Rock& Folk, # 173, june 1981

REX

And what if Marc Bolan was anything else other than a puppet in pink satin dress? And what if T. Rex were more than a cute music box which was broken when it ceased charming children?

"Neither Dylan nor Lennon are better than me, and they know it. They have made their mind up about me. I'm different, like they are. I always knew I was different, from the moment I was born. "(Marc Bolan, 1971)

"Before, I admired Keith Emerson. Now Marc Bolan is the one for me. Keith is an attractive pop star, while Marc has everything. First, his curly hair. The way he moves, it drives me mad. The curls sticking to his forehead with sweat, it's so sexy. "(a 15-year-old fan at the exit of a T.Rex concert in Birmingham, June 1972)

VISION

Throughout his life, Marc Bolan revolved around the average age of thirteen. Even at the end of his career - puffy, his mask collapsed, the man himself seemed forever remained frozen in his first, somehow withered and absurdly intact adolescence. Indifference, global triumph, and miserable decline slipped on his smooth, open and confident face, on which no wrinkle ever came and disturbed his blissful and peaceful self-confidence. Maturity and its devil angel, cynicism, never touched this unlikely pop star. Impervious to anything that did not participate in his intimate fantasies, so was Marc Bolan.

Suddenly snatched from the affection of his people? Four years before being killed in a car accident near London (it was in September 1977), he had already started to vanish from everyone’s affection, even from everyone’s curiosity. He was not finished, but simply his time was over. Today everyone, hand on heart, competes in  grateful testimonials to the contribution of T. Rex to rock’n’roll in its darkest years. "I was dancing the jerk to "Get It On", under the candlelight, in Perros-Guirec...". "Still there was Bolan.  He was important, he released a lot of singles",  we do hear here and there. It is likely however that foundations for memories, so vivid in our regions, wouldn’t gather much if they collected for Marc Bolan. In opposite of his public persona, the real Marc Bolan never interested many people. For those who were fervent at that time - let us say loud and clear, this was not my case - T. Rex’s existence was narrowly circumscribed between their record sleeves and radio. Outside of that, they certainly did not enter rocknroll mythology.

Rather, I think I remember that T. Rex was strongly rooted in the prosaic ground of high school students rock then; of which « Crèdence », « Slaide » et « Dipe Perpeule » (sic) were the most prominent representatives back then. One more evidence of that is that "Electric Warrior" was the only "pop music" LPs, along with "Meddle",  that the Orsay Prisunic (sort of Parisian Harrods) saleswoman seemed to tolerate, if my memory serves me correctly.

"I'm not Tarzan. I'd rather be Flash Gordon, I’d rather be Silver Surfer, actually ... rather than a prehistoric man." From a young age, Marc Bolan wondered who he would like to be. Mark Feld sounded like a prehistoric man's name. After a short time under the dubious nickname of Toby Tyler, Feld became Bowland then Bolan around the age of eighteen. This was in 1965. Instead of arriving, as one might expect, as a novice and naive on the market, Bolan, with the fanatical determination that characterized him, was determined to become a star as important as Bob Dylan.  Indeed, he had already developed the essential point of his theme.  In the early 60s, in addition to regularly helping his mother run her fruit and vegetable stalls every Saturday in Soho, Bolan also posed as a model. Despite the issue of his size (critics never ceased, especially when he was on top of the wave, in treating him as "the hysterical dwarf"),  Bolan was a local star, always "dressed to kill". Already at fifteen, a teen fashion magazine like "Fabulous"published a photo of this interesting young man. Reading the Life of Beau Brummell had profoundly touched the young Mark Feld. In addition to gravitating around the Soho stages, which then were topped by Adam Faith, Billy Fury and other Cliffs, our man was seriously hooked on reading. Bolan read many science fiction novels (especially Bradbury), poetry quite obviously (Blake for 95%) and, above all, Tolkien in depth. Tolkien, however, with or without Bolan, has always been the toughest literary influence among Anglo-Saxon hippies. And the day Bolan finally succeeded becoming a star, of which he had always been firmly convinced, he eagerly sought two consecrations: "I do not know if Ray Bradbury has heard of me, or Bob Dylan, but I'm sure that they would appreciate my music if they  listened to it one day." Needless to say, he failed on both counts; but nevertheless his success covered hitherto wide terra incognita. The T. Rex audience was musically, culturally, virgin. Otherwise, it did not work.

The only frankly noticeable activity of Marc Bolan in the rock scene, from 1960 to 1970, was carrying Eddie Cochran’s guitar one night when Eddie played a trendy club in Soho, the 2 I’s Coffee Bar. Do you really want to learn that after buying his first guitar at a banal age, he broke the first E string after a few weeks and, hardly moved by this, he calmly decided to spray the guitar’s body with gloss and hanged the device above his bed? That he was an ephemeral part of a skiffle band known as Susie And The Hoola Hoops? Or that a mysterious Toby Tyler sent demos of "Gloria" and "Blowin’ ln The Wind " to Decca in 1964? That on the day in 1965 when Mark Feld,  now Marc Bolan, promoted his first single "The Wizard" on "Ready Steady Go", the accompanying band started playing late and on a wrong key? Bolan later told of this incident and revealed that he then absolutely did not know  "how to sing" and he promised himself therefore "to really work and become a musician." More revealing perhaps is his meeting with Simon Napier-Bell, then the manager of the Yardbirds, at Decca’s offices in 1967. In business with Kit Lambert and Chris Stamp, managers of the Who and owners of their Track label that they planned to expand quickly, Simon Napier-Bell hoped to make a hit by associating Bolan with a band, John's Children. The band’s business angels assured them that they only lacked a Townshend to become the next “Who”. This Townshend was Bolan. The association quickly turned brief, despite a minor hit, "Desdemona" in May 1967. “Desdemona”’s fame is also due to the song’s banishment by the BBC because of the controversial verse: "Lift up your skirt and fly." Yet John's Children never really took off - and Bolan went with empty pockets, but with conviction intact.

A bit later, from the ashes of a quickly aborted psychedelic band, Tyrannosaurus Rex was born. Meanwhile, Bolan had a vision. Lying in bed, Bolan had a clear view of a Tyrannosaurus picture, hung on the opposite wall. His wife apparently was there to attest: the Tyrannosaurus had decided to do some exercise and moved.

"I was scared, but I knew it was me who did make him move; it was my imagination that had brought him to life. I also realized later that if had I not turned away, he would have destroyed me. The Tyrannosaurus would have swallowed me and there would have been blood on the bed. I felt it, and June [his wife] felt it, too.  Since then, I feel strong. I am sure that nothing can destroy me."

photo © Interpress  

It certainly needed the strength of force of an irrational mind to spend three years writing monotonous songs about dwarves, elves, and wizardsand other annoying characters, while sitting cross-legged in the middle of indulgent hippies; accompanied by a fanatical freak who played bongos and shook his hair all the way. Incidentally, Steve Peregrine Took (yes, he too had read "The Lord of the Rings") was the prototype of a now vanished race: the  'crazy drummers', who brought their devices to every concert, sat in a corner and banged  - even during the concert - until the lights were finally turned off. Tyrannosaurus Rex was the absolute star band within the London underground microcosm. The contradiction was total. For Bolan, it was a solution for lack of anything better. Two microphones, no expensive hardware to install, no truck to rent; that was it. Without any resources, tired of hassle, Bolan had temporarily resigned himself: better play right away, now - later we'll see. In the audience, it was ecstasy.  “This is a band that take risks. These, at least, do not care about business/money.” And, indeed, their music was not commercial, rusty chants, , mythological poetry of a naive and flat pedantry, stark instrumentation. One had to have an iron will and a dose of holy abnegation - that everyone could not reasonably have - to get hooked. But those were precisely the somewhat accidental limits that commanded the fervent cult that arose around Tyrannosaurus Rex. The same enthusiast fans unanimously turned from Bolan and threw him away, with anathema, when they finally understood what he had searching for from the beginning - when he finally charted.

Meanwhile, significant events had occurred. David Jones, who had now changed his name to Bowie not to be confused with Davy Jones, the now late lead singer of the Monkees, started breaking into fame.  This was after earning for a time five pounds per evening for a pantomime, helping the audience wait for Tyrannosaurus Rex. The turn in Bowie’s career made Bolan twice. Anyway, Marc Bolan was still skeptical about the real value of Bowie, whom, he believed, was manipulated a great deal.

 That was definitely not the case with Bolan himself.  He was busy manipulating his own personality from the age of four. Subconsciously, Bolan probably thought, "Why him and not me?"  By the end of 1969, Tyrannosaurus Rex was barely recovering from a disastrous tour in the USA. Steve Took, who had become a mad hippie, had totally made it impossible for Bolan to continue with him. "He wanted to put fire to the cities and to drop LSD in the water pipes."  Exit Steve Took, tragic "acid casualty" who died only six months ago. 

 The arrival of the flashier Mickey Finn, who played standing behind huge congas in full top hat, happened simultaneously with electrifying of their music and the abrupt, violent death of the Tyrannosaurus beast. In some way, Bolan’s frustrated  commercial sense went free and was unleashed. "Hot Love" by T. Rex is definitely more catchy than "My People Were Fair And Had Sky ln Their Hair, But Now They're Content To Wear Stars on Their Brows "(Regal Zonophone SLRZ 2 1003) by Tyrannosaurus Rex.

 THE DREAM

With "Ride A White Swan", by the end of 1970, Bolan finally came up for air, freed from his underground cave.   With an insane lucidity - talking downright premonition - Bolan understands that there’s no second chance. And the only regret he has then is not going fast enough. Just after the release of the album "T. Rex", Bolan recruits a solid rhythm section. But still he’s worrying.  "I wish the album was heavier," he explained to a reporter in ultimate remorse. Bolan had understood perfectly what his audience wanted, and he was aiming to give them that. He had understood how to target them. It is from that point that Bolan’s teenage and prepubescent magic started running for good.

 T.Rex heavy boogie, uniform and vaguely Phil Spectorish, was filled with harmless fury, naïve mystery, and moved forward without rhyme or reason. The songs, all cut on the same pattern - "Bebop a Loola" in every conceivable way – turned round and round and never had the polish and sharpness of  classic Rock and Roll. "Metal Guru is it true? / Metal Guru is it true? / All alone without a telephone ... "," Telegram Sam / You're my main man / Telegram Sam / You're my main man ... ". All this sounded a bit like mantras of an atomic age. But some scattered lines still echo in my head, like: "You're dirty sweet and you're my girl" in "Get It On". or "Girl, I’m just a vampire for your love / And  I’m gonna suck you" in the fabulous "Jeepster" song, on the back sleeve of which I found these perfect verses, that went completely unnoticed to my teenage ears: "The way you flip your hip / It always makes me weak ". It was actually a thousand miles away from the sexual cynicism and ironic ingeniousness of a Chuck Berry. Anyway, Marc Bolan was at his sexiest to his fans, who increased in numbers by thousands overnight in England, when he was belching jerky little groans, supposed to reflect a kind of free and ecstatic effort, and he hopped on his ballet dancers and his lamé jacket.

 "T. Rextasy":  the mainstream press, rather than Melody Maker and others that were a bit choosy, seized the phenomenon. The same statement was found everywhere:  We had not seen such a phenomenon since Beatlemania. At Wigan, at the end of 1971, the footbridge around the stage collapsed under the weight of fans who  jumped and stomped with so much excitement trying to steal from Bolan his fluorescent green jacket and shoes. At the Wembley Arena two concerts (March 1972), that for everyone marked the peak in his career, 9000 fans, "mainly females" reports Melody Maker, screamed all throughout the show, stamping each others feet, fighting to catch a glimpse of Bolan. In the hall, Bolan clones quickly multiplied.  One can no longer count the satin pants, the sequined eyelids, and even the curly wigs. All of that can be seen first hand in Ringo Starr’s movie, "Born To Boogie". For the record, as TV presenters with sparkling eyes and mischievous smiles say, it was Mal Evans who lent his services for freeing Bolan of hysterical hordes who wanted to catch him at the end of the concert. The same Mal Evans who was the road manager for famous artists known as The Beatles! One more piece of evidence that his low profile and his eccentric underground image ill concealed his ambitions for being a “glamorous” star.  Bolan  dumped his sylvan mythology, along with his Afghan jackets and curved daggers. With "Metal Guru" and "Telegram Sam", he was convinced he has touched something universal. The aura he gained with such ease convinced him that he could succeed worldwide.  The teenyboppers, of course, and America, and the  fans of serious rock and roll and the lovers of serious ART.

photo © Interpress  

Bolan wrote books, Bolan painted, Bolan, who until then had never lost sight of his true abilities, lost control. "I want people to react, even if they think I'm a horrible little monster species. I mean, I am my own fantasy.” (Which is a key idea of ​​Bolan and one of the most accurate comments that can be made about him). “I am the 'Cosmic Dancer' who dances his way out of the womb and into the tomb on Electric Warrior. I'm not frightened to get up there and groove about in front of six million people on TV watching Top of the Pops.   I'm a rock'n'roll poet who is just bopping around on the side.  People I've always admired in this business, like Clapton or Hendrix, had the ability to add something more in their music, which gave it an extra dimension. A kind of personal soul quality that made them unique. What I do understand, I do not pretend I'm Clapton or Hendrix .. all I'm saying is that I’m reaching something that comes from my own identity right now, and I even have respect for me as a musician." Ditto.

Bolan could not rest easy as long as his fame hadn’t spread worldwide.

The misdirection this time came not from his fans, but from himself. First, Bolan’s credibility with fans of serious rock – from Roxy Music to Emerson Lake And Palmer, through Procol Harum - reached abysmal depths: "Stooge" "Puppet".   Bolan mostly appeared as a prisoner of his audience, vulgar kids with no knowledge  and of poor taste. Note:  At the time, you would find  "kids" only either in Lou Reed’s lyrics, or when describing  Blue Oyster Cult's (I forget where we put umlauts) hypothetical audience.  And richness of the image of Bolan wasn't in any way tied to any musical density - that was specifically associated with Hendrix and Clapton – but to a radical urgency of the music, aimed at transmitting the image with the most impact.

In this way, then, Bolan was completely modern. How he fancied himself - a reincarnated Celtic bard, a magician, a cosmic dancer - that is to say, a glittering star with a fantastical, actually quite limited character, was less important than the insane way this identification was done: exaggerated narcissism, shamelessness, spontaneity, no hidden agendas, and especially no distance. The David Bowie and Roxy Music’s glam-rock was cold and staged; Bolan’s glam-rock was warm, somewhat awkward and, in my opinion, much more appealing.

THE NIGHTMARE

Bolan invented the image, but doing so he had alienated  himself from the musicologist part of the rock audience, and that musicologist part at that time was an overwhelming majority. Clapton, that's a real guitarist; T. Rex are a commercial crap, something for chicks. Thanks kindly to our imaginary interlocutor. This was the spirit of 1972.  Bolan, meanwhile, saw himself rejected by connoisseurs, and desperately tried to find some credibility as a poet, as a profound artist. Failure was programmed. And from everywhere started the backlash:  Bewildered America, after the hit "Bang A Gong (Get It On)", was reluctant to accept this really too "queer" individual. Especially as Bolan's music and image were most effective because they were quickly assimilated - even faster, instantly - due to its repetitive patterns. Bolan inaugurated the never-seen-before status of the "bio-degradable" star. Once the message is delivered, you can leave. The hits (all exactly identical after "Get It On") piled up, and Bolan rushed his fall by releasing  an unspeakable LP, "Tanx" - which really meant the end.

"I am something living in a TV"- Bolan had understood. For his fans, it seemed he lived in TV permanently.  And it might not have broken their hearts to switch it off.

Overnight, Bolan was binned, along with all his cult accessories.

From a missed comeback to another pathetic comeback, Bolan hung around until 1977 ... when he died, disconnected, without arousing any real emotion. Just before his accident,  Bolan was surfacing yet again. He had just remarried with a Nona Hendryx backup singer, Gloria Jones, with whom he had a son. He had finally turned back to reason and made reasonable projects. Just the day before his death, he had finished recording a TV show series for the BBC that he was directing, as well as miming to his own career, with new musicians. Five years after his peak, just as Chuck Berry, he made medleys out of his old hits. But he was happy. "I was almost at the edge of the abyss. I have suffered  eight nervous breakdowns and  gone mad five times. One could not do what I was did and stay sane. I was almost an alcoholic for a time. I spent six months in the south of France, sitting in the sun all day drinking brandy. I took 2 stones. I had my dose of drugs, too. I was filling my nostrils.  There is nothing more destructive than success in the 'entertainment industry'.  When you’re  fourteen / fifteen you take a guitar and you dream you will become the biggest rock star in the world. When you start having success, people are only too happy to give you advice, but no one ever tells you what to do once you're up there. This is when the dream can turn to a nightmare.”  

I do not think Marc Bolan is now respected deceased. Every step he made in his career was for anything but for gaining respect for him. For me, this is the first modern artist. The first to dare. The first of which everyone will continue not to remember. The first transparent artist . Goodbye and see you soon.

 - MICHKA ASSAYAS.