“Rock on!” is the simplest directive for life. Just keep on keeping on, living your rock star life, being your most rocking self, doing what you do. Totally meaningless yet totally inspiring. That’s kind of also the T.Rex credo. T.Rex isn’t music with a message, except for one of hedonism and fun aka ‘rocking’. T. Rex rocked in the firm belief that rocking is what gets you through; rock to live, live to rock. That’s a simple philosophy, it’s easy to follow, and right down to it, it’s all you really need.
This leaves me no choice but to put on Electric Warrior and then continue listening to T. Rex until it’s time to go to work. T. Rex just makes me feel warm and fuzzy. Marc Bolan has a legacy with a lot of impact, and we can talk about all of the ways his work is important and influential in the world. I can talk about all of the ways it’s important and influential to me personally. But really, it just makes me happy, and it’s supposed to do that, and that’s part of the legacy. I think I’m getting sentimental.
“Wear you hair long, baby, can’t go wrong”
Riding a white swan is symbolically not the same as riding a white horse, just so you know. Swans represent grace, beauty and refinement. Marc Bolan had a vision of himself as a mythical character, a warlock warrior prince with a guitar. A swan was the perfect mode of transportation for such a fantastical personage, though he had a taste for nice cars as well. With that image, Bolan took his phantasmagorical collection of interests and rode to stardom. It was a harbinger of future fashions, the first glam rock hit from the first glam-rocker.
Any excuse to listen to a lot of T. Rex. I’ll be over here doing that. I’m aware that I’m most likely the only one who cares about the minute gradiations of the T. Rex sound over time, or the steps Marc Bolan took that were ahead of his time. Bolan’s problem was that he was ahead of the times but not far enough ahead to get all the credit for it before others caught up and popularized his ideas into the stratosphere. Still, the T. Rex sound is instantly recognizable, and nobody else ever sounded quite like that.
Unfortunately, I think this might be a sexual reference rather than the setup for a Redwall-style fantasy universe. But it’s Marc Bolan, so it may well be both. We know he loved his talking animals. And his sexual references. Not that it matters. The Slider remains a must-have among must-haves. You have to give yourself over to it and concede that Bolan can “rabbit fight all over you” any day. And there must be something deeply wrong with you if you can’t.
It goes without saying that I want to go away on Marc Bolan’s flying saucer. Take me away to an alternate universe of sex and glitter. Bolan is offering to rescue you from your mundane life; music will make you free, it will make you cool, it will take you to a higher consciousness. It’s a promise of redemption through creativity. Or just being a libertine if you’re not the creative type. That’s really all rock music ever had to offer, its one big idea; self-expression as sea change. Can we thank rock music for the way we understand our identities today? The idea that who you are means something. Create yourself and you create the world.
You can tell by the title that this is a T. Rex song. You may also guess that the seriousness of the song is inverse to the lengthiness of the title. And, if you’ve spent time listening to the Zinc Alloy album, you can hear Marc Bolan’s hubris. Bolan was, musically, trying out bold new directions, incorporating elements R&B into his usual electric boogie, making ‘blue eyed soul’ into a thing. But lyrically and conceptually he was just throwing random things off the top of his head. It’s like he thought he could continue to produce gibberish and still remain a glittery teen idol. But you can’t sustain a high roll like that very easily. It’s frustrating to think the roll T. Rex could have ridden if Bolan had just had a little more discipline, put more thought into his ideas, had some cohesion to his image. Zinc Alloy and the Hidden Riders of Tomorrow – A Creamed Cage In August; it was groundbreaking music, but the entire album looked, to the browsing record buyer, like a lazy toss-off, another bloated ego project with the band’s name once again changed, the title a crib from Ziggy, and the songs obvious nonsense. Bolan shot himself in the foot when he could’ve been ahead of the curve, thus alienating his fans and allowing David Bowie to once again zoom in and steal his thunder.