“His prophecies were you”
One minute and twenty four seconds of Tyrannosaurus Rex. That’s almost not even a full song. No, but trust me, it is an experience. I think that perhaps with the early Tyrannosaurus Rex albums, the songs don’t work so well out of context. The famous T.Rex albums that followed were a parade of hit singles, but this was a very different animal. The early albums need to be taken in as a whole. The songs flow together, and not one of them is anywhere near being a hit single. They may strike you as strange, especially alone like this, but they grow on you. You can’t help being charmed by Marc Bolan’s world, with its light mysticism and fantasy.
Where does this fit into Marc Bolan’s cosmology? Firmly on the elves and talking animals end of the spectrum, where Bolan explored childlike and whimsical realms of fantasy. In the face of history, it’s clearly the strutting rock songs about cars and babes that hold the place of honor. That’s what people respond to, and that’s where Bolan’s legacy lies. But the fey charm of the Tyrannosaurus Rex years has its own appeal, though it’s obviously not for everybody. It’s for people who never grew out of loving The Wind in the Willows, who like to get lost inside their own heads and see little faces in the trees and imagine the inner monologue of every animal.
Swans do fly. One from the Tyrannosaurus Rex vaults. This one does a real 180 on you; it starts off like a mellow head trip with the bongos, then it explodes into a raging guitar solo. All in less than three minutes. It’s Marc Bolan being split two ways with his persona. It’s a tiny capsule in which you witness the failed ‘new Donovan’ reinvent himself as a guitar god. To use one of Bolan’s favorite animal images, the glam rock swan arises.
“We make feasties of the beasties but the beasties just live in the wild, you know you’re slower now, you were faster when you were a child.”
Profound truth. And, as promised, an organ. So just really open your mind and let the weirdness flow in. Marc Bolan loves you and don’t you know you love him too, yes you do. Bolan’s childlike mysticism was always so cute; he didn’t make much sense but his imagination was unbound. Is there any reason the sounds of an organ shouldn’t be put together with tribal percussion of some kind? Of course not, now bring out those bongos! It would help with your enjoyment if you were of a psychedelic mind. No need to trip, just have the mindset. Take Marc Bolan’s example; all the disparate things in your interest field can be tied together in a loose narrative, it doesn’t have to make sense, it’s your universe. You can be a wizard, and drive a hot rod, and converse with moles, and court an Inca queen, and find a cure for those summertime blues, and rock some platform mary janes, and make a movie with Ringo Starr. It’s the spring of 1970 and everything is possible.
So a hind is a deer, a female deer. Nijinski was a ballet dancer. Tyrannosaurus Rex was a band. A Nijinski Hind is a creature of otherworldly grace and beauty, a symbol of purity and natural magic. Or something. Are we all clear on Marc Bolan’s mumbly mythos? Bolan was always much enamored of fairytales and fantasy, before he figured out that people just wanna hear songs about sex and hot rods. Nobody wrote better sexy car songs than Bolan, but his magic-infused early songs have an entirely different charm.
Why the shoutout to Albany, New York? That place has zero claim to fame! Oh, you mean Albany as in the ancient Gaelic name for the territory now known as Scotland? Everything makes sense now. It bears the whiff of both folklore and aristocracy, two things fascinating to Marc Bolan. If you can decipher his mumbles, you’ll hear a typically quasi-Tolkienesque tale of star-crossed love. Bolan never quite lost his love of fairy tales and mythology, though he eventually learned to enunciate better. But on later T.Rex albums, the nerdiness was somewhat reigned in by rock god swagger. Like his fellow nerds Page and Plant, Bolan made himself commercial by leavening his dweeby mystical interests with hip-thrusting riffs and easily accessible double entendres. Before he perfected that formula, though, he was unabashedly up to his ears in mystical arcana, swords-and-wizards fantasy and children’s stories about talking moles. It was most resolutely not marketable, even in an era when all of those things were intensely fashionable, but it was uniquely charming and fey.
Love the guitar solo on this. Tyrannosaurus Rex is very psychedelic, so if you happen to have any of those substances that make you hear colors, this is the record to play. If you’re the sort who doesn’t need drugs to hear colors, then congratulations on your synesthesia. You are very lucky.