decade — a notably vulnerable ballad, with its singer sounding unsettlingly adrift in a sea of synth twinkles and fretless bass. And even Elton had to give it up for Bernie’s lyrical detail in describing a crushingly lonely period of Elton’s personal life (“This house can get so lonely when the day grows dark/ And it seems to be the night time when I fall apart”), saying Bernie’s words “expressed my personal situation [better than if I had] written them myself.” — A.U.

Elton’s successful Too Low For Zero album proved he could hang in the new wave era, even though most of it wasn’t really all that new wave sounding — with the major exception of its title track. Based around a tinny drum machine shuffle covered by blankets of neon synths, the song probably could’ve worked for Soft Cell or OMD as well as Elton and Bernie. But the pair still made it their own, with Elton plinking over the electronic groove like a ballet dancer, and delivering Bernie’s lyric about hitting rock bottom and then some like he was still in the toughest stretch of a years-long hangover. — A.U.

As the cliche goes, “Answer in the Sky” isn’t religious, it’s spiritual. While Bernie scans the horizons for celestial answers, Elton’s music draws the music back toward the earth. Operating from a quasi-gospel foundation, John summons an uplifting, unifying pop energy on the chorus, a combination that gives “Answer in the Sky” a sense of urgency and warmth. — S.T.E.

Despite going top 40, “Friends” is almost as forgotten as the 1971 film it shares a title with. That’s a shame, since this gentle, sweet slice of orchestral pop in the “Penny Lane” vein captures Elton right after “Your Song” catapulted his career into the stratosphere — demonstrating his elegance as a balladeer and seemingly effortless ability to dole out sentimental melodies. — J.L.

Basically, the song that let Elton and Bernie know that they were good. “Skyline Pigeon” was just a simple avian lyrical metaphor — with Elton sounding closer to future chart rival John Denver than he ever would again — set to layers of harpsichord and organ. But there was something there, something transportive and real and undeniably them in the performance, which the duo would take with them even as the debut set met with fairly modest commercial returns. “I still couldn’t think of anyone else it sounded like,” Elton recalls fondly of the song in Me. “We’d finally made something that was our own.” — A.U.

“Bad Side of the Moon” was one of Elton’s better early B-sides, a leaner and meaner flip side to the gospel-tinged “Border Song.” But the three-minute rarity really reached its potential when stretched out live — as captured on the ’90s double-disc version of his ’70s Here and There set, which expanded the two 1974 gigs that comprised the collection. With time to break down and build back up, it becomes a showcase not only for John but for guitarist David Johnstone — who lets it rip like he rarely had space to on John’s studio sets, with electrifying results. — A.U.

Cut from the same cloth as “I’m Still Standing,” the wistfully horny “Kiss the Bride” is one of Elton’s hardest rockers, a record propelled by power chords and jealousy. The pounding guitar riffs don’t seem retrograde due to the insistent decorative synths, analog sounds that tie the single to the early 1980s yet still seem lively decades later. John’s carnality also gives the record a kick: His lust for his former lover is readily apparent. — S.T.E.

Lyrically and thematically, 2006’s The Captain and the Kid picked up where Elton & Bernie’s autobiographical 1975 classic Captain Fantastic & the Brown Dirt Cowboy left off, but its sound is far closer to the easy-going country rock of Honky Chateau. The standout is the title track, a warm, twangy tribute to a lifelong collaborative friendship that’s given the world decades of musical treasures. — J.L.

“Elderberry Wine” doesn’t sound like a song where its narrator spends three minutes lamenting the absence of his long-departed wife — maybe that’s because he doesn’t miss her, he misses the concoction his ex used to brew, a potion so potent he longs for its charms. Fittingly, Elton makes “Elderberry Wine” all about physical pleasures, as he pummels his piano, smears his syntax, and races to keep pace with a blaring horn section. The result is as effervescent a rocker as Elton ever cut. — S.T.E.

A flinty piece of dusty Americana that rocks harder than The Band ever did, “Ballad of a Well-Known Gun” may be the apotheosis of Bernie’s Wild West obsessions: it’s riddled with outlaws, Pinkertons and stagecoaches, imagery learned from movies and dime novels. Elton gives the song blood and muscle, pounding the piano as he testifies with the ferocity of a cornered criminal; he makes Taupin’s hokum believable. — S.T.E.

Along with being an award-winning and chart-topping recording artist, John has dedicated a significant portion of his time in the public eye to advocating for AIDS research. On this star-studded charity collaboration with Dionne Warwick, Stevie Wonder and Gladys Knight, John brought attention for life-saving research to the forefront, as well as adding an instant classic to his repertoire with the comforting and uplifting ballad. After all, what are friends for if not helping make the world just a little bit better? — STEPHEN DAW

This was the closing track on Elton’s beloved double album Goodbye Yellow Brick Road. Just three singles were released from that album, which was the norm back then for even the biggest albums. Elton had new songs waiting in the wings, so this ballad with its gorgeous harmonies wound up as the B-side to “Bennie and the Jets.” The chorus includes a line that is classic understatement: “Harmony and me, we’re pretty good company.” – P.G. 

Forty years after singing from the losing side of the U.S. Civil War, Elton and Bernie took up the perspective of a Union solider on “Gone to Shiloh,” a highlight from John’s collaborative album with Leon Russell, The Union. As if two rock legends trading vocals weren’t enough, Neil Young stops by to provide his distinctive timbre on this mournful prelude to one of the bloodiest battles on American soil. — J.L.

A cheeky, spirited ditty about suicidal ideation might not fly with general audiences these days, but in a roundabout fashion, this Honky Chateau deep cut does an effective job at capturing the flippant detachment that can characterize the “teenage blues.” And with a jumping New Orleans piano and actual tap dancing on the studio recording (courtesy of “Legs” Larry Smith), it’s hard to resist this unexpectedly cheery honky-tonk number.  — J.L.

For an opening sequence that set entirely new standards for breathtaking scope within the Disneyverse, The Lion King needed an appropriately epic and expansive song to match — the kind of song that makes you want to reach out and embrace the universe around you. Elton and Tim Rice responded appropriately with the soaring “Circle of Life,” a grass-touching anthem to make you pumped as hell at being part of the animal kingdom, where the words sung don’t mean nearly as much as the feeling behind them. “It’s the wheel of fortune/ It’s the leap of faith/ It’s the band of hope”? F–k yeah it is. — A.U.

A sweet lazy daydream, a song that seems unencumbered by conventional structure or pacing, “Amoreena” unfurls slowly but not deliberately. John lingers upon Taupin’s images of rain, cattle towns, and crystal streams, constructing a languid melody heavy with a sense of longing. Elton’s vocal has a slight quiver that underscores the song’s vulnerability, emphasizing how “Amoreena” is about missing a lover who is far out of reach. — S.T.E.

John has plenty of sad songs, but right from the opening question of “What have I gotta do to make you love me?” “Sorry Seems To Be the Hardest Word” is an open vat of despair.  Between Elton’s sorrowful, stunningly gorgeous minor-key melody, his plaintive vocals and Bernie’s no-hope, desperate lyrics, this isn’t a song you listen to as much as wallow in to the depths of your soul and just hope for some respite when dawn comes. — MELINDA NEWMAN

Not unlike The Band’s Music From Big Pink (a mostly Canadian band’s take on Americana), Tumbleweed Connection is an album-length exploration of two English lads’ obsession with the mythology of the American South. While some might understandably blanch at a song coming from the perspective of a prospective Confederate soldier, “My Father’s Gun” – with its slow build, soulful vocals and lilting horns – paints a detailed portrait of pain, loss and grim determination, as a son buries his father and prepares to face death himself. — J.L.

An anomaly in Elton’s catalog, particularly as far as his singles go: “Song For Guy” is instrumental for all but the last of its seven minutes, with the lone lyrics coming with the late lament, “Life isn’t everything.” Until then, “Song” mostly consists of playful but melancholy piano mixed with eerie synths and a Roland bossa nova loop that doesn’t seem like it’s having as much fun as it should be. It’s a strange but compelling mix — more poignant upon hearing about the titular Guy, a teenage bike messenger for Elton’s Rocket Records who’d died in a crash — and while it stiffed in the States, they understood it a little better in the U.K., where it became his most uncharacteristic top 5 hit. — A.U.

Originally recorded for Elton’s self-titled album in 1970, he finally thought the world — or maybe just his band — was ready for “Grey Seal” by the time of 1973’s Goodbye Yellow Brick Road. Good decision: The spectacular arrangement that appears on the ’73 version elevates the song from a fun frivloity to a song that’d be a setlist must for 99% of live performers. Verses are still a little inexplicable (“I never learned why meteors were formed/ I only farmed in schools that were so worn and torn”), but you’ll be fist-pumping by the time it gets back to “TE-ELL! ME! GREY! SEAL!” — A.U.

As Elton’s first-ever stateside No. 1 hit, “Crocodile Rock” will always hold a special place in his discography. The campy, almost vaudevillian Farfisa organ adds a layer of humor to an otherwise lovingly nostalgic ode to the rock music that inspired the singer as a kid. “Crocodile” shows John at his most playful, as he chants and grooves along to a wave of feel-good vibes on the post-chorus, getting his audience to sing along to his now-classic melody. — S.D.

The closing track on Elton’s third album, the song is musically one of his most complex compositions, with varying tempos and key changes during its 6-minute run. Shortly after the 2-minute mark, John lets loose on the piano, unleashing a boisterous, barrelhouse interlude straight out of a juke joint that remains one of his most indelible and inspired performances. The melody shows off John’s fluid range, bringing in pop, jazz and country. — M.N.

“We All Fall in Love Sometimes,” the song that precedes and bleeds into “Curtains” on Captain Fantastic, is a tender homage to longtime lyricist Bernie Taupin — but “Curtains” is more cryptic. There are references to early songs that the duo wrote, including their first, “Scarecrow,” but the title suggests the end of something. Maybe Elton and Bernie grasped that they were at the height of their 20th-century fame, or that their collaboration was (temporarily) coming to an end — which it did in 1977. John once dismissed the song as “crap,” but it’s closer to a religious experience: “Curtains” brings down the curtain by going Super Saiyan two-thirds of the way through, with a sustained burst of thunderous drums, bass and guitar, thrilling harmonies, and Ray Cooper’s brilliantly placed tubular bell fills taking the song to its euphoric end. — FRANK DIGIACOMO

As Elton sings in “Sad Songs (Say So Much),” “The kick inside is in the line that finally gets to you/ And it feels so good to hurt so bad.” Even though this memorial to his good friend John Lennon was released a year and a half after the late Beatle’s murder, it kicks hard. The song’s power builds from Elton’s funereal playing and the lyrics’ depiction of a barren New York garden (which some have interpreted as a reference to Lennon’s last live appearance, at Elton’s 1974 show at Madison Square Garden). But it’s the full-throated chorus that delivers catharsis: “I’ve been knocking, but no one answers… Oh, and I’ve been calling/ Oh hey hey Johnny, can’t you come out to play?” Knowing the answer makes it all the more shattering. — F.D.

“Honky Cat” is the moment where the brooding, sensitive piano man persona of Elton’s early days begins to lift and lighten. Buoyed by carnivalesque horns and a percolating electric piano, he flirts with funk and glam, creating a bright, giddy sound that’s far removed from such deliberately sober early hits as “Your Song” and “Tiny Dancer.” Here, John reveals his knack for humor, flash, and camp — making “Honky Cat” ground zero in Elton’s pop imperial phase. — S.T.E.

One of the tricks in “I Guess That’s Why They Call It the Blues” is that it’s not a blues number, yet Elton litters it with easy-rolling piano fills straight out of New Orleans; they’re not the focus of the song, they’re accents. The same goes for Stevie Wonder, who gives the song a harmonica solo that recalls his teenage peak at Motown — another sound that’s not quite the blues. Thanks to John’s swaying melody, “I Guess That’s Why They Call It the Blues” nevertheless plays like the blues, a lament filled with regret that feels comforting, not heavy-hearted. — S.T.E.

Definitely a song of its era, complete with heavy synths and programmed drums, “Sacrifice” is lifted by its overall sweetness and Elton’s tender vocal delivery as he tackles the temptations that come along in a relationship — and how it’s “no sacrifice” to stay faithful. Remarkably, “Sacrifice” became his first ever British solo No. 1 in 1990 — and more than 30 years after its initial release, it got a new life in 2021 when it was one of the four older Elton songs to make up the lyrics to his (again) U.K. chart-topping “Cold Heart,” including the one that lent the new composition its name. — M.N.

Elton and Bernie wrote this delectable piece of ear candy under the pseudonyms Ann Orson and Carte Blanche, which suggests that they didn’t take it too seriously. Elton and his duet partner, Kiki Dee, also toss off their performances, down to the quickie video shot in the recording studio. But that light touch is precisely what makes this song such an enduring delight. This was Elton’s longest-running No. 1 hit on the Hot 100 to that point, and his first No. 1 in the U.K. – P.G. 

Songs about home tend to carry more weight when they’re performed by guys who’ve journeyed as far for as long as Elton John has, metaphorically and literally. “Home Again” doesn’t necessarily even need the extra heft, though — it’s one of Sir Elton’s all-time weightiest piano melodies, combined with one of his most resonant and nuanced vocal performances, delivered in his now-weathered lower register. “We all dream of leaving/ But wind up in the end/ Spending all our time trying to get back home again.” Not one of his best-remembered songs, even of this century, but one that still really should’ve ended up on on his Farewell Yellow Brick Road setlist. — A.U.

There’s a slightly self-conscious air to “Step Into Christmas,” with Elton welcoming listeners to his Christmas song — a device that suggests he and Bernie envisioned this 1973 single as a throwaway, not the perennial it became. “Step Into Christmas” endures because it’s as incandescent as everything else John was doing at his 1970s peak, a record with a palpable sense of joy. Some of that stems from how the lively melody is decorated with a fleet of sleigh bells, yet “Step Into Christmas” still seems fresh each holiday season because it bottles the kinetic energy Elton John and his band had back in 1973. — S.T.E.

This 1973 No. 2 Hot 100 hit initially had another verse that revealed the titular brother was a disabled Vietnam vet who could not face returning home and escaped to another country. John cut the verse because he felt the song was too long, and it proved a wise edit: When “Daniel” was released, U.S. troops and prisoners of war had begun returning from combat. The lyrics that remained — “Do you still feel the pain of the scars that won’t heal,” and “Your eyes have died, but you see more than I” — certainly could apply to a soldier returning from war, but in keeping the subject vague, John made “Daniel” a timeless song about trauma, grief and loss. The tender Rhodes piano and acoustic guitar that carry the lyrics underscore the song’s bittersweet sadness and will almost surely put some clouds in your eyes.  —F.D.

Bernie’s fascination with the Wild West remains unabated in this somewhat less-remembered single from Rock of the Westies that references Robert Ford, who assassinated his fellow outlaw Jesse James. John’s gentle melody and vocals perfectly capture the regret expressed in the lyrics around a failed relationship due to the protagonist’s selfish actions that have cost him everything: “I’m low as a paid assassin is/You know I’m cold as a hired sword. I’m so ashamed/Can’t we patch it up?” a repentant Elton sings, knowing damn well it’s too late. — M.N.

Coming a year after his coolly received Duets album in 1993 (which included a No. 1 smash, but from ’91), the Lion King soundtrack saw Elton John roar back as a pop music GOAT while simultaneously introducing his indelible melodies to a new generation. A warm, elegant ballad that’s all the more effective for its understated simplicity, “Can You Feel the Love Tonight” earned John a Grammy, Oscar and Golden Globe, as well as a top 5 spot on the Hot 100 and No. 1 ranking on the Adult Contemporary chart. — J.L.

Paul Buckmaster’s sweeping orchestral arrangement and Elton’s dreamy melody lifts the grandeur and elegance of this paean to an enigmatic fictional character. (Though rumored to take its name from The Band’s Levon Helm, Taupin has debunked that theory.) “Levon” peaked at No. 24 on Billboard’s Hot 100, and in the 50 years since has become an essential track in Sir Elton’s canon — as fans still try to unpack the meaning of Taupin lines like “He was born a pauper to a pawn on a Christmas Day/ When the New York Times said, ‘God is dead.’” — M.N.

Consider “I Want Love” as the flip side of “Your Song,” a moment where romantic notions are abandoned for real, restorative love. Released in 2001, more than a decade after Elton John got sober and started living his life as an openly gay man, “I Want Love” nevertheless feels like the first time he’s addressed any of these mature realities in the form of a pop song. Where Bernie’s lyric is filled with self-recriminations, the ballad is ultimately redemptive: Elton’s aware of his bruises and dead spots, but he recognizes not only is he worthy of love, he’s in need of it. — S.T.E.

For a song that’s been completely absorbed into the pop culture fabric of the last 50 years, it’s tough to remember (or believe) now that “Candle in the Wind” was never even released as a single in the U.S. during the ’70s. But Elton and Bernie’s elegy for Marilyn Monroe has of course proven a perennial as an ode to the bright-burning and too-early extinguished, with John’s stately delivery and Taupin’s compassionate lyrics offering grace and understanding without coming off maudlin or presumptuous. If the song’s lack of a ’70s chart run was short shrift, it would certainly make up for it down the road — “Candle” first reached the Hot 100’s top 10 with a stripped-down live rendition in 1988, and then of course topped the listing for 14 weeks a decade later as the re-recorded “Candle in the Wind 1997,” in tribute to the late Princess Diana. — A.U.

Lush and understated at the same time, “Border Song” begins as a gentle lament before swelling into a glorious, gospel-inflected plea for peace. Despite running just under three and a half minutes, it feels like a feature-length opus, thanks to John’s tender vocal gravitas and a magnificent Paul Buckmaster orchestral arrangement. Although the decision to release this as the first single from 1970’s Elton John was a questionable one (it peaked at No. 92 on the Hot 100, while follow-up “Your Song” became his first U.S. top 10), “Border Song” still stands as one of his finest achievements. It also earned him the honor of an Aretha Franklin cover two years later on her classic LP Young, Gifted and Black; her take fared better on the Hot 100, reaching the top 40. — J.L.

For an artist as well known for his singles as Elton John, it’s rare to see one live performance surpass its original version and receive near-universal acclaim. Yet, that is exactly what happened when John was brought out by his good friend George Michael during his 1991 Cover to Cover tour — while Elton had been in the midst of a sobriety-induced hiatus — for a duet of John’s ’70s hit “Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me,” returning the favor of six years earlier, when John invited Michael onstage at Live Aid to perform the same song. With a pairing of vocals that perfectly complement one another, as well as some production rearrangements to bring the drama (and an electric “Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Elton John!” surprise introduction), the duet one-upped the original’s No. 2 peak on the Hot 100, hitting the chart’s apex in February 1992. — S.D.

From its opening drum roll, kinetic electric guitar riff and Elton’s rollicking piano pounding and muscular vocal, “Saturday Night” is a locomotive (or, should that be “diesel train?”) that only picks up steam as it rolls on. Lyrically and musically, it’s an in-your-face, inescapable blast of pure adrenaline and preening testosterone that few rock songs can match. A well-oiled, unadulterated blend of youthful joy and aggression, “Saturday Night” is only concerned with living in the moment… Saturday night is for sin, Sunday’s for redemption. Almost 50 years in, it still sounds as utterly irrepressible and immediate as it did the day in 1973 that it reached No. 12 on the Billboard Hot 100. — M.N.

Lyrically influenced by Bernie Taupin’s first visit to New York City — even with a reference to Ben E. King’s classic, “Spanish Harlem,” thrown in — this stripped-down ballad features not only a lovely, heartfelt Elton vocal, but is equally notable for the inspired mandolin work by Davey Johnstone. “Mona Lisas” may be, in part, about the hustle and bustle of New York and “sons of bankers, sons of lawyers” who “turn around and say good morning to the night,” but John’s delicate melody often plays against Taupin’s words, resulting in one of the duo’s most beloved album tracks and a not-so-deep cut — even though it was never released as a single from 1972’s Honky Chateau, the first of seven consecutive No. 1 albums for John. — M.N.

​Following in the great ’70s rock tradition of singing about outer space, “Rocket Man” is undoubtedly a fan favorite. It’s no wonder why — the star’s vocals are clear and sharp, and the production relies primarily on piano, bass, and drums (Elton’s bread and butter) as the Bernie-penned lyrics paint a perfect picture of an astronaut despairing about losing touch with reality. It’s gonna be a long, long time before anyone forgets this absolute jam. — S.D.

If this exhilarating track doesn’t rev you up, you just might be dead. In addition to being the hardest-rocking single Elton ever took to the top 10 on the Hot 100, this song speaks to the inner brat in all of us: Who wouldn’t occasionally like to cut loose and say “I don’t like those!/My God, what’s that?” It was a sign of Elton’s star power in the fall of 1974 that he could sing the word “bitch” dozens of times in a song and still watch that song go into heavy rotation on practically every pop radio station in America. – P.G.  

Taken from Elton’s self-titled sophomore album (which was his first LP released in America), “Take Me to the Pilot” is one of Taupin’s more lyrically confounding offerings (“Like a coin in your mint / I am dented and I’m spent with high treason” – huh?!) — and Elton himself has copped to having no clue what much of it means. But it soars, thanks to a muscular performance from the whole band, and an undeniably rousing chorus. With rollicking ragtime piano flourishes, gospel backing vocals and hard-hitting percussion, it’s no surprise “Pilot” has become a staple of his live shows – it takes flight every time, and always sticks the landing. – J.L.

Written at the behest of John’s good friend tennis great Billie Jean King about her tennis team, the Philadelphia Freedoms, the single of nearly the same name pays homage, lyrically and musically to the city of Brotherly Love. As bouncy as a fresh tennis ball, John’s triumphant melody is a tribute to the Philly sound of the time he loved so much, pioneered by producers/songwriters Gamble & Huff and Thom Bell (the latter of whom he would later record with).  The lyrics never reference tennis; instead they tell of a “rolling stone,” who realizes no matter how far he roams, he lives and breathes “this Philadelphia freedom.”  Like almost everything John released in the mid-‘70s, the song lobbed straight to No. 1 on the Billboard Hot 100, and even earned a validating cover by hit-making Philly act MFSB. — M.N.

It plays almost like a parody of glam rock — the ’70s youth-rock scene that took over Elton’s home country in his absence — with slurred nonsense lyrics about “killing the fatted calf,” “plugging into the faithless” and “electric boots and mohair suits,” as if Marc Bolan of T. Rex was trying his hand at one of David Bowie’s dystopic Ziggy Stardust narratives. Elton and Bernie may have ultimately been too tradition-bound at heart to really fit into glam full-time, but they have great fun trying on the furs for one song, with an infectious glee that’s only multiplied by the fake live noise that greets its studio performance. Real audiences loved it too, of course: The song not only topped the Hot 100, it hit No. 15 on Billboard‘s Hot R&B Songs — his first appearance on the chart — and remains a staple of questionable karaoke performances nearly half a century later. — A.U.

It might not get the classic rock support of most of his ’70s hits, but “I’m Still Standing” was about as important to Elton John’s career as any of ’em. After a rocky end to his ’70s and a couple maybe-maybe-not attempts to jump start his ’80s, Elton sorta needed a no-doubter to officially get himself back in the game, lest the new wave generation leave him for dead like it at least tried to do with so many other ’70s relics. Luckily for him, “Standing” quickly revealed itself as a self-fulfilling prophecy. Its Motown hookiness, northern soul energy, and hint of ’80s pop edge kicked down the doors at MTV — helped, of course, by a globe-trotting and skin-baring Russell Mulcahy music video — and took him to No. 12 at the Hot 100, proving he could hang with the Duran Durans of the world (even though actually hanging with Duran Duran while filming the clip led to his near-total self-destruction). As sturdy as any John/Taupin composition, it’s no surprise the song still rings true four decades later. — A.U.

Despite originally peaking at just No. 41 on the Hot 100, there are few songs that can even aspire to reach the level of cultural ubiquity ultimately reached by Elton’s “Tiny Dancer.” This stunning, country-fied love song serves equally as an ode to Bernie’s wife as it does to the city of Los Angeles, with some of the most majestic production on any Elton track to date. Somehow, despite its specificity (or because of it), “Tiny Dancer” has gone on to become a universally understood touchstone — from jokes about Tony Danza to other artists shouting it out in their own songs, everyone simply wants to hold “Tiny Dancer” just a little bit closer. — S.D.

For a couple English blokes, Elton and Bernie nursed a Texas-sized fixation on the American South in their early days — and of that ilk, “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road” is certainly the finest. A wistful, sublimely melancholy ballad, this Wizard of Oz-referencing No. 2 hit from the most famous Friend of Dorothy in music showcases Elton’s effortless vocal versatility as he soars into an aching falsetto one moment and dips into a bluesy croon the next. The lyrics are among Bernie’s best, too: a first-person lament from a boy toy bidding adieu to his vodka-soaked older lover — and the lavish lifestyle they provide — to reclaim his rural roots. In a sense, that’s what John himself did two decades later when he said farewell to the hard-partying lifestyle and embraced a simpler, more domestic existence – although he kept the penthouse in place of the plough. — J.L.

Written by Taupin about his disdain for his songwriting partner’s first fiancée — she’s the “dominating queen” in the lyrics who nearly had John “roped and tied/altar bound,” before “sweet freedom” released him — the song has more drama than a made-for-Lifetime movie, including allusions to John’s first suicide attempt in 1968. With a heavy, slow, and instantly unforgettable piano-pounding melody that matches the theatrical storytelling, and clocking in at 6:44, “Someone” is like slowly walking through molasses in the best possible way, Sugar Bear. The first and only single released from 1975’s autobiographical Captain Fantastic and the Brown Dirt Cowboy, (John’s the Captain, Taupin’s the Cowboy), the mighty ballad reached No. 4 on the Hot 100, despite its length, while Captain Fantastic became the first album to ever debut at No. 1 on the Billboard 200. — M.N.

This is probably Elton’s most universally beloved song – and for good reason. The ballad marries a graceful melody to a wonderfully conversational lyric. “It may be quite simple,” Elton sings, and that simplicity is at the heart of the song’s appeal. Elton is trying to put his feelings for someone into words, not always successfully. Who can’t relate to that situation of intense vulnerability? This was the opening track on Elton’s breakthrough album, Elton John — as well as his first Top 40 hit on the Hot 100 — and it served as the perfect opener, both for an album and a career. Elton has taken us many places since, but it will always come back to this lovely, charming ballad. — P.G. 

It’s not an exaggeration to say that death has hung over most of Elton John’s career. He’s had hits paying tribute in some way or another to real-life figures who had passed (“Song For Guy,” “The Last Song,” the multiple versions of “Candle in the Wind”) and deeper cuts imagining the deaths of fictional ones (“Ticking,” “The King Must Die,” “Son of Your Father”). He’s had a staggering number of good friends suffer premature ends, including two — truly unthinkable — who were assassinated. And he’s almost met his own demise a handful of times, both by accident and at least partially by his own partial intent — and his experiences with suicidal thoughts, whether sardonic or straight-faced, have also also made their way into some of his songs. In fact, the “friend” in “Funeral For a Friend” is not any of Elton’s gone-too-soon compatriots, but Elton himself: He explained in 1976 that he wrote the dirge-like first movement to the Goodbye Yellow Brick Road opener while picturing the music he would like played at his own funeral, because, “I’m hung up on things like that.”

Elton having such preoccupations is hardly surprising — nor is it particularly shocking that the self-assigned task of soundtracking his own sepulture ultimately led to his creating the signature two-part masterpiece of his entire career. The instrumental opening, building through waves of ARP synthesizer provided by engineer David Hentschel, is wildly unprecedented for an Elton John album — really sounding more like something that should’ve appeared on Pink Floyd’s Wish You Were Here a year or two later — but serves as the perfect instrumental fog for his own elegiac ivory-tickling to gradually emerge from, hammering out a dolorous melody that nonetheless has an unmistakable Elton vibrancy to it. It’s every bit the epic procession befitting the burial of a rock legend. Given some of the events of his first decade of stardom, it seems likely he expected the moment might come sooner than later.

But despite his fixations and ideations, Elton John didn’t succumb early to death — and neither does “Funeral For a Friend.” The full band picks up the pace on “Funeral” about five minutes in, and soon enough, Elton’s dirge turns into a hook, and he’s off on the life-affirming second part of the song. Despite its title and central image, “Love Lies Bleeding” has a hopeful energy to its theatrical riffing and Rocky Horror-esque (or at least proto-Meat Loaf) vamping. It’s a heartbreak story, but not the kind that feels like it’s going to leave its singer devastated for long; even as Elton testifies “It kills me to think of you with another man” over aggressive guitar stabs and jaunty piano, it sounds like he’s already halfway to moving on. After all, he’s already risen from his own prematurely dug grave in the song’s first half — what chance does a breakup have of keeping him down?

Against all odds, Elton John turned out to be one of rock and pop music’s greatest survivors, with an unsinkable cultural endurance and a 50-plus-year run of hits that continues to this very day. And while “Funeral”/”Bleeding” isn’t technically one of them — the 11-minute two-parter never had a prayer of being tabbed as an A-side, as if it could even fit onto one — it’s still a tour staple for Elton, as well as a regular highest finisher of his on listener-voted classic rock countdowns. (Another death-themed perennial on those lists might’ve also gotten away with nicking from its central guitar riff.) When Elton finally does do his mortal-coil shuffling, hopefully many decades still from now — it seems sacrilegious to even accept it as an inevitability — the powers that be will probably get someone, a Chris Martin type maybe, to perform “Candle in the Wind” at his memorial service. And you can imagine that anyone who knows him well will be snickering to themselves, picturing the tantrum Elton would be throwing over them not going with “Funeral For a Friend/Love Lies Bleeding” instead. — A.U.

If you’re thinking about suicide, or are worried about a friend or loved one, contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline, available 24 hours, at 1-800-273-8255.