Till Dawn: Top 10 Album Kutz

In the 38 years since Marc Bolan was killed in a car accident his influence has only grown wider. The glam rock stomp and style he perfected is everywhere. Whether it's via his own songs, which are used in movies and commercials several times a year, or in the sounds of new bands. There was even a pronounced T.Rex influence on the new Wilco album, Star Wars. In Rolling Stone, Jeff Tweedy owned it: "Some of those sounds reminded me of glam rock and T. Rex and things like that, which I love. I really adore that stuff, but I've never been androgynous enough to pull it off, you know, stylistically."

Even with all the exposure, Marc Bolan and T.Rex are known mainly as singles artists, especially in this country where you could easier get bipartisan collaboration in Washington than get classic rock radio to play anything other than Jeepster and Get It On. But over the course of the T.Rex phase of his career, the quality stuff was not confined to the jukebox. 

Here then is a list of some of my favorite album cuts from 1970-77. Hopefully you will be intrigued enough to further investigate the entire oeuvre of the man David Bowie called The Prettiest Star.

1. Diamond Meadows (T.Rex, 1970) - Starting with a little guitar noodle, this quickly evolves into a blissful miniature, with Tony Visconti's delightful strings supporting guitar, bass, and Bolan's sweet vocals. Let's do it like we're friends...

2. Rip Off (Electric Warrior, 1970) - Even elves get angry. The last track on Bolan's mega-breakthrough takes potshots at the 60's in surprisingly trenchant fashion: "Dancin' in the nude, feelin' such a dude, it's a rip off." But this is no chaotic catharsis - while the band works up a real head of steam, there's also sax, strings, suspended chords, and an elegiac ending. He knew it was over.

3. Rock On (The Slider, 1972) - This tight-as-hell little wonder could easily have been a single. Visconti's production couldn't be more perfect, with layers of keyboards underpinning Bolan's nasty riff, and signature Kaylan-Vollman backing vocals behind Marc's tough vocal. Bolan's bite-size guitar solo is a marvel. Rock on!

4. Left Hand Luke (Tanx, 1973) - A soul and gospel-drenched mini-epic to end what many think is the last classic T.Rex album. The way Bolan interacts with the backing singers is gorgeous and prefigures some of the things Bowie did on Young Americans. Also, he used the word "myxomatosis" (it's an "animal disease," apparently) 30 years before the Radiohead song.

5. Change (Zinc Alloy and the Hidden Riders of Tomorrow, 1974) - In Dandy In The Underworld, Bolan sang "change is a monster and changing is hard," but the mood is even darker on this brooding song: "Change is coming, you better run." Through the cocaine and brandy haze, a moment of quiet clarity.

6. The Avengers (Superbad) (Zinc Alloy and the Hidden Riders of Tomorrow, 1974) Bolan fell even further in love with funk in 74, and with soul singer Gloria Jones, whose outrageous vocals outdo Kaylan and Vollman. The album, Bolan's last with Visconti, is a bit cluttered, but it all comes together on this sly number.

7. Till Dawn (Bolan's Zip Gun, 1975) - This is really the one that got away. Marc updates 1950's milkshake romance to extravagant lengths. A swoon in song form that should have been a single. There are many alternate takes and they're all fantastic. 

8. Theme For A Dragon (Futuristic Dragon, 1976) - Marc should have been doing soundtracks but his devotion to pop-song form kept things concise. Shredding guitars, sweeping strings, audience noise, and a touch of disco make this a blast from start to finish in just over two minutes.

9. Casual Agent (Futuristic Dragon, 1976) - Frothy, fun, and still funky. It's addictive.

10. Hang-Ups (Dandy In The Underworld, 1977) Bolan gets earthy on this nifty shuffle from his last album. "Get off my back and leave me/Aw, shit, let's get it on," goes one self-reflexive lyric, while the chorus "I'm such a contradiction, I'm just hung-up," makes me think Bolan was becoming more self-aware and understanding his place in what came to be known as the "Me Decade." Somehow, I think he would have sorted out the 80's too.

Celebrate Bolan

Marc Bolan was, if anything, defined by his contradictions as both a musician and a man. A model who became a dyed-in-the-hemp hippie. One of rock's greatest creators of gleaming seven-inch slabs of three minute perfection, who often extended the songs to great length in concert with long guitar solos and Dionysian percussion jams. A generous man to his fans whose ego often destroyed close relationships when he needed them the most.

The ups and downs of the Marc Bolan story are the stuff of rock and roll legend. From Tyrannosaurus Rex and the underground, to the Top Of The Pops and T.Rexstasy, then straight down to a morass of drugs, drink, and a sometimes quixotic quest for continued chart success. Naturally, according to the strictures of storytelling, there would have to be a return to form, which Marc accomplished in 1977, partially by aligning himself with the burgeoning British punk scene. He connected with bands like The Damned and The Sex Pistols based more on his acknowledgment of the roots of rock and roll in their sound, than to any real understanding of their feelings of nihilism and disenfranchisement. Never mind - the connection and mutual respect between Bolan and the punks was genuine and good for the careers of all involved.

While Marc was certainly capable of pandering, he didn't punk up his sound on his last album, Dandy In The Underworld, which was released while he was touring England with The Damned as the opening act. He just wrote some good songs, especially the towering title track, I Love To Boogie, and The Soul Of My Suit. While the album was well-received by critics, it didn't exactly set the charts alight.

For his next single, he decided to release Celebrate Summer and while still not a punk song, there were definitely nods to his new buddies in the joyful tune. With a briskly chugging beat and a melody straight out of 1957, the track was a simple invitation to engage in the behavior promised by the title. Unless you're a complete curmudgeon, it's hard not to smile at catchphrases like "Summer is heaven in 77," and "Summer's not a bummer, it's a stunner, and it's now!" He also rhymes dance, romance and chance, in case you're wondering. As for the nods to the musical revolution of 1977, in one lyric, he bemusedly warns "Hey little punk, forget all that junk," - likely the message to Rat Scabies, et al, was "Lighten up!" - and for the guitar solo Bolan abandons his usual liquid style for a five second blast of noise. Perhaps he was borrowing from Captain Sensible or he could have been harking back to a decade prior when, as a member of John's Children, he often let loose barrages of atonality from a Gibson SG.

Celebrate Summer, a fairly simple song and no great chart hit, proved to be Bolan's last single: on September 16th, 1977, barely a month after its release, he died in a tragic car accident. The end of summer is always bittersweet and, with Bolan's death, Celebrate Summer became the perfect soundtrack for that time of the year. So take a little chance on a quick romance and dance to Celebrate Summer - in memory of Marc and summer itself - as soon as possible.



This piece originally appeared in issue two of #flatoutfucked, a black & white photocopied fanzine published by the estimable Michael James Hall, proprietor of Marketstall Records, and a fine musician himself.

Marc Bolan

September 30th, 2012, was Marc Bolan's birthday; he would have been 65. 

Like most Americans, I was under the impression that Marc Bolan was responsible for only two great songs: Get It On (Bang A Gong) and Jeepster. But I had hints along the way that more was going on: Bauhaus covering Telegram Sam and The Bongos covering Mambo Sun, for example. And there was that strange and wonderful record I found in my brother's room called A Beard Of Stars, featuring Bolan's earlier incarnation, Tyrannosaurus Rex. When I asked him about it, he told me it was .99 cents in the remainder bin so he picked it up, but he didn't listen to it much. I dug the Hendrixian guitar and the way it contrasted with the airy-fairy lyrics and wacky vocals. 

My brother also had Electric Warrior, the album with the two American hits, and it turned out to be terrific. The final song Rip Off was a staggeringly concise indictment of the curdled end of the 60's: "Rockin' in the nude, feelin' such a dude, it's a rip off!" Clearly the guy had unexplored depths, but I didn't go much further at the time. I found a single with the two big songs and was satisfied with that for a while. In any case, much of his work was out of print.

The CD era changed everything and I took note when  the BMG club offered T.Rex's Greatest Hits A's & B's in their catalog. "They had more hits?" I thought as I copied the number on the little card and mailed it off. Indeed - I soon learned about Trextasy and the massive success he and the band had in Britain in the early 70's, during which time he was anointed by none other than Ringo Starr, who directed a film about him.

The singles disc was a revelation. He had a formula, some of the time, but what a great sound. (I had a friend who once said, "Bo Diddley only wrote one song, but it was a good song.") Bold, yet charmingly tossed off riffs, glistening melodic guitar solos, a sizzling rhythm section, gorgeous strings, and those vocals - alternately fey, masculine, sexy and childlike, and sometimes all those things at once. I was lucky to get into Bolan and T.Rex just when a series of beautiful deluxe reissues were coming out - more revelations. Even when the hits slowed down, he was still making fascinating music and, while there were certainly misfires, more often than not the music was great. The home demos proved that his songs were solid as hell and that no one rocked harder with just an out of tune acoustic guitar for accompaniment.

When my son was being treated for cancer, I was grateful to have a ton of Bolan on my iPod. He lifted my spirits, and my connection to him grew deeper. I gained access to his own sadness, and felt I understood how it motivated him to meet it head on, with shouted backing vocals, manic bongos, and a beat to drive your lizard leather boot heel right through the floorboards. Bolan got me through a lot of tough times, something I discussed on WNYC's Soundcheck in 2005.

About those boots - his outrageous attire and the whole glam rock element is certainly part of his appeal, but tended to pigeonhole him. So I take it with a grain of salt - fun, but far from the whole story. When glam faded he did a little time in the wilderness. Two years before Bowie's Young Americans, the world wasn't ready for his soulful new direction, nor his relationship with the extravagant singer Gloria Jones (the original singer of Tainted Love in 1965), who inspired it.

But in 1977, the year of his death, he was resurgent. He delivered two great singles, Dandy In The Underworld and Celebrate Summer, and a decent album. Lionized by the early punk bands, he proved to be a great spotter of new talent, writing excellent record reviews and including up-and-coming bands on his TV show, simply called MARC. That show was also the site of one of the most frustrating and tantalizing performances of the 70's, when he and his old friend and rival David Bowie collaborated on a song. It started off so well, a sleek boogie that really is exactly halfway between their styles. About a minute into the song, Bolan slipped off the stage, ruining the take. Because Bowie had taken so long perfecting his performance of "Heroes" earlier in the show, the union workers on the crew wouldn't tolerate spending any more time on it. Like Bolan's career, the song was left unfinished when he died in a car accident nine days later. He was two weeks from his 30th birthday.

Fortunately, his reputation has stabilized after those years of out-of-print ignominy. Each year brings more movies and TV shows that use Bolan's music and he is recognized for being one of the most influential artists in rock history. While he remains out of the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, he'll always be in my personal pantheon of the greats. [Update: The classic line up of T. Rex, including Marc Bolan, Mickey Finn, Steve Currie, and Bill Legend, was inducted into the RRHOF in 2020.]

Tony Visconti, who produced much of Bolan's work (and a good bit of Bowie's) called him the most charismatic performer he ever worked with:

A great song that should have been a single:

Bowie & Bolan on MARC:

A bit of mythologized autobiography:

You may also enjoy: 
Till Dawn: Marc Bolan's Top 10 Album Kutz
Mysteries Of The Agora

Are You Receiving?

Why do you like this? That was...interesting. That sounds weird! 


Having gotten those responses (and many others) to some of the music I've played for people, I thought it would be worth looking into the question of why I like what I like. When All Songs Considered asked a similar question on their blog, I posted a longwinded answer from which this adapted.


Well, there is the part of music that is a simulacrum of the in uturo experience, which is something every human from Hitler to Gandhi has in common. The rhythm of the heartbeat, the music of voices from without - these are the building blocks that compelled people to start making music 10,000+ years ago. It is said (by Francis Bebey in his fantastic book African Music: A People's Art, for one) that all of the first instruments were created in an attempt to imitate the human voice and other sounds made by the body. This leads to another basic part of music: communication. The griot tradition is very old and represents music's origins as a way to tell stories, spread news and recount history.

This is all just a grandiose way of saying that music is something that helps us feel connected to other people and that we are not alone.


Now, as to why a particular individual gravitates toward particular music...that must be due to the sum total of their experiences, starting with that time in uturo. I do think that people who are exposed to a broad range of art and culture of all kinds will probably be attracted to a broader range of music. My children (9 and 11) have heard everything from Mozart to Metallica, Stravinsky to Sleigh Bells, Beatles to Bolan, Boulez to Belafonte, Bon Iver, Black Uhuru, etc., etc, ad infinitum. Not to mention great art of all media. Is it just coincidence that they show no affinity for homogenized stuff like the Jonas Brothers and Miley Cyrus, which is aggressively marketed to them? I don't think so.

For me, I am attracted to a huge variety of music and usually left cold by mainstream artists like U2 or Springsteen or Beyonce. I want to find myself in the music, not be told what to feel or be confronted with icy perfection (unless it is mated to sardonic lyrics as in the sui generis sounds of Steely Dan). Music gives me energy and comfort, uplift and sorrow, intellectual stimulation, etc. and I seek out the music that does these things the best - to my ears.


None of the above explains why I strongly dislike Conor Oberst and M. Ward and find Andrew Bird tiresome after a few songs. These are all things critics I respect bring to my attention but that just don't work for me. Why do I like Shearwater but run screaming from Okkerville River? It can all be a bit of a mystery.


I remember reading the first reviews of Metal Box by Public Image Ltd., describing it as weird and nearly unlistenable. When I put it on, it just sounded right. Somehow my experiences from 1964 - 1979 just made that music fit with who I was. I still love that record.

Another example is Grace Jones. I am devoted to her music - the quirky voice, the fantastic Sly and Robbie rhythms, the outre subject matter. But friend of mine just says "She sounds weird," and shudders when I put it on. And when she talks about Johnny Mathis, it's my turn to shudder!


I also think it is quite typical for someone in their 40's as I am to slow down in their quest for new sounds and musical experiences. But I am continually on the hunt and even find myself going back to music that I've previously dismissed to see if my opinion has changed. I just don't want to miss out. Why do I feel to urge to evangelically spread the word about new discoveries when others are simply waiting for the next raft of Grammy winners to help them decide what to buy?


What about you? Are you satisfied with what the mainstream (such as it is in these fragmented times) delivers to you? How big is your musical universe and what do you think made it that way?


Next time: How I got crazy about music, Part 1.

Mysteries Of The Agora

The arithmetic of four walls and a stage usually adds up to just another venue. But sometimes, through a dark alchemy, the result is a place where rock legends are made time and time again. CBGB's, The Fillmore East, The Cavern Club, Winterland - these are all in the common vernacular. I would like to nominate The Agora in Cleveland to join that pantheon of hallowed halls. And for one reason only: every live show I have heard recorded there is an example of balls-to-the-wall, stand up out of your desk chair, exercise the hairs on the back of your neck pure rock and roll.


Exhibit A in this rogues gallery of swashbuckling live rock: T.Rex. Included with as a bonus disc with Live 1977 is a short concert from 1974 recorded at the Agora. Things are pretty chaotic from the start as Bolan coolly deals with technical issues, overcoming obstacles with sheer desire. The show really takes off during a grinding version of the slow jam Token Of My Love, which finds Bolan's guitar spraying an exotic elixir of sweat, cocaine and Cognac. The final cut is a deranged nine-minute take on Zip Gun Boogie, Bolan wielding the pile-driver riff like a whip, shouting "Again!" before each repetition. This take on Get It On is from that show - and not featured on the CD.


Exhibit B? Merely the finest unreleased live recording of the punk/new wave era: Elvis Costello's Angry Young Sod, which I knew as one half of the double album bootleg 50,000,000 Fans Can't Be Wrong and listened to obsessively throughout high school. This adrenalized show finds EC and the Attractions blasting through much of My Aim Is True and This Year's Model, along with attendant singles, with malevolent glee. Pete Thomas commits random acts of violence on drums and Bruce Thomas constantly leads the group to the brink by climbing high on the fretboard of his bass and then scrambling back down just as things nearly fall apart. Elvis is in great voice and contributes his most convincing guitar solo (maybe ever) on Blame It On Cain. The show gathers a frightening head of steam and explodes in the evil apotheosis of Lipstick Vogue, followed by the brutal stomp of Watching The Detectives, which first comes as a relief then holds a razor to your throat. Mystery Dance closes the show as a pure celebration of frustrated carnality. I imagine sweat dripping from the walls, even though Cleveland was stacked in snow that December night in 1977. Take a look around - you can find this show and you will wonder how you lived without it.


Exhibit C you can hear for free from one of America's national treasures, Wolfgang's Vault. Ian Hunter and Mick Ronson rolled their show into Cleveland in 1979 and proceeded to blow the roof off. This was four years after Ian had left Mott The Hoople and he was on the road behind You're Never Alone With A Schizophrenic, his fourth solo album. Ronson starts the show with blazing lasers on F.B.I. before the band rolls into the classic Once Bitten Twice Shy. This is where the show brings that Agora magic: about halfway through,  the nine-piece band just explodes into another gear and drives the audience into a frenzy that barely lets up for the rest of the hour. Check it out - now.


I have no idea what it was (or is) about the Agora that drove these shows to such pinnacles of rock and roll perfection. However, if I hear of a concert by a band I like that was recorded there, I will not rest until I hear it. Got any clues? Let me know.


In two (OK, maybe three) weeks: The origins of my musical madness.