Spending two years writing his autobiography, the 2023 bestseller Scattershot, and working on a forthcoming documentary, unleashed a creative wellspring in Bernie Taupin.
The result is his first solo album in almost 40 years and the first that Taupin, best known as Elton John’s writing partner, has ever written solely by himself. The Sea Has No Mercy, produced by Frank Liddell, comes out Friday (Oct. 23) on Vertigo Records/MCA Nashville.
“The inspiration of the memoir created something in me that started making me write things for myself by myself in the same vein. But at the same time, we started making this documentary, so it was like a trifecta. It was almost this whole idea of different ways of presenting myself without being completely self-involved — which, unfortunately, it probably sounds like,” Taupin says with a laugh.
“I wanted to visualize my past, my present and my possible future very specifically and the only way I could do that was to write these biographical songs,” Taupin, 76, continues, addressing the album’s very personal and reflective nature. “This was a completely 100% selfish endeavor. If other people had assisted me in writing them, they would not have had the cohesive nature that they have.”
The album includes guest vocals from Taupin’s good friend Brandi Carlile, who sings on “Come on California” — a song he originally thought to ask Joni Mitchell to perform on, but Taupin says he told his manager/wife, “I don’t have the balls to call Joni to ask her.”
Taupin will play the Grand Ole Opry for the first time on Nov. 7, backed by The Tennessee Stone Cutters, the musicians who accompany him on The Sea Has No Mercy. His appearance will mark his first public musical performance in nearly 30 years.
Below, Taupin talks about making the album, what John thinks of the set and why he can’t name a Taylor Swift song.
Why make this record now?
I’d spent two years writing my memoir, which was incredibly cathartic for me. It was almost like being psychoanalyzed and being on the couch in a psychiatrist’s office, but I was interviewing myself and trying to recall my life. I literally spent five hours a day on and off for two years writing that book, so it was kind of the blue touchpaper.
I’d never thought about doing another record in my life after making my last record, which was probably with [his country-rock band] Farm Dogs in ’98. I wanted there to be a great lapse of time, not because I didn’t care about the records I’ve made in the past, but nothing in the past really meant as much to me as the possibility of doing what I could do later in life. I wanted people to forget all about what I’d done in the past record-wise — [though] not what I’d done musically or songwriting-wise with [Elton]– so, once I’d written this book, I talked to Frank. I’d written a lot of songs myself for the first time in my life.
Why did you pick Frank Liddell — who is best known for producing his wife, Lee Ann Womack — as well as artists like Miranda Lambert and Parker McCollum, to produce?
I sat down at an Indian restaurant in New York with Frank, who is one of my top friends in the world and the only person that I knew could transcribe my thoughts into the right kind of record. I gave him an envelope full of the lyrics to the songs that I’d basically already written in my head, and I said, “This is what I want to say … I said if we make this record, I want it to be genre-extinct. I want it to be completely non-rock and roll, non-pop, non-country.”
I don’t want people to even be able to understand what this record is, other than a concoction of all those people [who are] some of the greatest proponents of what I adhere to in music, people like Leonard Cohen and slightly more contemporary Dylan — not old Dylan — Tom Waits, John Prine. I wanted it to be ethereal without it being New Age. I wanted it to be completely atmospheric.
You recorded it in Frank’s house with his daughter Annalise engineering and mixing, and with musicians he brought in. Lee Ann even joined in, as did your daughter, Georgey, who appears on the closing track, “One Hundred Ways,” which is a song about your own mortality and the closing line, “In every life, there’s a clock that has to stop.” It was really a family affair and safe space.
The first day that we started, Lee Ann came down. She said to Frank, “OK, this is going to be something really special.” I know Lee Ann. She is caustic. She knows what she likes and she doesn’t suffer any kind of bulls–t, or doesn’t lie. So, when she gave the tip of the hat and the nod to what we were doing, that was that was really a rocket in my pocket.
I don’t think I could have made this record in a contemporary studio. It had to be made in this family environment. Everybody embraced and understood what I had to say. Everything on this record is a metaphor for my life, from things like “Ghosts of Greater Men” to “Old Church Road,” where I grew up in the early ’60s. But I wanted to not just talk about the frailties and the pluses of the past, but the things that have worked for me in the present and then mortality and not being afraid of passing on.
Were you scared about revealing this much about yourself?
I think in the past I’ve always revealed sides of myself, but I think they’ve been probably shadowed and hidden into metaphor sometime. Also, I’m not going to be completely engulfed in my own world when I’m writing for somebody like Elton. I have to think about the way that he feels about things, the way he sees life, so I’ve always tried to be on both sides of the fence.
This record is 100% me being completely honest and straightforward, starting with a song like “Fisherman.” I said to Frank, “I want this song to be the first song on the album because I don’t want to be afraid.” I wanted it to be like Leonard Cohen’s “Bird on a Wire,” [which] is a very simple song, but it’s such an intricate song about faith and feeling and I wanted that to be absolutely omnipresent at the beginning of the album because I have great faith and I’m not afraid of it.
Elton has famously said that he never spends more than 30 minutes working on the music from your lyrics, and if it doesn’t come to him within that time, he moves on. Did you spend more than 30 minutes working on the music for each song?
Oh yeah. [Laughs.] I revisited all of these songs time and time again, especially melodically. It was so much fun.
We just lost Dolly Parton. Did you spend any time with her?
The only time I ever met Dolly of course she was absolutely delightful. I was on a plane going to New York from Nashville [in 2001]. She was going to be inducted in the Songwriters Hall of Fame. [Taupin was inducted in 1992]. So, it’s quite a long time ago, I introduced myself because I always have to introduce myself. Nobody recognizes me, so it’s my lot in life. She was adorable, and we talked for a while and that was it.
You have to introduce yourself because you intentionally wanted it that way, though. You deliberately stayed in the shadow. Elton was the front guy. It feels like there’s been something that shifted in you since the autobiography came out, where you feel much more comfortable being in the forefront.
I have to give all credit to my wife for that, because she basically brought me back from the dead and saved my life and put me back on the map and made everything I do more credible. I owe everything to her on that. I’d probably still be buried in the ground, not wanting to do anything.
But beside that, I’ve never been wanting for any kind of high praise or recognition. Back in the early days, Elton was the most generous partner you could possibly want to have. Whenever he talked about any kind of projects, recording-wise or anything, he would always say, “we.” It was never “me.” Back in those early days I was all over the album covers … I got some recognition back there.
But then I sort of faded to black, which I was happy to do. And it’s so funny how everybody knows me, but they don’t know my face. I saw Robert Plant the other night [at Americanafest]. He had said to somebody, “Is Bernie Taupin here? I want to say hi,” because we hadn’t seen each other for a long time. So, I came backstage and I went around to the side where he is and you could see him go, “OK, I’ve no idea who this guy is.” But the minute I said, “Hey, Robert, it’s Bernie Taupin,” he’s like, “Oh!”
Who always recognizes me is Paul McCartney. He always for some reason remembers my face.
Speaking of Beatles, your album is coming out on MCA Nashville label and Ringo’s most recent album came out on MCA Nashville. Have you compared notes?
Ringo and I go back a long way. I love the fact that he’s making the kind of records he really wants to make right now, and he’s working with T Bone [Burnett], who obviously I know and have worked with. So, it’s like a big family. We’ve always had a relationship, but I haven’t seen him in quite some time. We have the same kind of joy for country music and Americana.
Why is your connection to Nashville so strong?
I grew up on narrative country music. Narrative country music meant more to me than anything else. All my contemporaries will say either they heard Elvis and everything changed and they picked up a guitar, or they heard The Beatles and they picked up a guitar.
When I grew up, there was crappy country music on the BBC in the late ‘50s and early ‘60s, but I was just lucky to be able to connect with American servicemen that turned me on to real country music, like the Louvin Brothers and Lefty Frizzell, Johnny Horton, Marty Robbins. These guys were telling stories, so they didn’t make me want to pick up a guitar; they made me want to pick up a pen and write the same kind of things.
But for so long, I lived in the closet because country music wasn’t hip when I went to London. The Band came along with Music From Big Pink and banged down the doors and I’m out of the closet. I’m writing about the s–t I want to write, and hence [Elton John’s 1970 western-themed album] Tumbleweed Connection and it all rolled forward from there.
Would you ever write with someone like Jason Isbell, Sturgill Simpson or Tyler Childers?
Why do they need me? They don’t need me. They’re writing the best songs they can possibly do.
You and Elton are adamant about not selling your catalog. What would make you say yes?
I don’t think there’s anything right now that could make me say yes. I got in trouble the other day for saying I don’t need the money — which doesn’t mean that I’ve got a lot of money, it just means I live very frugally. So, what am I going to do with it? I know the fact that so many people who have sold their catalogs aren’t happy about it now.
Do you have a favorite lyric that you’ve written?
To give you one is impossible. It’s funny, I woke up this morning and there was a lyric in my head — and I’m not saying it’s my best — “I feel like a bullet in the gun of Robert Ford/ I’m low as a paid assassin is/ You know I’m cold as a hired sword” [from 1975’s Rock of the Westies’ “I Feel Like a Bullet (In the Gun of Robert Ford)”]. And I went, “You know what? That’s a pretty good lyric.” Is it the best I ever wrote? No. I think some of the best lyrics I’ve ever written are on this album.
Has Elton heard the album?
Oh yeah. His first comment was, “This was the record you needed to make.”
He understands what I want to do. Musically, what we listen to and the way we conduct our lives is very, very different. He has great pop sensibilities. You only have to watch his podcast and what he does. I never know anybody who’s got on it, but that’s not unusual. I’m the only person in the world who couldn’t name you a Taylor Swift song, but that doesn’t mean anything because I don’t listen to the radio. I will respect and support everybody in the music business, even if I don’t listen to it or not.
What’s next?
I’ve probably written nine more songs since I finished making [this] record, and I am just having the time of my life writing. I think I’ve blown it out of the water as far as a personal revelation on this record. Going forward, I’m going to go back to storytelling. You know how obsessive I am about the Civil War. I’ve written this ghost story that somebody told me called “Army of Bones.” The thing with me is you have to understand I’m always driving, driving, driving forward. I am so excited about making more music.
I’m happy to be a little bit selfish in my old age and be able to present my life in the way that I want it to be viewed and listened to before I leave this mortal coil… I got a lot more to say and do, but I’m having the time of my life right now. I love my life.
