The Importance of Finding Elton

I've tried more than you can imagine. I've stayed on phone lines for hours at a time, holding. A man wearing a kilt, smelling like uncle-person, chased me down St. Charles, yelling profanities, somewhat unprovoked. I drove out to the UNO Lakefront Arena, convinced that I could find someone there who could point me in the right direction, someone there who had personally spoken to either Elton John or his agent, I drove all the way there only to find out that the New Orleans Arena is where he would be playing, which is actually downtown, and that the Lakefront Arena had pretty much zero interest in talking to a young man who was convinced they could help him find Elton John. I've become a member of numerous Online Fanclubs, National and International. I've donated money to the Elton John Aids Foundation. It wasn't a lot of money. I've spent lunch funds on Elton John Records. I (briefly) talked to a man named Frank. I've done everything in my power to tilt Fortuna's scale, and still, I come to you empty-handed. I've emailed and emailed. And I'm sorry.

How hard could it be to get in touch with one person? I was also mislead by a story someone told me about a lone woman who was able to interview The Beatles, once upon a time. I felt lifted and encouraged by this, so I set out to interview Elton John, by any means necessary, or at least to have him answer a phone call and personally tell me to leave him the hell alone. I became immersed somehow and felt deep within the belly of the beast, without, as far as I know, ever coming even remotely close to this man.

I emailed a list of agents, asking all of them for information regarding Elton John's availability during his tour. I embellished a bit, perhaps. I told them I was Chief Editor for a local publication dealing with large, touring national acts, such as Mr. John. I tried to make it sound like he needed us as much as we needed him. I told them the people of New Orleans were tragically under-informed in regards to the artist's work, and that we aimed to change this. When this didn't work, I emailed all of the agents again (from a different address), telling them I represented a large and wealthy group of investors intent on having Elton John play at their next conference. I heard back from exactly one company (all of the companies claimed to represent Mr. John), telling me thanks for my interest, and that Elton John cannot always respond to all his fan mail personally, but that he does take great pleasure in knowing that I am out there. What the hell.

Shortly thereafter I joined three Online Fan Clubs. I don't encourage you to do this.

I didn't eat for an entire day after spending all of my money on Elton John records. I called in sick to work. I made a mixtape of all my favorite songs and walked around town with my headphones.

After one particular night of heavy drinking and emailing I decided to play both versions of "Candle in the Wind" at maximum volume, simultaneously, upstairs and downstairs in my house. This had a hallucinogenic effect.

I called Universal Records five times without ever talking to a human being.

I now own a muzak version of "Rocketman." And a William Shatner cover.

A soused and kilted man chased me down St. Charles because he thought I egged his car.

Hoping that there was a god who rewarded kind acts, I donated money to the Elton John AIDS Foundation. There wasn't.

I became sullen and inconsolable near the end. Not only had I not made contact with anyone regarding the interview, I had not even garnered a decent lead. Everything was a dead end. All of the fan Clubs were next to inactive. I never once heard back from any of the owners of the clubs, and the one phone number I could find online was out of service.

During a brief moment of despair I joined a Carrot Top Message Board, but even this failed to rouse me.

It turns out the UNO Lakefront Arena does not like being confused with the New Orleans Arena, as they were very swift to point out.

And then there's Frank.

Late last week I began calling Anthem Artists Inc. everyday at 10am. Anthem Artists is a group of agents who represent actors, musicians, artists and entertainers of every ilk. Elton John is part of their roster. They claim to be able to book him for corporate events and live shows, and they post two contact numbers on their website. I called for four days in a row without anyone answering. Their phone lines were like a little labyrinth: a computerized operating system tried to guide me through a myriad of options each time I called. All told, I'm sure I wasted six hours of my life to this operating system. On the fifth day I told myself it was the last time. I went through all the same motions, trying different number combinations for each computerized option that was offered, until finally, unexpectedly, and a bit startlingly, the phone began to ring, as if I were actually calling somebody.
A voice answered:
"This is Frank."
"Hello?"
"This is Frank."
"Oh."
"Help you?"
There was actually somebody on the line, and I choked.
"I'm trying to reach Mr. Elton John." I said.
"Yea, hold on."
I'm not sure how long it took Frank to hang up on me, or how long I stayed on the phone with no one on the other line. Probably close to forty-five minutes. It took me a while to wrap my head around why he told me to hold on. For an instant I wondered if it was all that simple. Eventually the operator came on the phone and told me that if I'd like to make a call, I'd have to hang up and try again. It was the end of the line. I had failed. This is the impotent end. It felt like so much more while it was happening.
And Frank was the perfect end to it all. He was precise and quick-witted; he knew exactly how to extinguish me. I imagine he makes six figures a year disarming would-be journalists. He is probably agile and handsome, with perhaps a small scar under his left eye. He may be a personal bodyguard for Mr. John. Or he could have been a janitor, which is just as poetic, considering this end.


All Apologies.