"Rock of the Westies", Elton John
Released October, 1975
Featuring hit single, "Island Girl"
Notes:
Long-time bassist Dee Murray and drummer Nigel Olson were fired from the band prior to recording the album. They were replaced by drummer Roger Pope and bassist Kenny Passarelli.
Elton John in the early to mid-1970's was an incredibly versatile and successful musician. Each passing album produced incredible hits and featured perfectly-written songs (through his writing partnership with Bernie Taupin). As a child during that era, I remember the airwaves being dominated by Elton John and Paul McCartney and Wings, mainly. My dad was in his early to mid-thirties throughout Elton John's run at the top of the charts in those years.
Dad was deeply into music in those years, and I remember peeking at him him down in his workshop below the stairs, while puttering around at his little workshop, listening to his tape collection on his prized portable tape deck. We also had a stereo upstairs in the living room, where he occasionally blasted his vinyl records (much to the chagrin of my mother). One day he came home from whatever errands he was running with a new record to show for his day out - Elton John's "Rock of the Westies".
He immediately put the record on the turntable, and he was suddenly transformed and transfixed. Witnessing this display of musical rapture he was experiencing, immediately affected me. I too, at the age of seven, was suddenly thrust into this swirl of rock and pop music permeating my house. I saw my dad standing in front of the stereo, tapping his foot and occasionally playing some air guitar. The beats and melodies coming out of the speakers were infectious. The album in question is the afore-mentioned "Rock of the Westies". Little did I know at the time just how much this album would come back to affect me at several points in my life, and how much it played a role in the bond I would come to share with my dad over music.
Looking at the album cover, my dad somewhat resembled Elton John during that era. Over the summer of 1975, he had grown his hair longer and he cultivated a beard. He wore a funky summer hat and started wearing jeans and t-shirts. He had eschewed the trappings of his clean-cut professional image, and became somewhat of a hippy / beatnik. Again, this was much to the chagrin of his wife, my mother. She did not understand what he was going through, nor did my siblings and I. However, to me, I thought my dad was pretty damned cool at that time. I idolized the man, yet feared him as well. He was a hulking figure, and was pretty much aloof and into his own pleasures and projects. Being a kid, and having a penchant for getting into trouble with my brother at times, all my dad had to do was raise his voice or change his tone and I was trembling with fear. My brother, on the other hand, just kept pushing his buttons.
One of my dad's "simple" pleasures was music. He listened to it in a different way than most people did. He listened to the words and to the intricacies and nuances of the music. He was never a musician, however he was connected to music in other intrinsic ways. The "Rock of the Westies" album is one of those records he felt deeply connected to, as though the music was speaking to him. There are several tracks on the album that evoke memories of my dad at this stage in his life, but particularly "I Feel Like a Bullet (in the Gun of Robert Ford)", "Feed Me", "Dan Dare (Pilot of the Future)", and "Medley (Yell Help - Wednesday Night-Ugly)". It wasn't something dad necessarily shared with me, but I watched him in the living room tapping his feet and playing air guitar to the music, and I enjoyed watching him immensely. I grew to love this music he was playing too.
Flash forward several years to my late twenties and early thirties, around the same age my dad was when the album came out. I was in that faraway land of Mongolia, living in a remote town. Most times I found myself isolated and alone in my little one-bedroom flat on a Friday night. It was during those times I felt most connected to my dad. I would often sneak out of my flat in the dark of the night (so as to avoid detection from curious townsfolk) and visit a roadside shop where I could buy some beer for the evening. I usually had enough in my pocket for about 6 cans, which I would triumphantly bring back to my apartment.
I would have my portable CD / cassette player with its accompanying cheap Chinese external speaker charged and ready to go, as well as my pen and journal laid out in front of me. Music at this point was a vital lifeline to me, and most of the music I had in my limited collection was gifted to me by dad. "Rock of the Westies" was one such album that was on heavy rotation on those nights, as I was basking in my beer buzz and solitude. As I wrote my deepest, and my most incoherent thoughts on those pages, I felt such a strong connection to my dad (despite being literally across the world from him). Dad and I also had a terrific correspondence via letters to one another. I would write tomes to him, describing my life as a conspicuous foreigner in a small northern Mongolian town, while dad would describe his life post-retirement as a wood crafter, selling his wares at various flea markets around the region. There was a true bond between us during these times, where after so many years of trying to figure one another out, we just clicked all of a sudden.
The true gift of music, I have found, is that it can magically transport me back to these incredibly significant moments in my life. It was truly another lifetime ago, yet somehow when I listen to "Rock of the Westies", Steely Dan's "Aja", Dire Straits' "On Every Street", the Kinks, the Byrds, The Beatles' "White Album" and "Abbey Road", I am flooded with memories of my dad and how much he enjoyed these albums and artists, and many others too many to mention. I felt my dad was a true renaissance man - an intellectual, and at the same time someone who enjoyed crude humor and the simpler things in life. He reinvented himself upon retirement. Having spent so many years as an educator, he switched gears immediately and built a shop in his backyard to do his woodworking. He was incredibly talented at both. He was meticulous and disciplined. From his descriptive letters to me during my time abroad, I took great joy reading about his projects out in his shop. I could picture him out there, in his man cave, tapping his feet and playing air guitar to his music, just like he did when I watched him in the living room when I was a kid.
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