THE BROKEN IDOL
Racket of crushed metal
It's a good thing Marc Bolan was kindhearted. Because he could have died twice just by glancing at the cover page of Melody Maker that came out a few days after his fatal accident. There was only a small notice that said, "Farewell, Marc" in small print, low on the cover page, and in even smaller print "See page 39." Page 39?!
So have they forgotten all the sensational headlines when T.Rex reigned? If not, then what the hell could be more important in the first 38 pages than Marc Bolan?
The same critics & experts built Bolan up with all their might and armor. Yet they act as though he does not deserve more respect than that of, say a Tommy Bolin. When Elvis died, they gave him the royal treatment.
Yet the music charts testify. Perhaps there is no need to look any further than the music. But for these people, T.Rex songs have lost their charm; they've become diminished, not to be talked about much.
Poor little Marc - they made you into a spinning top, made you turn; and you are indeed better off without them. They mocked you during your tough times - if by chance they even d eigned to think about you at all.
And yet ... and yet you gave us pleasure, little Marc. All those many months, when you were truly at the top - rocking and rolling so high at your peak. So high that naturally there would be a slip, a drop. And because of that sudden first fall, the second and fatal one did not surprise, nor even sadden, all those boys and girls who had worshiped you before.
Had "Hot Love," "Get It On," and "Telegram Sam" vanished with the end of their teen years? Had your genius also gone when their own charm deserted them as they grew up?
But this was all completely mixed up, was it not ? OK, but all this made great little rock'n'roll. And for this, little Marc, let’s dance, dance and jump as you urged us to do so passionately.
Besides, you know, they called you the Godfather of Punk, once they no longer knew what to call you. You were not the only one. They also called Iggy and Lou and David, your old friend, that - and who knows who else? But they mocked you when you brought the Damned with you on your last tour. They laughed at you, just as their elders always so stupidly jeered the hundred "comebacks" of Mickey Rooney.
Mark Feld became Marc Bolan when still eighteen. Returning from a long stay in France, he suddenly wanted to add music to his first passion, poetry. That was in 1966. He signed with Decca as member of a band, the Wizard, then changed soon after to John's Children - probably the first English Glam rock band. They got two small hits with Bolan. Then he left. Sick of electric music after various failures, Marc formed an acoustic duo with percussionist Steve Took, under the bizarre name of Tyrannosaurus Rex in '68 which, despite a terribly precarious existence, gained the support of a core of absolute fanatics and published three superb albums: "My People Were Fair & Had Sky In Their Hair But Now They're Content To Wear Stars On Their Brows," "Prophets, Seers And Sages, The Angels Of The Ages," and "Unicorn" on Regal Zonophone. Following this, Steve Took gave way to Mickey Finn and devoted himself to his political commitm ent. Bolan progressed to rock, but softly, gradually. Things had to wait until the end of 1970 before they suddenly evolved. Tyrannosaurus Rex shortened to T. Rex, and the music turned to singles. "Ride A White Swan" and an album, "T. Rex," appeared simultaneously, and to Bolan's surprise went straight to the top of the charts.
A massive success. So Marc was at last comfortable, supported, astounded, and delighted - and he struck while the iron was hot. "Hot Love" and "Get It On" in '71 stayed at number 1 for months, while "Electric Warrior" did the same in the LP charts.
What was it all about? You cannot ignore it, even if you have blown your sixteen candles yesterday. Everybody knows T. Rex - their electrifying, grooving rock, like a quavering Donovan madness. Bopping, seductive and - especially - sexy .
Gambling on showbiz
Something that hot was bound to cool off, and the impressive string of singles put out by T. Rex from '74 up until today no longer had much success; at least not like any from the previously fantastic successful years. He finished almost in indifference; pathetic, and humiliated. His head was swollen with success, and Bolan started drinking and stuffing himself with everything. The same old story. But his songs' chorus, each weaker than the previous one, were of no use for conquering America. He ended depressed, half ruined, and sick. And those who yesterday fell down at his feet turned their back on him at parties; if he were ever even invited. He became a pariah, a has-been. This story, a few months and reflexes short, could have added one more victim ... such is the eternal gamble of showbiz
Photo © Christian ROSE MARC BOLAN
But no! Marc Bolan, star or not, was not a puppet of any kind. He was not a bawler or dried up. His poetry, his energy, his cheekiness, and his funny voice - all of that still remained; if not intact, at least alive. It was enough to gather strength, restructure his mind, and accept a bit of maturity, and do it! He was more than capable of making a real comeback - as his friends, including David Bowie, who never shunned or snubbed him, and some journalists too were claiming.
And Bolan was beginning to prove this when...
Really, fate cruelly asked Marc to pay the bill. He never learned to drive, he had stopped drinking, he was remarried to the beautiful black singer, Gloria Jones. He was again sparkling with ideas and full of energy ... when his car crossed the circular road in London and smashed Marc, as he lay sleeping on the back seat. He and Gloria were coming back from a dinner in town. The stirring vital impulses of a shaken guitar went silent in the racket of that crushed metal.
It was on September 17 this year. Two days later, everyone could watch a regenerated Bolan on TV, providing counterpoint to Bowie for a rock version of "Duelists." Quite normally, and as scheduled, the Granada channel broadcast the last program of a series of six episodes from Marc's own TV show. This final one was dedicated to Marc Bolan and his friends, The Jam, and The Damn ed. Those artists in turn did not fail to acknowledge Marc as their elder statesman and gave him appropriate homage. They dedicated their concerts to Marc. The members of the The Damned attended his funeral in the rain, along with Bowie. And punks do not do this for old crusts who don't matter.
Now, little Marc, rest in peace. You are not dead to my few lines in a newspaper.
Readers mail
The heart has its reasons …
In your "Telegrams" page of October, just one line :
"Marc Bolan killed by car on September 16". Only one month earlier Elvis
Presley was gone and commanded the news. He was granted your cover and
many pages inside your magazine. In one word, Elvis's death does not
affect me; but the fact that Bolan is now forever silent fills me with
sadness. The heart has its reasons …
I must say that Marc Bolan was someone special for me -
much more than the ugly, unlovable star and mediocre musician, as the
press took pleasure in portraying him. In 1972, I was thirteen and I
bought every T.Rex single. T.Rex - who were triumphing everywhere and
causing hysteria. Remember "Get It On" and "Telegram Sam". While
fascinated with the irresistible ascension of the band in the hearts of
little girls and boys, including myself, I still couldn’t resist being
afraid that new acts would surely engulf the group, while reveling in
their imperfections: Bowie, A. Cooper, etc. T.Rex invented decadence, as
well as caricaturing it. Impressions of an ephemeral but total enjoyment
have been wiped out by another wave of stars whose purpose was already
different. Bolan, therefore, ended projected into the dustbin of history,
a pathetic third rate mythological hero.
T.Rex were certainly musically not perfect. Bubblegum
sound to perfection - and sometimes, almost involuntarily, in the midst
of so many over the top displays, a dive into beauty and wonder. As in
the group’s lesser known first album (T.Rex, 1970, aka The Brown album);
where guitars, vocal harmonies, and percussion weave a delicate music
close to a fairy tale. Yet this music was able to give sensual,
searching teenagers a reason to come together in adulation and pleasure,
and that grew into a collective hysteria.
In my stack of albums, there are two beautiful records
from that duo with a magical name full of images: Tyrannosaurus Rex. "Prophets"
and "A Beard Of Stars" are two jewels of indescribable style and
incomparable beauty. A kind of sublime Folk inner life - the first album
was acoustic only, with many kinds of hand percussion. Music written in
some corner of the unconscious to which the listener adheres fully
before it escapes him. The sound reminds one of something else - but who?
what ? Bolan sang many beautiful lyrics with his fully original music,
without any use of technology. Tyrannosaurus Rex: pale, strange, ancient,
and as graceful as the statues on the cover sleeves ... perhaps
heralding the first album, three years later, of Halfnelson (first band
of the Mael brothers; Sparks).
Marc Bolan was a poet, a talented singer, and was
confined in a stuffy diva role that he couldn’t assume would stay safe
for very long.
I saw last Bolan in February this year. T.Rex's new look.
They played a concert in Toulouse. Little or no pouting from Marc, who
was so magnificent at his peak. The band played very heavy metal in
front of a crowd of 800 apathetic people (the same people who, sometime
later, would make a triumph of French musician, Higelin). Bolan, in a
yellow suit: thin and tired, he forced himself to the heights of long
gone fan hysteria. He gave his all to an indifferent audience, among
which were a few faithful fans. This is it: an adored star, given much
adulation; then fallen ... then, finally, a small man with curly hair,
who is deemed secondary, and who is now dead. And I'm sad.
Alain Delasalle (& Poupou)
PS I spent the summer searching for "Dandy In The
Underworld"... in vain