Thirty or so years ago, a satin suited Elton John could be found with his hand slung around the bare hip of a youthful Cher.  And despite the fact that he still sports rounded glasses and sequined lapels, his music as of late has found itself a bit muted.

In his latest album with Leon Russell, “The Union,” John takes his seat behind a stuffy sounding church piano. The sound doesn’t work for him as it does for Russell, whose gritty voice is the closest we get to the soul that John once embodied.

Most of the piano sounds like a deflated version of “Candle in the Wind.”

What saves the album (other than Russell’s vocals) is that even though it is bad Elton John, it is still Elton John.

“Monkey Suit” offers a smaller glimmer of musical ambition, taking the album from a weak whisper to the stuff of a yawp.

Once the track finally comes around, it hits a pace that the whole album aches for.

“There is No Tomorrow” is one of the few tracks that works as it is. Something about the sadness in the vocals is almost worthy of an old railroad anthem.

Between the melodies there seems to be room for the sounds of hammers clamoring against cast iron rail spikes.

However, most songs want for something. They beg to be more than what they are, recycled tracks you will hear in your doctors florescent waiting room.