Elton John, by his own cheerful admission, is an anorak, a pop culture magpie. Early on in his hellzapoppin’ memoir, he waxes lyrical about two formative piano-playing influences: outrageous Little Richard and genial Winifred Atwell, who delighted Fifties audiences with her light classical and pub singalong stylings. His paradoxical persona in a nutshell.
Written with Guardian music critic Alexis Petridis, Me is packed with such details. It’s the brutally frank story of a shy, funny music nerd who became a megastar and who, at his lowest ebb, was a cocaine-addicted alcoholic sitting at home alone for days, masturbating, clad only in a vomit-caked dressing gown.
Unlike so many celebrity memoirs, it isn’t remotely self-serving. He’s always quick to admonish himself for bad behaviour and career blunders. The book’s riveting mid-section,…
