You’ve Been Face 2 Faced!

• Faced!

By the time the anthem to The Natural blasted from the hanging speaker stacks announcing the start of Billy Joel and Elton John Face 2 Face (aka the best concert event of the year), the anticipation in the air of the Rose Garden arena was as thick as a chocolate Cialis Metamucil milkshake. In all directions, gray haired boomers appeared to quiver with excitement—but that could have easily been some type of palsy. In other words, if you haven’t picked up on my subtle point, Elton John and Billy Joel fans are old. So are Elton John and Billy Joel.

But when they mounted their huge shiny black pianos, which had risen from below the stage, you couldn’t help think they’d aged quiet well. Sure, Joel had gone bald and gained some weight, and John had developed a fine set of jowls—which in no way diminished his Queenly mystique. Despite all that, you couldn’t help saying to yourself, “Wow, they look great.”

Then, suddenly, you realize how much talent is there on stage: One Brit with a string of hits spanning at least three decades, and one American with… Well, some good songs from the late seventies and early eighties, a supermodel ex-wife, and a popular jukebox musical on Broadway.

As they launched into their first half-set together, trading verses from each other’s songs, it was remarkable how good the two men sounded together. Then as they split, each to play a full solo set, it was even more remarkable how amazing they sounded alone.

Face 2 Face was essentially three concerts in one. A full face to face duet set, split between the beginning and end of the show, and two full solo sets—first John’s and then Joel’s—equaling an exhausting 3 hours of music.

Things ramped up to a quick Joel/John climax early as they moved from “Your Song,” to “Just the Way You Are,” to a dazzling rendition of “Don’t Let the Sun go Down on Me,” which saw the combined forces of both Joel’s and John’s bands rise from beneath the stage to blow the doors off the arena, surrounded in the glorious sunset blaze of an enormous full-stage LED display. The tears in my eyes were because I was blinded, not because I was weeping from the raw emotion of it. (And I’ll fight any SOB that says otherwise).

Of the two solo sets, Elton John’s was the most packed with great music. Anyone with a passing familiarity with his “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road” album would have been quite happy last night. Not only because the set began with “Funeral for a Friend,” but also because it was packed with cuts from that album, set to animated jumbotron images of artwork from the record sleeve.

Strangely, for a man with such a reputation for showmanship, John was fairly subdued, saying little more than five words to the crowd the entire night. Between each song he would stand up, walk the stage with his arms outstretched like a triumphant monarch, bow, and return to the piano for the next song. Occasionally he’d throw in a Hulk Hogan-esque “bring the noise” gesture.

More interesting was John’s band, which he never introduced. Most looked as if they’d just taken a break from a European porno flick. The wispy-haired blond guitarist played about six different guitars through the set, including one of those double neck guitars, of which he only used one neck.

If this had just been a one-hour Elton John concert, most would have gone home happy after singing the “na na na na na” in “Crocodile Rock.” It was a pleasure to hear the legend. He can’t hit the high notes anymore, but Bernie Taupin’s lyrics still sound wonderful on his deeper, singular voice.

In fact, though both men may have aged, their voices remain incredibly strong. Listening to Billy Joel’s set was like listening to “Glass Houses” on the living room hi-fi. The biggest difference, of course, being that the music was louder, and Joel chatted and joked between songs like some rascally lounge singer.

• Faced Again!

Joel’s set was far less packed with hits. But it was packed with weird antics. During “Still Rock n’ Roll to Me” he pranced around the stage and twirled his mic stand like some bizarre, balding, Elvis impersonator. He complained about his ex-wife. He joked about having a senior moment and shitting himself (seriously) before launching into “We Didn’t Start the Fire.” The way he swiveled and humped his bulk across the stage, it was easy to worry he might have a sudden heart attack-ack-ack-ack-ack-ack.

Unlike John’s, Joel’s piano rotated a full 360 degrees during some songs. It was as if he was compensating for having a shallower back catalog than John.

Never the less, his stage presence blew Elton John’s out of the water. He kept most of the flagging 50-year-olds awake enough to make it to the final duet set, which saw the two performers playing the shit out of “Candle in the Wind” and “Piano Man.” So not only did I have an opportunity to use the candle app on my phone, but I also had chance to have another good cry.

At the show’s conclusion—as the audience shuffled and groaned up the stairs and “Bennie and the Jets” began what would be a nightlong loop in my head—I was genuinely happy that no-one else at the Merc wanted these tickets. I assume someday, 30 years from now when Michael Stipe and that guy from Coldplay decide to tour together, there’ll be another scrappy free-press staff that will be too cool to accept press tickets. There will be one, though, who will go and complain about all the oldsters in their hover chairs. I’m sure I’ll be among them in the front row—crapping my space-age Depends in glee. What comes around goes around, after all.