Aristeia
1988 was, for George Michael, “what pop critics call an ‘imperial’ year.” In that year he “reigned over the charts and, essentially, could do no wrong.” It was the year of Faith, his debut solo album, which spent twelve weeks at number one, and produced four number one singles, each of which, if you were alive at the time, you still remember well enough to hum today. Chris Molanphy, on his Hit Parade podcast, explains “imperial period” with the paradigm case, the most imperial of imperial periods by any pop musician: Elton John, 1970-1975. In that short stretch of time Elton John recorded and released seven consecutive number one albums, and it all peaked in 1975, when he sent three singles and three separate albums to the top of the charts. One of those albums, Captain Fantastic and the Brown Dirt Cowboy, was the first album ever to debut in the number one spot. First album ever: no one had done this before, not the Beatles, who set so many chart records, nobody. Molanphy says,
there have been other imperial stars across pop history, from Elvis Presley to Michael Jackson to Justin Bieber. But Elton John’s Imperial Period was both extraordinarily prolific and concentrated, with a dizzying schedule of smash albums and singles, practically every month. Looking back on this period, a decade later, in a 1987 British interview, Elton didn’t say the word imperial, but he defined it perfectly:
Q: is there a period that you think was your most fruitful songwriting period?
A: ...obviously, you know, in the early 70s or in the mid 70s when we could do no wrong....if you’re successful you get to a point where you can’t do any wrong, it’s like Madonna goes through that period at the moment...you can’t fail.
Randomly-sample the greats, and it is evident that most of them do indeed “get to [that] point”: Elvis, from “That’s All Right” until the army. The Beatles from Rubber Soul to Sgt Pepper. The Rolling Stones from Beggars Banquet to Exile on Main Street. Fill in the blank.
For Elton John, the 1975 peak was also the end. Immediately, song quality and song quantity declined; and audiences turned against him when, in a 1976 interview, he came out as bisexual. He became, in Molanphy’s words a “modest, second-tier pop act.” This fall is part of the paradigm. When Elvis died in 1977, “all alone,” as Gillian Welch sang, “in a long decline,” John Lennon quipped that “Elvis really died the day he joined the army.” Even though there was a brief comeback (the 1968 Special, and From Elvis in Memphis) the music was never the same—Elvis as usual setting the trend. Comebacks come and comebacks go, but almost never does the artist wear again the Imperial Purple. The fall from the throne is often scary-steep. Goat’s Head Soup, The Stones’ follow up to Exile, has a few good tracks, but otherwise it sucks. After Born in the USA, certainly one of the greatest rock albums, Springsteen’s next few albums disappoint. Violator by Depeche Mode is note-perfect and so much better than every subsequent album they’re put out—I’ve bought them all with hope in my heart—I wonder it’s the same band. Don’t think my weirdo Boomer / Gen-X tastes have blinded me; the phenomenon isn’t limited to those eras.
These repeated tales of masters so divine in their powers losing their touch so quickly can make those of us in middle age quite anxious. These stories move us so strongly, in part, because they could be mistaken for the stuff of myth.