Arts & Entertainment // Music & Nightlife

REVIEW / It's a hairy situation, Elton John fans. Hang on to your humor.

The hair. Oh, the hair of it.

Elton John walks out onstage Saturday at the HP Pavilion in San Jose -- but wait a minute, what's that on his head? There's this rusty-colored swirl that runs backward away from his forehead and takes a sudden, unexpected turn skyward, sticking up like he slept on it overnight.

It looks so bad, it almost looks real.

So what, you ask, is wrong with a dowdy old queen trying to lay down some carpet over a bare floor? That John wears toupees is hardly news -- for years, he's been wearing rugs so bad, they look like hats -- but it speaks to the essence of what John does in show business.

Because if he would wear something so patently ridiculous as this red, punk rock hairpiece -- does he think he's fooling anybody? -- he would do anything. The man has no shame. But anybody who sat through "Lestat" already knows that.

Warming up for a two-week October run at Caesars Palace, Elton passed through town during the weekend on a brief swing through the West Coast before launching a world tour promoting his new album, "The Captain and the Kid," to be released Tuesday. The record is touted as the sequel to his last decent album, "Captain Fantastic and the Brown Dirt Cowboy," released 31 years ago.

In front of a giant Diamond Vision screen that flashed colorful abstractions, he sat at a grand piano, backed by a powerful, sleek, five-piece band -- drummer Nigel Olsson and guitarist Davey Johnstone still have their old jobs -- and went through his paces in a businesslike manner, plumbing his songbook for more than a couple of dozen numbers in the almost two-and-a half-hour show.

Of course, the audience endured a 35-minute stretch of six consecutive songs from the new album they haven't heard -- and even if it may be his best album since the original "Captain Fantastic," it's still not very good -- when three numbers would have done the job. He probably won't play even that many the next time through.

He wore a ringmaster's coat the size of an ecclesiastic garment with his name down one lapel and, enigmatically, the phrase "Stardust Kiss" down the other. Around his neck, he wore a jewel-encrusted cross. When he sat down, his rear end engulfed the piano bench.

He made the first four songs last forever, stretching out "Bennie and the Jets" with an endless, uninteresting piano solo beyond any redemption. By the end of the set, when he ran "Rocket Man" into the ground for nearly 10 minutes, he had beaten down the crowd with the ceaseless barrage of soupy ballads and midtempo rockers, which is as much an oxymoron as jumbo shrimp or military intelligence. And how does a grown man sing something as idiotic as "Crocodile Rock" and still feel good about himself?

He may be fulfilling his destiny as the Liberace of his generation -- and his is a Vegas-ready classic rock show, make no mistake -- but there was a time when he, at least, dabbled in irony. He knew how ridiculous he was and worked it, rather than trying to hide it under fashion designer jokes and prop wigs. He was like your drunk uncle at the Thanksgiving party, laughing too loud and telling stories he really shouldn't. Like bringing out "Legs" Larry Smith of the Bonzo Dog Band to tap dance under a shower of silver confetti while John sang the only happy song ever written about suicide, "I Think I'm Going to Kill Myself."

So here he is all those years later, sounding better than he has any right to sound, with a finely tuned production and supple, muscular band behind him, banging out these grandiose versions of his durable, utilitarian pop-rock songs that sound sort of like the Beatles but without the wit and charm. He looked a little foolish, but he always did. So what if his latest stuff is second-rate? That problem has plagued pop songwriters since Stephen Foster.

He just doesn't seem to get the joke anymore. Does he really expect us to take him seriously now that he's been knighted and plays Vegas? "Saturday Night's Alright (For Fighting)" is a long way from "Rhapsody in Blue."