Great Horse

Tyrannosaurus Rex makes me take leave of reality like none other. It’s not music that can hold its own in a shuffle marathon, even against latter-day T.Rex. It’s too fragile and fey to make itself known amid hustle and clamor, too refined an appeal. It’s amid peaceful and quiet times, with mind opened to rare pleasures, that it whisks me into another world. Marc Bolan was a happening cat by all accounts, a dresser and an egoist. It was soon enough his music developed an element of look-at-me-go calculation. But in the early days, on the winsome early records, he seemed to pour out his imaginings as unguardedly as a child. The Tyrannosaurus Rex albums were entirely new and original, though their roots showed plainly what Marc had been reading and fantasizing about. To call it fantasy music, akin to fantasy writing would be diminishing, but not inaccurate. Bolan was writing about his own fantasy world with heroes and wizards, magic and lore, and talking animals of course.

Frowning Atahuallpa

“His moleish mind knew that praying was special”

This song is remarkable for lots of reasons. Simply because it’s Marc Bolan at his most wistful and fey. Then there’s the lyric, a simple and beautiful elegy for lost love and fallen empires. It’s also a fine example of Bolan’s habit of stirring into the pot all the things that interest him. Atahuallpa isn’t someone he made up, he was the last sovereign Inca emperor before the Spaniards came ruined everything. I’m not sure how the title is meant to be read. Either it’s just a general title vaguely relating to the words, or if in the interest of poetic license Atahuallpa has been transposed into an empress to serve as love interest. There’s that. Then there’s the chanting, one of the first uses of Hare Krishna on a pop record, right when Eastern mysticism was coming into vogue. That Hare Krishna is continents away from Atahuallpa is immaterial. And then there’s one of Bolan’s charming Kingsley Mole stories, read by John Peel. Kingsley Mole and his friend Lionel Lark appeared sproadically on Tyrannosaurus Rex records and were plainly inspired by English talking-animal pastorals like The Wind in the Willows and the Pooh books with their whimsy and surprising thoughtfulness. All of which is a rich brew of the cultural tides of 1968. All about the creative set were looking beyond their back doors; exploring exotica both spiritual and chemical; adding bongos and sitars to their sets; adoring books about talking animals, quests and elves; and perming their hair. Bolan was a man of his age, and he pulled it off better than anyone.

Evenings of Damask

Groovy. Unicorn sounds like it was recorded underwater, a comment made by a friend that stuck with me. Underwater, other planet, alternate universe sound music.

Elemental Child

Another day, another rhapsodic ode to Marc Bolan. Boy, that boy could play. That boy could strut. And when he went electric he did so with a vengeance. You can practically see T.Rex mutate from faerie beastie to electric monster. T.Rex made the transformation from sixties twee to seventies decadent seem not only natural but inevitable, though it was as radical an about-face as could be done. Imagine Donovan trying to launch a second act with glitter on his face and platforms on his feet. Generally, the barefoot-in-the-dirt types stuck to what they did best, strumming away in the face of looming irrelevance. Fair enough though, neither Bolan nor Bowie – the only two who managed to skip from cross-legged hippie to beglamored space being – neither was exactly selling gazillions of records singing about laughing gnomes and questing moles. If Bolan had sold millions of records as Tyrannosaurus Rex, bongos and all, well… I’d like to think he’d still have smelled which way the wind blew and realized that the seventies needed a new breed of rock star, one who doesn’t have dirt between his toes.

Dragon’s Ear

“Black cat sitting on my shoulder and I’m glad”

In the sixties Marc Bolan was interested in writing his own fantasy/mythology. Unlike the ones that inspired him, his never got fully baked. (Except fully baked in the other sense, heh heh heh.) But they’re floating all over the early albums in force. Dragons and Druids are in, and Dworns, whatever those are. Methinks our hero saw himself as a bit of a mage. Hence, the black cat. ‘O course, nowadays anybody with the yearning (or slight hankering) to be part of some mystical other realm can go plug into World of Warcraft and enjoy all the pre-bottled fantasy scenarios a nerdy heart desires. Not like back in olden times when you had to do the heavy lifting of reading books, and even heavier, coming up with variations of your own.

Dove

“All my fears are water-clear, when I’m not with you.”

First off, look at that picture and just try to tell me you don’t wanna lick those pants. Because they’re shiny! And we wanna lick shiny things! Am I right? It’s just me, then, innit? Uhhm. Moving on…The elven one has conjured a transcendent love song (which you should put on your Valentine’s Day playlist). Tyrannosaurus Rex always evoked dream states – a sense of floating – and they did it better and better, until exploding into the fully electric. A Beard Of Stars was the perfect moment of balance between the primeval bongo-based folk of the earliest records and Bolan’s more urbane influences on the electric guitar. The ongoing evolution of Bolan’s vision….Bolan’s vision, uh…shiny pants…I’m getting distracted. Look at all those flower pots and that wrought-iron railing. Look how his guitar is almost as big as he is. Try to tell me you don’t want to crawl inside that photo and live there forever. You could water Marc’s flowers.

Debora

Marc Bolan, pre-fame made ends meet modeling the latest gents’ fashions. This despite being five foot two. “I know I’m small but I enjoy living anyway” he later sang. Not that it’s unusual for a rock star to be less than monolithic in real life. Being famous creates the illusion of tall, donnit.

A Day Laye

I think the first Tyrannosaurs Rex albums all came from outer space. They’re not of this earth. The truth is, Marc Bolan was recieving transmissions from beyond, possibly somewhere in the vicinity of  Middle Earth.

Conesuela

Prophets, Seers & Sages – The Angels of the Ages. 1968.

Those guys were in their own world. Why  bongo-heavy mystical folk songs didn’t catch on is a mystery. It was 1968 – they could’ve caught on. If there were rock bands in Middle Earth, they’d sound like this (not Led Zeppelin.)

Conesuala, Lady tailor,
Weaving deep beneath the sun,
Making things for everything that run, run,

Hermitized one you’re my little summer maid,
Orchard eyed one take my love

Holy Grail head, deep forest fed,
Weaving deep beneath the moon,
Quiver mouth chants a crooning moon rune.

Child Star

First Tyrannosaurus Rex album, 1968. Cover art by George Underwood. My People Were Fair… is also notably Tony Visconti’s debut production. So, a historic and monumental record on all fronts.

Child Star

Mountain eyes, peeping out of his head
Sipping tea composing in his bed
A hundred hands working on a musical of old
Debussy and Mendelssohn
Handel and Dvorak of old
Child star protege of Mister Gormez
Who said you’d go far
Child star, they do not see just what a precious gem you’d be
Sad to see them watching you fade into invisibility

Twelve years old, your elvish fingers kiss your Beethoven hair
The awesome people stare
They’re unaware of all the angel sounds they see and hear
Debussy and Mendelssohn
Handel and Dvorak of old
Child star protege of Mister Gormez
Who said you’d go far
Child star and when you died at just thirteen they wept and wrung their hair
Sad to see them mourning you when you are there
Within the flowers and the trees