2018: Living My Eltonite Dream in New York

I had already been to the United States in 2012, and I had seen everything one is supposed to see as a tourist: the Statue of Liberty, Central Park, and Fifth Avenue in New York. But this time, six years later, it was different. This was my Eltonite journey.

The Farewell Yellow Brick Road Tour arrived in New York with two concerts on October 18 and 19, following its premiere in September in Allentown, Pennsylvania. Having already seen Elton in my hometown Barcelona, as well as in Madrid, Paris, Milan, Munich, and London, I simply could not allow myself to miss seeing my idol at the summit, at the epicenter — at Madison Square Garden.

And I didn’t book just one night. I booked both. Because if I was going to do it, I had to do it properly.

The perfect prelude to this journey was meeting Bernie Taupin. If someone had told me back in 1984 — when I was turning the dial of my radio searching for songs by Elton John and his lyricist — I would have thought they were completely mad.

And yet, on October 17, at Chase Contemporary, 231 10th Ave, Taupin was opening his exhibition of art pieces — an iconic and impactful collection titled True American. Themes and symbols of patriotism, combined with music, ran deep throughout the entire exhibition. I must admit I was nervous about that moment. It would have been enough for me just to be near Taupin — listening to his explanations, simply being part of the event. I was there, and I could hardly understand how I could be so fortunate.

Everyone gathered around Bernie, asking for photographs. His beautiful wife was there, along with his lovely daughters. There were cocktails, conversation, and an atmosphere filled with admiration. The response to his work was overwhelmingly positive. I also had my own perfect reward: my photo with Bernie. I was truly euphoric. 

And beyond that, the best was still ahead of me — the concerts at Elton John’s sanctuary: Madison Square Garden. Not just one. I had tickets for both nights. I had always dreamed of experiencing a concert there, and what better occasion than the Farewell Tour? I had everything ready: my T-shirts, my glasses, my LPs to be signed, my passes. My hotel was on Broadway, directly across from where Bruce Springsteen was performing Springsteen on Broadway. And just as I stepped out of the hotel, I found myself among a group of fans waiting for “The Boss” to come out and sign autographs. I joined the line. One hour. Two hours. It felt endless. More and more people gathered around. I was at the front and refused to move. Finally, the door opened — and out came Bruce Springsteen. It was incredible. He stopped right in front of me to sign autographs — mine included. I told him I was from Barcelona, and he said he loved my city.

I kept glancing at my watch and, little by little, once another personal goal had been fulfilled, I ran off to meet two great friends — people I had known for years online but had never met in person until that day. At the agreed time, Kimberlee Kemble and Lisa Greer were waiting at the restaurant so we could finally meet and talk for hours about Elton. That is the beauty of this current of fans — of Eltonites — who travel to see our idol. When you finally meet them, there is an immense joy in connecting with someone you already know so well, yet have never seen face to face. It is curious, but it is true. 

And as I walked up the steps toward the first of the concerts at Madison Square Garden, I felt deeply emotional thinking about how many more people I might have the chance to meet there as well. The setlist was well known, so there was no room for surprise additions that night. We already knew the band was tight, that Elton was in good form. The real anticipation was in the atmosphere that always surrounds him when he steps onto that mythical New York stage. It was in the staging, in the production, in the visual design — and I can say it truly hypnotized me.

I remember the lights going down. The intro beginning to play. The musicians walking out and taking their places. And above all, those first chords of “B-B-B-Bennie and the Jets.” Incredible. The arena exploded. The ovation for Elton was apotheotic and lasted throughout the entire concert. Every word, every gesture, every expression was celebrated. The show came close to perfection. There were many emotional moments, especially when the audience chanted and applauded each member of the band by name. And when Elton ascended and disappeared along the Yellow Brick Road, I was left speechless — satisfied, overwhelmed, emotional. I had done it. I had fulfilled my dream of seeing Elton in New York. I remember walking around outside the venue afterwards, passing by the trucks, the VIP area, just taking it all in. Then I slowly made my way back to the hotel, singing to myself in the street. I was in no hurry. I wanted to savor every second, replaying the concert in my mind. And all of this knowing it was not over. Because the next day was still to come. And that night, yes — I would be sitting in one of the very front rows, right in front of the stage.

And yes, that was the big day. I had a feeling something extraordinary was going to happen. I already had the experience of the night before; I knew how to move around the venue, and as I mentioned earlier, I had an excellent seat. I was able to speak with Kim Bullard and give him a few gifts I had brought from Barcelona. Every time I lifted my head from my seat, I would spot a VIP nearby — David Furnish, Bill Clinton — they were right there, within reach. I enjoyed wandering around the area, and thankfully I did, because I ran into many people I had known for years online but had never met in person: Wayne Martin and Marylin, my “brothers” who had come from Italy, and suddenly, right in front of me, my admired “Elton” Jim Turano.

It was incredible. With every passing second, as the clock moved forward, the emotion and the magnitude of the experience grew stronger. Then it was time for the ritual: to sit down and surrender to the show. Wearing my Elton T-shirt, bought at the venue’s souvenir stands, I was ready. Even knowing the setlist, that night felt different — even if, on paper, it was a twin of the previous evening. Elton was energetic, unstoppable. The band gave everything, as if it were the last concert of their lives. Every song in the setlist felt like a treasure, one more powerful than the next. The atmosphere kept building, the passion overflowing, and there I was — shouting, overwhelmed, my voice beginning to fail. I remember “Candle in the Wind,” Elton alone at the piano. I remember an endless “Levon,” an extraordinary “Rocket Man,” an emotional “Your Song.” During the final bows, Elton and David’s children came out to greet the audience — they were our children in that moment, and we were all moved to see them. And then came the moment to sing “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road” at the top of our lungs, while Elton crossed the stage with his piano, heading toward the point where he would rise and disappear beyond the screen, down the Yellow Brick Road.

And there — yes — I began to cry like a child. As if I would never see Elton again. The emotion overflowed, and all the tension I had carried inside finally broke free. I remained seated. I did not want to leave. I did not want to return to everyday life, to routine. I was at the summit, at the height of it all. I knew that any other concert I might see, in any other country or city, would never carry the same magic as what I had lived there. And yet, I lived it. And I relive it still. More than seven years have passed. I have seen Elton again since then. But none will ever equal the New York pair of nights.

I remember boarding the plane and replaying every single video I had recorded — at least from the first night, because on that final evening I never once thought about filming with my phone. When the plane landed and I unfastened my seatbelt, I felt the landing of the cloud I had been floating on. And thank goodness we live in order to relive moments like these — every time I proudly proclaim my Eltonism around the world. Because being an Eltonite is a feeling that goes far beyond the artist and the man who was born and raised in London and who one day became great in America and across the world, becoming the myth he is today. Time has passed since those concerts. But I still feel them on my skin as if it were today.