At 20, Reginald Dwight was a nobody living with his mom—then he answered a newspaper ad, got an envelope full of poems from a farm boy, changed his name, and became the biggest star in the world.
Pinner, Middlesex, England. 1947.
Reginald Kenneth Dwight—”Reggie” to his family—is born into a working-class household. His father Stanley is a Royal Air Force officer: strict, emotionally cold, physically present but emotionally absent. His mother Sheila is sharp-tongued, ambitious, determined her son will escape their modest circumstances.
At age four, Reggie sits at the piano and plays a song he’s heard once. Perfectly. By ear. No sheet music. No training.
His mother recognizes genius. She enrolls him in piano lessons.
By age eleven, Reggie wins a scholarship to the Royal Academy of Music—one of the world’s most prestigious music schools. He studies Bach, Beethoven, Mozart. Classical technique. Proper form.
His teachers marvel at his technical brilliance. But Reggie’s heart isn’t in classical music. He wants to play rock and roll. Elvis. Little Richard. Jerry Lee Lewis. Music that moves people, that makes them feel alive.
His father hates it. Stanley Dwight wants his son to have a “proper” career—accountant, lawyer, anything respectable. Music is a hobby, not a profession. Rock and roll is beneath them.
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