T. Rex - Ride the White Swan

Act I – Sweet Little Rock’n’Roller

At nine years old, I became Elvis Presley

When I was young, I truly believed I embodied some higher essence. And I didn’t feel connected at all to other forms of human life… I created a world where I was the king of my neighbourhood

This is the long story of the rise and fall of a 20th-century superstar. Of a man born to boogie and wrapped in an enveloping aura of mystery, probably the first true dandy of English rock and certainly an electric hero of corrupted pop. A man who, at just 17, is said to have practised black magic with a cannibalistic French sorcerer; who proclaimed himself one of the most refined and witty exponents of the Mod movement before he was even 14. Everything (and its opposite) has been said about Marc Bolan, and one of the first (few) certainties is that his real name was Mark Feld, born in Hackney, East London, the second and youngest son of a lorry driver and a street trader.

Henry Feld, Mark’s paternal grandfather, moved to East London following the unrest in the Jewish community in the wake of the assassination of Tsar Alexander II in 1881. Of Russian-Polish origin, Henry was a strong man: when he arrived in London, he began working at the meat market and didn’t shy away from bare-knuckle fighting on the underground circuit to make extra money. It’s said he once killed a horse with a single punch between the eyes. In December 1913, Henry married a young Irish woman with long red hair, Betsie Ruffel, and seven years later the family welcomed their firstborn, Simeon.

At first, Simeon also follows in his father's footsteps, working in kosher butcher shops, until 1939, when Britain goes to war against the Nazis. Simeon Feld boards a Dutch merchant vessel and serves his country at sea as a munitions handler. When he returns from military service, Simeon (or Sid, as almost everyone calls him) gets together with seventeen-year-old Phyllis Winifred Atkins, the daughter of a fruit and vegetable seller. Their marriage produces first Harry Leonard and then, at the end of September 1947, their second son Mark, a name chosen by Sid to honor the memory of his brother, tragically killed in the war after being mockingly ambushed by his own sergeant following a night of drinking. The tragic spirit of soldier Mark Feld thus finds new flesh in the newborn Mark Feld, in one of the coldest English autumns of the past century.

Mark is a chubby baby with a big smile, so handsome that Phyllis is already convinced he'll become famous one day. In the early 1950s, there isn't much to do for the two little Feld brothers, who spend hours listening to radio programs like "Saturday Night Theatre". Mark, in particular, loves ghost stories, and the boy soon shows a great flair for imagination, from dinosaurs to Bible stories translated into everyday English by Phyllis. Cinema is another pastime Mark loves dearly, and in September 1952 he begins his schooling at Northwold Road Primary, in the heart of London's Jewish community.

At just over 5 years old, Mark Feld is a lively child with no trouble socializing at school. Unlike his brother, who takes more after their father, he shows an early flamboyant streak that finds true revelation four years later: Elvis Presley. By the mid-1950s, Presleymania dominates both sides of the Atlantic, pushing every English kid to become a Teddy Boy with a guitar in his arms. When the new single "Hound Dog" climbs into the UK Top 5, Mark Feld decides he must become like Elvis, and so he receives the gift he's been longing for: a nine-pound guitar for his ninth birthday.

Mark doesn't seem particularly good at playing the instrument, but his charisma catches the attention of a girl at his school, Helen Shapiro. Helen is a child prodigy with great vocal talent, which will bring her stunning success at just 14 years old in 1961. In 1957 she's swept up by Mark's rock and roll charm and invites him to join her first skiffle group, Susie & The Hula Hoops. At least that's the name Mark will later claim, since neither Helen nor her cousin Susan Singer will remember it precisely. Susie & The Hula Hoops is a six-piece group with two guitarists smaller than their own instruments, performing in the vain hope of getting paid to play Elvis and Buddy Holly covers.

The experience doesn't last long, because by then Mark has fallen in love with the sound of Cliff Richard, who performs all over London with his band, the Shadows. Seen as Britain's answer to Elvis, Cliff becomes an idol for Mark, who will later tell the press that he even auditioned to join the band. Not even 15 years old, Mark already feels like a star in the making, spending his days glued to the jukebox at the 21's coffee bar, which plays the Drifters and Ray Charles. School becomes increasingly boring, and the real love at first sight is just around the corner: in the secondary school library he finds a biography of Beau Brummell, universally regarded as the man who best embodied dandyism between the late 18th century and the first half of the 19th. More than Elvis, more than Buddy Holly, it's Beau Brummell who transforms Mark Feld into Marc Bolan.

Atto II – The Wizard

I own ten suits, eight sports jackets, fifteen pairs of trousers, between thirty and thirty-five shirts, about twenty jumpers, three leather jackets, two velvet jackets, five or six pairs of shoes and thirty exceptional ties

Straddling the Fifties and Sixties, modernist culture — or simply, mod — drives a sharp wedge between London teenagers and everything embodied by their parents, those stuffy representatives of a stale mainstream culture. Young Mark Feld is drawn to the obsessive care mods devote to their appearance, their clothing above all. While Teddy Boys followed a rigid style, Mods are flamboyant, sophisticated and devoted to the most extreme originality — fertile ground indeed for a boy who is already, by nature, original and unconventional. Mark is obsessed with Italian style, and begs his mother every day for new leather shoes. His extravagant flair soon becomes well known at the 21's coffee bar, where some look at him with contempt and others adore him for his likeable presence as a mod gangster.

In September 1962, the Feld family moves to Summerstown, an unremarkable corner of south London between Wimbledon and Tooting. The house is bigger and the atmosphere more pleasant, but not for Mark, who is suddenly overcome by a powerful sense of loneliness, in a neighbourhood where the most exciting thing going on is the dog track. It becomes harder for him to hang around places like the Marquee or the shops on Carnaby Street, not least because young Feld is terrified of one of the Mod generation's favourite rides, the Vespa.

A year later — in 1963 — another turning point arrives in Mark Feld's adolescence. The cinema is showing "Summer Holiday" with Cliff Richard, and Mark turns to his friend Jeff Dexter. After the stunning success of Helen Shapiro, who sold 40,000 copies a day of her singles "Please Don't Treat Me Like A Child" and "You Don't Know", Mark the Mod is convinced: it's time to break into the English music scene for real, time to become bigger than Cliff Richard.

In May 1964, Columbia Records releases "The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan", which effectively kicks off the folk-revival season in England. From Roy Harper to Donovan, the British music scene is swept by a critical spirit in acoustic form, set against the aggressiveness of mod-beat or the generational pop of the early Beatles. Mark Feld decides to pick up his acoustic guitar with a harmonica around his neck, interpreting in his own way the folk traditions coming from the States. But young Feld isn't particularly interested in ideological protest, because all he wants is to express his imaginative, surreal romanticism. His new stoic ambition leads him to record for the first time in a studio, Regent Sound, a version of "Blowin' In The Wind" and one of "The Road I'm On (Gloria)", originally performed by Dion DiMucci. Mark's strumming is amateurish — he will later call it "terrible" — very much in the style of the US-style folk revival.

Mark Feld's first attempts come to nothing. Under the Disney-inspired stage name Toby Tyler, he's turned down first by EMI and then by its subsidiary Columbia after an audition at Abbey Road in February 1965. It's painfully frustrating to watch a young Donovan become a resident act on the TV show "Ready, Steady, Go!" with a contract secured by Pye Records. Mark goes back home to his parents for a while, downhearted, before setting off on a mysterious trip to Paris, where he allegedly found lodging for a few weeks with a fanatic obsessed with magic, devoted to sacrificing cats and cooking human flesh. In truth, the only accounts of this French period come from Mark himself, who may well have taken several poetic liberties in telling it. What is certain, though, upon his return to London, is that Mark Feld is obsessed with Greek mythology, English Romantic poetry, and above all the fantastical world of "The Hobbit" and "The Lord of the Rings". His new nickname becomes Bopping Elf, due to his short stature. But above all, he changes his name — his stage name, the one with which he's convinced he'll become a star. Mark Feld becomes Marc Bolan, with a surname borrowed from his actor friend James Bolam and altered by a single consonant, to avoid creative jealousy and turbulence within the forces of stardom.

Introduced by American producer Jim Economides, Bolan gets his first record deal with Decca through Dick Rowe, who would go down in history as "the man who turned down the Beatles" in 1962. When Marc signs for a single in the summer of 1965, Decca is quickly chipping away at EMI's dominance with artists of the calibre of the Rolling Stones and the Zombies. Convinced of Bolan's potential as Decca's answer to Donovan, Rowe hands him over to musical director Mike Leander, who is already working with Marianne Faithfull. In September, Marc walks into Broadhurst Gardens Studios and records two original songs, "The Wizard" and "Beyond The Rising Sun". Deeply influenced by the new Dylan-esque folk-pop of "Bringing It All Back Home", "The Wizard" is Bolan's first single released with Decca, the (barely) creative first cry of a newborn pop poet. Decca decides to play up the dark legend of the wizard known in France to promote the single, followed by the other brief pop fairytale "Beyond The Rising Sun". Barely three minutes of music across two songs, both ignored by critics and audiences alike.

If the record doesn't sell, the early live shows are hardly worth remembering either. Bolan performs on the same bill as Donovan at the charity event organised by the London School of Economics, the Glad Rag Ball. Then at the Pontiac Club in west London, and on "Ready, Steady, Go!" in November. Nobody takes notice of this odd character who seems to have stepped out of a fairy tale, with a voice similar to Sonny Bono's, and who barely even knows how to play guitar. Yet Marc is utterly convinced he'll become a star, and luckily for him so is Mike Leander, who brings him back into the studio in December — this time without an orchestra — to record four more songs, once again very brief. The acoustic "Reality" continues in a strongly Dylan-esque vein, while "Song For A Soldier" repeats the Donovan blueprint. This time Decca shows no interest at all, and decides to part ways with Marc without a new single in hand.

But he doesn't back down an inch. Producer Economides books a session at an independent recording studio, bringing in a young bassist named John Paul Jones. "The Third Degree" is a driving R&B number very close to Dylan's "From A Buick Six", while "San Francisco Poet" returns to the path of European troubadours armed with acoustic guitars. The former even has the good fortune of being released as Decca's second single in June 1966, but the label fails to promote it, and for Bolan it's yet another public humiliation. Still, he keeps repeating: "I'll be bigger than Elvis Presley", before vanishing without a trace.

Summer 1966. At 19, Marc Bolan retreats to the family cottage in Summerstown, secretly convinced he's a "natural born loser". He starts writing a fantasy literary work of his own called "Pictures Of Purple People", somewhere between the worlds of Tolkien and C.S. Lewis. In the autumn he contacts the English producer and manager Simon Napier-Bell, turning up at his flat with a six-string guitar. Bolan's voice has changed, becoming more strident and less reminiscent of Dylan, a comparison that had drawn so much critical scorn. Napier-Bell is captivated by Marc's charm and, on impulse, decides to call the first available recording studio — De Lane Lea Studios in Kingsway — to book two hours of studio time right away. The two of them turn up immediately, and Bolan records 14 demos showcasing his new vocal style, with suitably obscure titles like "Hippy Gumbo" and "Pictures Of Purple People", the fruit of his private retreat into the deepest reaches of fantasy. They're all almost embryonic tracks, extremely short and played in an impulsive manner, but Napier-Bell is thrilled. So is Bolan: "Right, that's the album".

Intermezzo – The Children of John

Everything I've done is recreate John's Children, or at least what I wanted John's Children to be when I joined them. I'm writing exactly the same stuff I was writing back then. Really, there's no difference except that nowadays the stuff I write is thankfully better. And now I can actually play; back then I couldn't

After the overnight session at De Lane Lea studios in Kingsway, Napier-Bell is ready to give up managing his latest group, The Yardbirds, to devote himself entirely to Marc. Torn between artistic adoration and sexual jealousy – Bolan is dating a girl named Terry Whipman – he picks the orchestral folk-blues of "Hippy Gumbo" as the next single meant to launch his protégé into the hyperspace of English music. With its new, tipsy-pixie vocal style, the track is performed live on "Ready, Steady, Go!", but once again fails to convince any record label, at a time of utter pop-star overabundance.

In the spring of 1967, an English group from Leatherhead becomes public enemy number one for the German police, who are forced to quell an incendiary concert in Düsseldorf and literally pick up the pieces of what amounts to a celebration of sonic destruction. Like Pete Townshend, drummer/guitarist Chris Townson is a follower of Gustav Metzger's self-destructive art theories. The notorious John's Children are, in fact, label-mates of The Who on Kit Lambert and Chris Stamp's Track label, and they share a bill with the quintessential mod band in Ludwigshafen, where they burst the eardrums (and more) of the audience. The violence unleashed on stage is so intense it sparks a brawl among the crowd, almost forcing the Who to cancel their headlining set. On that stage, chain in hand, is Marc Bolan. And that will be his last performance with John's Children.

But how did a pixie obsessed with clothes end up in a band of unhinged performers who play naked on stage, pounding out a beat that punk would later pick up? In early 1967, Simon Napier-Bell goes back into the studio with Marc to record his latest song, an oddball fantasy-boogie titled "Jasper C. Debussy". But the track is still too outlandish to make it onto a 45, so Bolan's manager has a (seemingly) brilliant idea: why not slot Marc into John's Children, who have been active for about three years with a supersonic beat somewhere between the Who and the Kinks. The group is devoted to smashing up instruments just like Pete Townshend, fronted by vocalist Andy Ellison, who dresses like the droogs from "A Clockwork Orange". Hardly great musicians, John's Children are kept afloat by Napier-Bell, who by now is fed up with the Yardbirds. Despite the money sunk into them, the band is so shambolic that it's a perfect fit for Bolan, who replaces guitarist Geoff McClelland. The problem is that Bolan isn't convinced at all, since he firmly believes the road to worldwide fame means staying a solo act.

Napier-Bell, however, is unstoppable: he brings Ellison to Marc's place to have them rehearse together. Andy is drawn to Bolan, convinced he's the right person to give the group direction. Kit Lambert, Track's boss, agrees to sign John's Children on condition that Marc becomes the band's Pete Townshend. In the spring of 1967, Bolan turns the group around with his lyrics, culminating in the single "Desdemona", which propels John's Children to national fame with its Shakespearean-tinged pop-beat and that line, "lift up your skirt and fly", which gets the song banned by the BBC.

But this is just a brief interlude in this biographical drama, because Marc feels out of place, uneasy with the band's onstage antics and with the fact that Andy Ellison is the lead singer. And yet "Desdemona" is the first example of Bolan's sonic artistry, a tight, minimal song that reveals a true songwriter. After the disastrous dates in Germany, John's Children record another potential single with Marc, "Midsummer Night's Scene", where the beat gives way to electric psychedelia. Unfortunately, Napier-Bell decides to tinker with it and ruins the track, infuriating the band and especially Marc, who leaves the band for good.

Act III – Tyrannosaurus Rex

Marc wasn't a hippie. Most hippies practiced free love and took a lot of drugs like acid. He hated drugs in those days, and he certainly didn't practice free love. No, he was a mod dressed as a hippie

(Tony Visconti)

Even today, people keep ignoring all that hippie stuff that was in the group in the early years. Tyrannosaurus Rex was a completely different concept from what T. Rex are today. I believe that for a while Marc really was a good hippie

(Steve Peregrine Took)

Born in the suburb of Eltham in July 1949, Stephen Ross Porter is two years younger than Bolan. Unlike Marc, Stephen is a nervous kid, but he shares with our hero a great passion for fantastical stories, Tolkien's above all. He in fact took his stage name, Steve Peregrine Took, from the world of "The Lord of the Rings", after one of Frodo Baggins's most loyal companions. United by a shared passion for the mightiest creatures ever to walk the earth, Bolan and Peregrine Took decide to form Tyrannosaurus Rex, together with bassist Ben Cartland.

The new group's first gig is booked at the Electric Garden, but it's a complete disaster. Marc doesn't give up: he keeps recording new tracks and sends acetates to disc jockey John Peel, who adds them to the playlist of his new show "Top Gear" on Radio 1. Peel is seduced by Tyrannosaurus Rex's fantasy-laden atmospheres, the group having since been pared down to a duo of just Bolan and Peregrine Took. The DJ convinces producer Bernie Andrews: the band deserves one of the prestigious Peel Sessions – becoming the first unsigned act to earn that privilege – in the autumn of 1967. Bolan and Took record tracks such as "Child Star" and "Dwarfish Trumpet Blues", landing their first real stroke of luck. They land a record deal for a debut album.

Hailing from Brooklyn, Anthony Edward "Tony" Visconti began his career in music playing bass and electric guitar in a duo with his future wife, Siegrid. In the mid-1960s, he's talked into becoming a record producer for a company called the Richmond Organization by his own publisher, Howie Richmond. Discovered by another English producer, Denny Cordell, Visconti is invited to work the London scene as a talent scout, cutting his teeth with artists like Georgie Fame, Joe Cocker and Procol Harum. In the summer of 1967, Cordell joins forces with Essex boss David Platz to found the independent label Straight Ahead/New Breed, which falls within the market territory controlled by EMI. Cordell and Visconti thus revitalize the old, stagnant production house Regal Zonophone, which signs Procol Harum and The Move before setting out in search of new artists. Tony frequently haunts the most underground venues of the English scene, and one day he comes across a poster for a group called Tyrannosaurus Rex, set to play at Middle Earth (formerly UFO) in front of an audience of around three hundred enthusiastic hippies.

Visconti is captivated by Bolan's charisma, but it's Steve Took who introduces him, advising him to "talk to the boss." Marc, with the typical brashness of someone convinced he's destined for stardom, brazenly lies to Tony: "Man, you're the eighth producer who's approached me this week. Just yesterday it was John Lennon." Visconti asks Marc to call him in for a trial session. Bolan and Took show up — naturally — with a Persian rug and everything needed to recreate the acoustic set they'd staged at the Middle Earth. Visconti's enthusiasm is tempered by Cordell, who isn't willing to take risks: he agrees to produce Tyrannosaurus Rex, but with a tiny budget — just £400 for the first album. Among the songs recorded is "Debora," which debuts as a single in March on John Peel's "Top Gear" programme and miraculously comes close to the UK Top 30. Not bad for a first-time producer, a percussionist playing borrowed bongos, and a songwriter who can barely string three chords together.

Following the unexpected success of "Debora," the debut album finally arrives in the summer of 1968, an absurdist gem with the exhausting title My People Were Fair And Had Sky In Their Hair… But Now They're Content To Wear Stars On Their Brows.

The debut album is thus the result of Marc Bolan's rejection of his electric experience with John's Children, having completely renounced the use of amplified guitar to embrace a freak-folk psychedelia of rare originality. Through the use of toy instruments like the xylophone or the Chinese gong, "My People Were Fair" approaches its first listeners from a standpoint somewhere between the absurd and the fantastical. Marc's own voice is perfectly suited to a sound that sits halfway between demented nursery rhyme ("Strange Orchestras") and obsessive raga litanies ("Frowning Atahuallpa, My Inca Love").

"My People Were Fair" is like a Khalil Gibran work set to music, a piece that's at once immediate and extremely complex, as in the gentle Eastern melody of "Child Star," one of the finest tracks on the whole record, alongside the brief childlike romp "Scenescof" — taken from diary entries about the "purple people" — and the mystical, unsettling Indian psychedelia of "Dwarfish Trumpet Blues." Paradoxically, the only off notes on the record are the most "normal" ones, like the country-blues of "Hot Rod Mama" and the boogie of "Mustang Ford." Beyond appearances, which paint Tyrannosaurus Rex as unrepentant hippies, "My People Were Fair" is a hugely underrated record, one that holds at its innermost core Bolan's earliest compositional steps as a future world-famous pop star. Just spin the folk gem "Afghan Woman" or the irresistible nah-nah of "Debora," in truth one of the first truly "Bolan-esque" sonic experiences.

Surprisingly, in the summer of 1968 the debut album outsold Pink Floyd and the Jimi Hendrix Experience in the charts. The Bolan-Took duo, backed by John Peel, start performing in venues far more prestigious than the old UFO club, such as the Royal Albert Hall. Thanks to a contact of Tony Visconti's, Tyrannosaurus Rex win favour with Blackhill Enterprises, run by Pete Jenner and Andrew King, who are looking to build a musical empire after taking Pink Floyd under their management. "What Pink Floyd do electrically, we do acoustically," Bolan would tell Jenner. In September, "One Inch Rock" is the new piece of acoustic rock-and-roll that comes close to the Top 30, ahead of a run of summer shows culminating at the Isle of Wight festival. The New Musical Express runs the headline: "Tyrannosaurus Rex: monsters of pop in the making."

The iron must be struck while hot, not least because Bolan's pen has never been more prolific. The duo return to the studio with new instruments, including a kazoo and an African-style drum. The sound, halfway between freak psychedelia and pastoral ode, is renewed on the follow-up, Prophets, Seers & Sages: The Angels Of The Ages, released just a few months later, in October 1968, again on Regal Zonophone and again produced by Tony Visconti.

Later regarded as one of Tyrannosaurus Rex's most underrated records, "Prophets" continues along the path set out by "My People Were Fair," an acoustic landscape somewhere between the worlds of Tolkien and Lewis, crammed with obscure mythology that's part Celtic, part Eastern. And yet the record features folk and pastoral harmonies that are far more structured, in the classic "song" format, such as the gorgeous melancholy of "Stacey Grove" and the irresistible pop rhythm of "Consuela." The reverse-engineered take on "Debora," the opening "Deboraarobed," is an experiment in backwards music that not even the Beatles had yet attempted with real conviction.

Bolan and Took carry on with their oddities, as on "Scenescof Dynasty," a spiritual sequel to "Scenescof" built on nothing more than handclaps accompanying wailing vocal laments. Marc's songwriting is by now becoming unmistakable, for instance on the unforgettable raga obsession "Salamanda Palaganda." From the pastoral "Trelawny Lawn" to the pop lullaby "Aznageel The Mage," the new Tyrannosaurus Rex compositions are a lethal potion of nonsense, mystery, and choruses impossible to ignore.

"Prophets" doesn't sell well, but the duo keep touring around England, and at the start of 1969 the first Tyrannosaurus Rex Fan Club is also founded. But Bolan is unstoppable: in March he publishes a book of romantic lyrics titled "The Warlock Of Love," which receives mixed reviews, from Donovan, who appreciates its romantic side, to Pete Brown, who finds it unbearable in its drift between hippie culture and Tolkien. The truth is that by early 1969 it's clear to everyone that the hippie dream is dead and buried, replaced by the blues revival and, above all, by hard rock. Bolan is fully aware of this sonic shift, but he's not yet ready to betray his original ideals; he wants to keep his audience happy, even as he realises change is urgently needed.

Atto IV – The Prettiest Star

And now, where once there was water in its solid state, there is the reptile king, Tyrannosaurus Rex, reborn and leaping forward

Early 1969. Marc Bolan and Peregrin Took are no longer alone. Pushed along by John Peel and June Child, Marc's current girlfriend and formerly Syd Barrett's muse, Tyrannosaurus Rex now have a fan club with over a hundred members across Europe. But Bolan has realised it's time for a change of sound, and so he buys a new electric guitar, an instrument abandoned after the John's Children fallout. Marc is not exactly a guitar hero, and his determination to give Tyrannosaurus Rex's compositions a new imprint sends Took into a rage. Steve has always been different from Marc, in truth — much more reserved. Now he's tired of living in the leader's shadow, and heavy drug use isn't helping matters. Prophets' poor sales have only compounded the problem: the duo's hippie style is in serious danger of becoming anachronistic.

As their friend David Bowie begins his rise with "Space Oddity," the new single "Pewter Suitor" is torn apart by critics, who have no time at all for its two jarring chords and its obsessive la-la-la. The same goes for the follow-up, "Warlord Of The Royal Crocodiles," which leads Bolan to pour out his doubts in a heartfelt letter to John Peel. Out of this creative chaos comes Unicorn, released in May, drawing a sharp line between the lo-fi, all-guitar-and-bongos atmospheres of before and a more polished, more carefully crafted production in the vein of Phil Spector's wall of sound.

"This album is split into two halves," Bolan would tell Circus magazine, "six tracks with just guitar and bongos, while the others feature more instruments. I bought an organ and learned to play it, and now I'm interested in all sorts of other sounds. There are twenty kinds of percussion on this album, as well as bass and drums." For many, Unicorn is Tyrannosaurus Rex's masterpiece, because it perfectly blends three core ingredients: old-school Tolkien-esque folk, full-blown psychedelia, and a Spector-style song format. It's the first album on which Marc Bolan is the sole star, produced by Tony Visconti, while Peregrine Took is little more than a travelling companion.

"Cat Black (The Wizard's Hat)" is the record's summa, built on a bed of rock-and-roll chords that evolves, through piano lines, towards precisely the wall of sound Spector was after. The same goes for the opener "Chariots Of Silk," which pairs a pounding drum pattern with tambourine amid overdub effects on Bolan's and Took's two voices. Tyrannosaurus Rex haven't abandoned the mantra-like approach to music — the lullaby "She Was Born To Be My Unicorn" and the minimal "Romany Soup" — but Bolan is truly beginning to write more intricate music, starting with the progressive-folk of "The Pilgrim's Tale," moving through the funereal, inscrutable "Iscariot," all the way to "Nijinsky Hind," which pays tribute to an obscure 1920s dancer with an acoustic march of rare beauty.

After the release of Unicorn, John Peel plays Tyrannosaurus Rex's songs so frequently that he receives a formal warning for "conflict of interest." Encouraged by June, who has by now become his manager, Bolan is increasingly convinced he can become like Clapton, Hendrix or Townshend — a god of the electric guitar. Towards the end of the year, the new single "King Of The Rumbling Spires" marks a Copernican revolution: it's played electric, with a twelve-bar boogie and a mellotron reminiscent of King Crimson. The single — needless to say — isn't a hit, and Took is starting to grow impatient: he wants a bigger role as a writer and singer, and asks to record his own songs. This goes against the duo's unwritten rules, which have Bolan writing and Took handling the rhythmic arrangements. Tony Visconti himself would later recall listening to some of Steve's songs (calling them "horrible"), partly justifying the decision that was to come: firing him.

Not yet officially split up, Bolan and Took still have to honor a first six-week tour of the United States, where Unicorn is the only album released on that market so far. The run of shows is something of a disaster, because Steve is by now hooked on acid and can barely get out of bed. During some dates in September, Took crosses the line: he strips naked on stage during a show and starts sabotaging performances with rhythms entirely his own, completely unplanned. What remains is a statement given to the press later on, after he joined The Pink Fairies All-Star Motorcycle Club and Rock and Roll Band: “Basically, all I wanted to do was sit under an orange tree, playing my music in the sun, stoned, digging smells and colors.”

After the split with Took, it doesn't take Bolan long to find a new travelling companion. In October 1969 an ad appears in Melody Maker reading, more or less: “Want to work with Tyrannosaurus Rex? Looking for a young, gentle boy who can play percussion, like bongos, but also drums, a bit of bass, and who can sing. Please enclose photo. PO Box 8679.” But the more than three hundred applications received are never even read, because in the meantime Marc has met a young artist, an aspiring musician by the name of Mickey Finn.

Michael Norman Finn was born in Surrey in June 1947, making him the same age as Marc. A fan of Elvis Presley and Gene Vincent, Finn attended Croydon College of Art, which he quickly dropped out of to try to earn his first bit of money and buy himself a motorcycle. He first tries his hand at modelling, then attempts an artistic career working in an art nouveau-devoted boutique on King's Road. It's while he's painting his murals there that he meets Marc, who asks him to join the duo. Finn is charming and has a docile, easygoing nature, but he knows practically nothing about music. Bolan doesn't care, because he understands that Mickey's personality is the polar opposite of Took's, and that he will never challenge his authority as supreme leader of Tyrannosaurus Rex. Above all, he won't say a single word about the duo's new direction, which will increasingly embrace electric sounds, leaving behind the froth of the hippie wave.

Bolan himself increasingly uses the name T. Rex to describe his project, which will be more pop and rock'n'roll. Marc and Mickey retreat to Wales to find harmony again after the US tour: it's here that the new songs for the fourth album, still credited to Tyrannosaurus Rex, are rehearsed. Back in London, in January 1970 he's invited by Tony Visconti to take part in recording sessions for the new single by one of the fastest-rising figures on the English scene, David Bowie. Bowie too started out from Dylan-esque folk with psychedelic touches, and has always admired both Marc's work and his popstar posturing. Hunting for a new hit after “Space Oddity”, Bowie has two songs ready: “London Bye Ta Ta” and “The Prettiest Star”. Visconti asks Bolan to record a guitar part for the second track. The situation blows up when June Child attacks the single, calling it “a piece of shit”, praising only her protégé's contribution. Bowie and Bolan realize it's impossible to contain both their egos in one room, and go their separate ways.

After his first marriage to June Child at the end of January, Bolan returns live to John Peel's radio show to present “Elemental Child”, an electric track marking the new direction of Tyrannosaurus Rex. Bolan's approach to the instrument is distinctly Hendrix-like, loaded with distortion, but also somehow tied to a boogie version of “Interstellar Overdrive” by Pink Floyd. With Took's bongos now a thing of the past, Marc writes his new songs for voice and guitar with a less convoluted approach, simpler structures and more easily understandable lyrics. The result is A Beard Of Stars, released in March 1970, an album that marks the definitive handover from the old hippie Tyrannosaurus Rex to the new pop idols T. Rex. Precisely for this reason, the album is like a dish with a somewhat undecided flavor, even if its ingredients remain well balanced.

The high point is undoubtedly the closing track, “Elemental Child”, which effectively hands the baton to T. Rex with its distorted proto-boogie, never before so pronounced in Bolan's output to date. In “Pavilions of Sun”, for instance, the guitar brings in Hendrix-style wah-wah to cast new electric light on the old freak-ballad rhythm. Likewise, “By The Light Of The Magical Moon” echoes a folk structure with a less convoluted rhythm and electric overdubbed inserts. In “A Beard Of Stars” a lysergic legacy still lingers, as in the ballad “A Day Laye” or in the title track itself, which plays up its flower-power without holding back.

The album will perhaps be remembered more for its importance as a sonic metamorphosis than for the absolute quality of its songs, even though it does feature some top-tier compositions like the brooding “Organ Blues”. But that's enough: it's the record that turns the caterpillar into an electric butterfly, ready to take flight onto the English (and global) music market.

February 1970. On the stage of London's Roundhouse, four musicians climb up dressed as if for a carnival party from outer space. David Bowie, Tony Visconti, Mick Ronson and John Cambridge have recently formed The Hype, a very first attempt to embody a harder sound amid glitter and pirate boots. Among the audience, Marc Bolan is one of the few who applauds the band, by now convinced that this is the future of music, and of his own career as a pop idol.

In May, the latest album A Beard Of Stars doesn't rise above number twenty-one on the UK albums chart, but the massive success of Mungo Jerry's single “In The Summertime” will prove even more significant for Bolan. British audiences warm to Mungo Jerry's vocal style, just as they do to Ray Davies's on the Kinks hit “King Kong”, or to Bowie's on “Black Country Rock”. It's a kind of great retreat before the sonic tsunami about to hit London: glam. At this precise moment, Marc Bolan is thinking of a real revolution: abandoning the two-piece format and expanding the ranks of his supporting musicians, at least live. During the European tour in the summer of 1970, Bolan adds the new “Jewel” to the setlist, a song now light years removed from psychedelic folk in favor of a simpler, rawer blues-rock'n'roll.

The turning point comes in July, when the new single “Ride A White Swan” is recorded at Trident Studios, a gaudy nursery-rhyme of a song delivered in rock-and-roll fashion with disarming simplicity, built on just a few electric guitar chords beneath a storm of handclapping. Bolan's chanted ending is bulletproof, so much so that someone would later write that “Ride A White Swan inadvertently sparked the glam rock craze”. The tale of the white swan is set to split the British charts wide open; its release is scheduled for October on the new Fly Records label, and it's bound to confirm the birth of a brand-new superstar of English rock.

Act V – The Dawn of the Electric Warrior

When we listened to what we had, it was all so exciting, we knew we had a potential superstar on our hands. It had such a different sound, and it was exactly what was needed at that precise moment

(David Platz)

You can sell as many albums as you like, but until you have a hit single, you don't feel like a successful artist at all. All I ever wanted was to become a rock and roll star

(Marc Bolan)

September 1970. David Platz is about to launch his new record label, Fly Records, and Bolan will be one of its flagship artists. When he walks into Tony Visconti's office, Marc sees the name T. Rex everywhere and asks for an explanation. Visconti candidly admits that writing Tyrannosaurus Rex fifteen times in a document is simply too much work. When "Ride A White Swan" is released as a single, the British public goes wild. The new T. Rex's first shows sell out, followed by increasingly electrified and raucous crowds. Lower ticket prices attract younger listeners, and an appearance on "Top of The Pops" seals the deal.

After his early experiences with Tony Visconti on bass, Bolan realises he now needs a permanent specialist. As with Mickey Finn, the search is remarkably short. After an audition, young Steve Currie is hired, and unlike Finn, he wants to do nothing but play bass. Currie admits he isn't particularly fond of the old Tyrannosaurus Rex's folk music, but Marc reassures him: "We're not a little folk duo anymore, we want to spend the next year working hard and squeezing the most out of our music. I want it to be really exciting." After toasting his arrival with a bottle of whiskey, T. Rex make it official in December 1970, just weeks before the release of the first album of the new era, simply titled T. Rex.

With Tony Visconti on bass, T. Rex is the first record of the electric-pop turn, opened by the distorted blues-and-roll of "Jewel". As with A Beard Of Stars, the album still has an acoustic side - for instance, the minimal ballad "The Visit" - but Bolan's songwriting is no longer devoted to hippie abstraction, instead building simple, immediate melodies.

Handclapping becomes a trademark (the obscure "Childe"), yet the record as a whole feels unfinished, sketched out. The softness of "The Time Of Love Is Now" and "Diamond Meadows" remains rough around the edges, the work of an artist still preparing to break out of his cocoon. While the flirtatious rock'n'roll of "Is It Love" and the new boogie version of "One Inch Rock" open the doors to glam, tracks like "Seagull Woman" and the watercolour sketch "Sun Eye" lack real bite. Closing the album is "The Wizard", the longest track Bolan had recorded up to that point, running over 8 minutes between electro-acoustic distortion and Visconti's orchestral refrains. The new era has arrived.

T. Rex fails to crack the UK Top 10, and Bolan publicly apologises, explaining that the album was written before the furious live sound brought by Finn and Currie. In early 1971, as the single "Ride A White Swan" keeps racking up sales, Bolan doesn't stop for a moment and carries on writing new material. This is the point in the story where a drummer needs to be brought in, to complete the metamorphosis from Tyrannosaurus Rex into T. Rex. Introduced once again by Tony Visconti, Bill Fifield decides to leave his current band, Legend, to record Bolan's next single straight away, "Hot Love". A lover of art and rock and roll, Bill Fifield is a drummer with a simple but tremendously effective groove for the sound Marc intends to detonate across the UK. In April 1971, after the triumphant release of "Hot Love", the four members of T. Rex take the stage for the first time in Detroit, in front of a wild crowd.

Back in London, Marc Bolan has definitively become a star. "Hot Love" is a pop-anthem and the manifesto of the Bolan sound, the T. Rex's "Hey Jude" according to the music critics of the day. Built on a fairly basic rock'n'roll template, the single perfectly captures the classic simplicity of the Bolan-Visconti partnership, driven by handclapping, orchestral textures and a killer chorus. It's with "Hot Love" that Marc breathes new life into the old Elvis, carrying him into the glittering rock of 1971. It's during the American tour, between Los Angeles and New York City, that the next album is recorded, officially introducing Steve Currie on bass and Bill Legend (as Bolan calls him) on drums. Visconti himself would later say that Electric Warrior was recorded as if the band were at Sun Studios under the orders of boss Sam Phillips. No frills, no special recording techniques, just rock'n'roll.

Back home, Bolan finds that "Hot Love" is still topping the charts, three months on. It's a golden moment, with critics comparing him to the King, Presley. After performing the new hit on "Top Of The Pops", a friend of June's, Chelita Secunda, convinces Marc to wear makeup for the first time. She takes him to the trendiest boutiques on King's Road, where she dresses him head to toe in glitter, satin trousers and flamboyant jackets. His already long curly hair and androgynous physique do the rest: the new superstar of glam rock is born.

At its origins, glam rock is probably one of the most orthodox things in all of rock'n'roll. It suddenly wipes away a decade of political battles and underground movements to embody the supreme idea of the rockstar, through the recovery of an almost vintage sound - one built on style, sensuality and extreme simplicity in songwriting. Marc Bolan understands that the new direction of rock runs through younger listeners, who want songs that are sexy, catchy and free of deep messages. When the third single "Get It On" comes out in July, the new movement can no longer be stopped. The way T. Rex rework rock'n'roll into a sinister boogie, with sax harmonies and a string section layered over yet another unforgettable chorus, is like a Copernican revolution in the British Seventies. Even though bands like the Rolling Stones had long paid tribute to founding fathers like Chuck Berry, Bolan is the artist who most fully embodies that primitive sound, elevating it onto the glam stage.

Not even the sudden rift with John Peel - who dislikes the new electric direction - slows Marc down, as he struts like Chuck Berry on stage amid glitter and flashy jackets. "Get It On" is another massive hit, and Bolan now truly feels he's made it. At the end of September 1971, the second album Electric Warrior is released, effectively opening the glam era across eleven tracks that would remain forever carved in sonic stone. The first record with his new bandmates, it would later be described by Bolan himself as follows: "As far as I'm concerned, it's the first album I ever made. The others were just ideas, but on this one I talked about me, about you, about all of us."

Modesty aside, Electric Warrior is a masterpiece of simplicity turned into music, from the seductive bluesy-groove of "Mambo Sun" to the electric reverb of "Rip Off". Much like John Lennon did with the Plastic Ono Band, Bolan returns to an honest, direct and sensual sound, wanting to speak a universal language - rock'n'roll - so everyone could hear him. Described by Marc himself as an "all-blues record", Electric Warrior is an impressive cascade of killer singles, such as the masterful groove of "Jeepster", which blends the sound of Howlin' Wolf with Elvis, over near-falsetto vocals and lyrics dripping with teenage lust. If opener "Mambo Sun" is like an unsettling mantra made of "oohs and aahs", "Cosmic Dancer" is the sweet generational melody steeped in psychedelic effects. Essentially, what Bolan does isn't invent a new musical genre: he simply rediscovers primitive music and dresses it up in a magnificent outfit that everyone would want to wear, at least once.

Split across two sides of barely twenty minutes, Electric Warrior is the album that definitively transforms a hippie-folk sprite into a sort of avatar of trash-rock, capable of taking a sacred chord progression like the twelve-bar and turning it into something shamelessly trashy, as on the filthy "Lean Woman Blues". Bolan's musical language is seductive, as in the electro-acoustic melodic watercolours "Girl" and "Life's A Gas". But if Electric Warrior is remembered in music history, it's above all for glam-boogie numbers like "Get It On" and the horn-driven coda of unbridled aural pleasure, "The Motivator".

While his old partner Peregrine Took sinks into a dark vortex of drugs and alcohol, Bolan is at the height of success, amid new guitars and (second-hand) Rolls Royces. Pushed by new manager Tony Secunda - fresh off a disastrous handling of The Move's royalties - T. Rex sit down at the negotiating table with Fly Records, riding the success of Electric Warrior. Bolan wants to become a popstar, full stop. Unsatisfied with Fly Records' terms, Secunda shuffles the deck, with Marc's full agreement. At the end of 1971, T. Rex Wax Co. is thus born, a homemade label, and David Platz joins the growing list of Marc Bolan's former friends.

In autumn, the promotional tour for Electric Warrior kicks off with a long string of UK dates: young fans go wild for Marc, and every night security staff have to step in to stop hundreds of girls armed with scissors from trying to snip off a lock of his hair. The cult of Bolan grows out of control, to the point that Jackie magazine receives almost a thousand letters from fans worried about their idol's supposed terminal illness.

Act VI - Metal Guru

The whole thing was Marc Bolan. It was never T. Rex. He was T. Rex

(Steve Currie)

Early 1972. Marc Bolan decides to celebrate his new status as a rock superstar with a hefty dose of cocaine, washed down with litres of champagne. He stops listening to the advice of those around him, choosing instead to retreat into his own paradisiacal ego-world. His image is everywhere, on every magazine cover, and there's no plausible reason not to indulge in self-celebration now that the dream has been achieved. In March, T. Rex play two shows at the Empire Pool in Wembley in front of over 16,000 adoring fans. Melody Maker's headline reads: "Bolan-mania reaches a new peak". It's the first time the Empire Pool has hosted a show by a single band or artist: Beatles drummer Ringo Starr brings in his own team to film the performances for a movie. In January, the new single "Telegram Sam" came out - the new boogie-beat sounding as if Chuck Berry had started playing with saxophone, strings and backing vocals. It's the nation's new obsession. The trade press starts using the word "superstar", and it's now confirmed that rexmania has nothing to envy in that more famous obsession over four lads from Liverpool. "T. Rex are the new Beatles," read some posters during the US tour in early 1972, "the idols of the kids in the 70s and the biggest pop sensation in years." The conquest of the United States is finally sealed at the end of February with a triumphant show at Carnegie Hall in New York.

In the spring, T. Rex fly to France to begin a new recording session at Strawberry Studios in Paris. Bolan wants to escape England's punishing taxes, taking refuge in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower on the advice of his friend Elton John. Marc arrives at the studio soaked in cognac, screams at his roadie Mickey O'Halloran, and meanwhile rehearses his new songs with the band. One of the tracks recorded in Paris is "Metal Guru", a funky rock'n'roll number recalling Buddy Holly, but with the decadent, sensual arrangement celebrated on Electric Warrior. The new single won't be well received by critics, who call it a "poor copy of Small Faces" or the work "of a deaf-mute Phil Spector". Marc doesn't take it well: since becoming a superstar, his ego has grown out of all proportion, to the point where he starts claiming that people like the Rolling Stones have copied him. In truth, what music critics begin writing in 1972 is that T. Rex's music, starting with "Metal Guru" after "Telegram Sam", has suddenly become unoriginal. The only one with no doubts is fan Ringo Starr, director of the documentary film "Born To Boogie", released at the end of the year through Apple Corps.

As criticism from the trade press mounts, The Slider comes out in the summer of 1972, described by Bolan as "the most honest and truthful record about me". Many critics, however, see the record as "a cleaner, more polished version" of Electric Warrior, much closer to a "total artistic collapse". What The Slider really does is launch another attack on more intellectual rock, on the progressive excesses of the time, holding firm to the creed of primitive revival as a way to set audiences alight.

Right after the power-ballad "Mystic Lady", the magnificent one-two punch of "Rock On"/"The Slider" is the summa of Bolan's art, driven by a boogie-and-roll rhythm and packed with irresistible backing vocals, sexual grunts and string arrangements. Paradoxically, The Slider is an even more accessible record than Electric Warrior. T. Rex floor the accelerator on elementary fifties-style blues ("Baby Boomerang" and "Rabbit Fighter"), knowing when to slow down into folk-pop rhythms as on the stellar "Spaceball Ricochet" or when to follow the purest of glam-ballads, "Ballrooms Of Mars". Despite the criticism voiced by the trade press, The Slider is the most worthy successor to Electric Warrior, a record that certainly recycles ideas already foretold - "Buick Mackane", for instance, has a groove very similar to that of the other chart-smashing single "Children Of The Revolution" - but which still lets Bolan celebrate once again a sound free of any intellectualism, direct and fierce like rock'n'roll of old.

Almost simultaneously, the compilation Bolan Boogie comes out on Fly Records, effortlessly climbing the British charts, accompanied by a new national tour that sends thousands of adoring kids into a frenzy. The wave of T. Rexstasy is now a tsunami, and fame is starting to become a security issue too: Bolan begins to think about a sudden retreat from the stage, moving to the Welsh countryside in search of the ever more longed-for quiet.

Despite selling 100,000 copies in just four days, The Slider fails to reach the top of the British charts, falling short of fully capitalising on the success of Electric Warrior. With no private life left to speak of, Bolan starts thinking about withdrawing from the domestic market, having probably become a victim of his own success too soon. By the end of 1972, the glam rock "market" is already saturated, with a crowded coop of colourful roosters: Elton John, David Bowie, Rod Stewart, Alice Cooper, but above all the new rival Gary Glitter. When the album "The Rise And Fall Of Ziggy Stardust And The Spiders From Mars" comes out on Rca in June, it's now clear that the movement has a new cosmic prince. Critics love David Bowie, comparing him to sacred monsters like Bob Dylan and the Beatles. Unlike Marc, the former David Jones has developed a sound closer to the New York underground, though not entirely free of a Bolan-esque accent.

As the first grumblings arise between Currie and Legend - who are still on a very low wage, despite the band's success - Marc immediately returns to France to record the new single "Children Of The Revolution", built from the same ingredients as the magic formula: string textures, dirty riffs and falsetto backing vocals. It almost seems as if Bolan wants to play with the force of a steam train, so much so that the second single, "Solid Gold Easy Action", delivers an irresistible, hysterical shuffle-beat recorded in just a few sessions. In September, T. Rex fly to the States for a disastrous six-week tour, savaged by critics (among other things) for Bolan's rockstar attitude of treating his audience like a doormat. Marc brings Motown vocalist Gloria Jones into the band, who begins her live run with the group in October, at the Winterland in San Francisco.

Back in Paris to begin recording the next album, Bolan is now completely lost in his own ego. Even Tony Visconti can no longer communicate with him the way he used to, while the singles war with Slade - the new band winning over the hearts of English teenage girls - rages on. Critics keep accusing him of making the same music over and over, while Bolan is convinced his new album is almost "gospel", since it introduces piano, sax and plenty of Black backing singers. The reality is that Marc is increasingly cornered, hooked on cocaine, which some say is turning him into "everything he always hated in Steve Took".

Straddling the turn of 1972 into 1973, the long-distance war between Marc Bolan and David Bowie rages on. The single David recorded in October, "The Jean Genie", smashes the charts and conquers the United States, where Marc had never managed to break through. Critics hail Bowie as a "rising star", while Marc fires back with the new single "20th Century Boy", produced at Emi studios during the Japanese tour. Despite its hefty riff, the track fails to climb past third place on the charts and is soon overtaken by the acid-tinged "Drive-In Saturday" from the mysterious Ziggy Stardust, who has by now definitively seized the sceptre of international glam rock.

In March 1973, Bolan decides to play his next card with the album Tanx, the record he had described as a "gospel" work. Aside from the engaging choral close of "Left Hand Luke And The Beggar Boys", Tanx is not a gospel record at all. Certainly not in Bolan's intentions, as he packs the record with soul sounds driven by Howard Casey's saxophone. Tracks like "Mister Mister" and "Broken Hearted Blues" in fact represent a partial departure from the template laid out on Electric Warrior, (probably) in an attempt to move closer to the new sound of his new rival, Ziggy Stardust. Of course, Marc is not at all the type to admit such a thing, but the glam-soul swirl of stars on "Life Is Strange" can't ignore what critics are calling "the new star of English pop".

Even so, it's not entirely clear whether T. Rex are better off going back to the sound that launched them into the stratosphere of showbiz. Tracks like "Shock Rock", "Mad Donna" and "Born To Boogie" now sound like copies of a style, even if still blessed with an irresistible sound. In the end, the track that manages to win everyone over is the opening "Tenement Lady", which blends boogie with mellotron to strike a balance between pop dreams and psychedelic melancholy.

Act VII - Teenage Dream

Adulation and cocaine were exactly what Marc didn't need

(Jack Green)

By mid-1973, success had radically transformed Marc Bolan's psyche. Between chart-topping singles, films, and screaming teenage girls wanting a lock of his hair, the former Marc Feld is increasingly troubled about which direction to take next. Almost trapped in a sonic cage he can't escape, Bolan releases the new single "The Groover" in June, which gets outdone on the charts by rivals Slade with "Skweeze Me Pleeze Me". The track is classic T. Rexstasy style, a lightning-fast boogie played at a frenzied pace, but this time it isn't enough to reach number one, dragged down as if by a collective shrug of indifference. "Why bother making the T. Rex single again?", asks Sounds magazine. The B-side of "The Groover" is "Midnight", a Hendrix-style hard-rock excursion that supports the growing belief that Bolan wants to expand his sound toward hard rock, moving away from glam-pop conventions.

The twist comes after an encore on stage at Watford Town Hall in April 1973, when Bolan lends his guitar to the Electric Light Orchestra. Marc had in fact collaborated on the making of the record "On The Third Day", produced by guitarist Jeff Lynne with a particular leaning toward symphonic and progressive rock. The Watford show turns out, surprisingly, to be his last public appearance of the year, while Melody Maker runs a bombastic headline: "Glam-rock is dead! Marc says so".

In reality, in 1973 glam rock is alive and well, and people like Elton John are building their own fortunes by paying tribute to Bolan himself. Marc, however, is convinced that his future lies in producing other people's music, in France - where taxes are lower - and above all in a sound less reliant on singles and more geared toward complex compositions fit for launching into space. Bolan himself will describe this musical vision as "a super interstellar soul". The leader of T. Rex is now maximo, so much so that he renames the band Zinc Alloy and The Hidden Riders of Tomorrow, which will become a "cosmic ensemble" more than a rock quartet. With the new Zinc Alloy incarnation, Bolan turns into a studio despot, wanting to control every aspect of the work at the expense of Tony Visconti's historic contribution. The new musical direction heads toward black music, with the formation of the Cosmic Choir featuring Gloria Jones and Sister Pat Hall.

Amid drugs and alcohol, Marc Bolan barely spends a moment outside the recording studio. For a while, T. Rex relocate to Musicland Studios in Munich to record the new tracks for their next album, amid the increasingly loud grumbling of drummer Bill Legend. June Child also politely declines the invitation to move to Germany, preferring instead to spend her time in Eric Clapton's garden smoking joints and listening to acoustic rock. Increasingly unstable and insecure, Bolan begins to think their love story has run its course. In the summer of 1973, his relationship with vocalist Gloria Jones goes beyond the professional: the two fly off for a holiday in Nassau, where Marc basks in the sun to get a deeper tan. The changes aren't only cosmetic. In October, new bassist Danny Thompson is hired, and his new love for Gloria pushes Bolan to record increasingly soul-inflected songs.

By the end of 1973, Marc is now focused solely on the new artistic direction for T. Rex, but the band is clearly falling apart. After receiving a modest raise following three years of massive success, Steve Currie and Bill Legend are up in arms. The drummer leaves in November after a two-week tour of Japan and Australia. In truth, Legend goes home to be with his family, and he won't be called back: Marc is convinced he "can no longer keep proper time". At the same time, his relationship with Visconti also dissolves, amid arguments over royalties and advice that Bolan, now wanting total control over his own music, no longer heeds. Visconti thus decides to accept David Bowie's courtship to produce the album "Diamond Dogs", following the sensational on-stage suicide of the glam creature Ziggy Stardust at the Hammersmith Odeon.

In November, T. Rex release the single "Truck On (Tyke)", which still recalls the glam-boogie of recent years, backed by syrupy strings and funky-soul choruses. A few months later, at the start of 1974, an English tour kicks off where Bolan performs every night stuffed with cocaine, growing increasingly bored by the collective hysteria at every show. His alcohol abuse has made him put on weight, to the point that some in the press begin comparing him to the late-period Elvis Presley. His tanned, puffy face becomes the cover of the new album Zinc Alloy And The Hidden Riders Of Tomorrow, his last work with Visconti, who will also be blamed, among other things, for its dismal commercial performance. Released in February and preceded by the single "Teenage Dream", "Zinc Alloy" leaves critics stunned, and they don't hesitate to pan it, accusing Bolan of blatantly copying Bowie. In truth, the fictional character of Zinc Alloy dates back to the late Sixties, but there's no doubt it surfaces at the wrong moment, right after Ziggy's "suicide".

Despite the merciless reviews, the record will partly be reassessed for the soul turn that Bolan anticipates ahead of Bowie himself or Lennon. From the disco-funk whirl of "Venus Loon", nothing remains of the old T. Rex formula, while Marc's voice is at times completely overwhelmed by those of Gloria Jones and Pat Hall. "Zinc Alloy" is the record where the new era of "space funk", already announced by Bolan, truly begins, with a shift away from boogie-blues toward soul & disco music ("Galaxy", "Liquid Gang", "Interstellar Soul"). Beyond the fact that not all the songs land effectively - the overall sense is that the record is steeped in chaos - Bolan's attempt will only be understood later, when both Bowie and Lennon ride this same wave after their own glam-pop periods. Songs like "Sound Pit" and "Nameless Wildness" could be counted among the earliest examples of "bubblegum music", while "Teenage Dream" is, to all intents and purposes, an orchestral pop masterpiece, the last testament to the old friendship between an artist and his producer.

Spring 1974. Marc Bolan packs his bags and leaves the United Kingdom. After a first stop in France, he flies to the West Coast, where, with his new partner Gloria Jones, he'll be able to work more effectively in his new role as a producer of soul music. Having by now achieved superstar status at home, Marc wants to travel toward new sonic horizons, convinced that true happiness lies elsewhere. Gloria Jones herself will tell the press: "It was a hard time. Everyone turned against him because they didn't want a change in his music, and it broke his heart. People didn't understand that he was a very sensitive person, pure of spirit. At that point, what can you do? Keep making the same music to keep the fans happy, or make music that serves your soul? And that's what people really need to understand. Marc is a man of soul".

Between one drink and the next, Bolan settles permanently in Los Angeles and over the summer dusts off the old Hard on Love project to record the album The Beginning Of Doves, meant to be released without any contribution from T. Rex. It's a moment of total anarchy, as another project is exhumed (already glimpsed as an introductory fragment on the first T. Rex album), "The Children Of Rarn". Bolan's attempts, however, go nowhere, as he tries to expand his new "interstellar soul", which ends up sounding very close to the funkadelia being pursued by George Clinton at the same time.

In the summer of 1974, the glam movement enjoys a second youth thanks to bands like Showaddywaddy and The Bay City Rollers, who compete fiercely for the teenage market. The lesson taught by Bolan and Bowie is obviously there to be repeated by heart, in a musical landscape that seems increasingly split between slick pop and hard rock. Having relocated to the States, T. Rex try to conquer the American market alone, as if wanting to draw a clear dividing line with the United Kingdom. But the new pop single "Light Of Love" fails to stir either hearts or charts. After Tony Visconti's departure, Bolan becomes the band's sole producer, signing a deal with Casablanca Records for an album to be released only in the US. At first, the plan is to release a version of "Zinc Alloy", but Casablanca's management disagrees. During the American tour, Bolan records new songs described as if "Chuck Berry had been dropped into the 21st century".

Setting aside the frontman's usual modesty, Light Of Love gets panned by American music critics. The record is a clumsy attempt to win over a vast market with a sound meant to update the by-now-dated glam formula. Tracks like "Precious Star" are yet another rehash of the choral clap-boogie, while "Token Of My Love" represents an attempt to modernize Bolan-esque pop with the soulful addition of Gloria Jones's voice. Visconti's absence weighs heavily, since the record lacks that flashy, swaggering touch that had always been decisive on T. Rex albums.

The single "Light Of Love" is bland pop, while "Space Boss" at least tries to carry forward the path toward "interstellar soul" begun with the misunderstood and underrated "Zinc Alloy". In the end, it's something that normally happens to all great songwriters: the album arrives that marks a collapse, caused by personal confusion and internal rifts. Light Of Love is officially the album that marks Marc Bolan's artistic downfall, forced to pad itself out with no fewer than three songs lifted from "Zinc Alloy". Perhaps the most emblematic track on the whole record is "Think Zinc", a confused metal-techno mash-up blending the sound of the Supremes with fuzz effects and horns. Almost an unconscious admission of powerlessness: having ideas, but being unable to put them into practice.

The record would spawn an (almost) twin sibling in the United Kingdom. In February 1975, Bolan's Zip Gun is released, replacing the three Zinc Alloy tracks featured on Light Of Love with the new single "Zip Gun Boogie", which attempts a fresh take on the boogie format with a dark, metallic-tinged riff.

Act VIII - The Dandy of the Underworld

⟦Q1⟧

At a certain point Marc began to weigh up big decisions. They were decisions that would change his life, his career. I think he wanted to go back, to his roots

(Jeff Dexter)

September 1974. Before the new American tour kicks off in Pennsylvania alongside the Blue Oyster Cult, Marc and Gloria spend an evening in Los Angeles where they go to see a concert by David Bowie, who is touring his "Diamond Dogs" show. Unlike Bolan, the former Ziggy Stardust is now pushing a hugely successful white R&B, which will culminate in the "Young Americans" album and the chart-smashing single "Fame" in 1975. Gloria herself would say: "Marc loved soul music, but I think David got into it more deeply. He completely changed his style, towards R&B". In the endless rivalry with Bowie, Bolan never truly managed to reinvent his magic formula, with ideas that remained only in his head. "Nobody believed in Marc, because everybody believed in Bowie", Donovan would say in an interview. During the American tour, the various opening acts for T. Rex - including Kiss - would get a far warmer reception. One night in Canada, Bolan doesn't take kindly to the silence that greets "Teenage Dream": "What's your problem? It's only the number one song in England". Quite.

America is a spectacular failure. Nobody buys Light Of Love, and this only deepens his dependence on alcohol and cocaine: Marc becomes violent, and the fights with Gloria often end with fists flying. When the tour ends, in November, the two move into a large residence in Hollywood Hills, hoping to find some peace. But alcohol abuse has become a real problem, because instead of lager and champagne, whole bottles of vodka and brandy are now flying about, in the company of people who are far from sober, like Keith Moon. Bassist Steve Currie would swear he saw him drink sixteen bottles of rosé wine in just a few hours. Marc is increasingly obsessed with the fear of losing his fame, after the disastrous reception in the States. After the umpteenth flop of the single "Zip Gun Boogie" - included on the UK reissue of Light Of Love, Bolan's Zip Gun - he decides to take a sabbatical and keep a low profile, moving between Los Angeles, London and France in the company of Gloria and his inseparable bottle.

In January 1975, another longtime member of T. Rex, Mickey Finn, leaves the band. It's said that Bolan himself fired him. It's a dreadful period for Marc, overshadowed by the success of the new global star, Elton John. The album Bolan's Zip Gun fails to crack the charts even in England, an outcome unthinkable until that point. Back in the States for good, without a band anymore, Marc has to watch out for drug abuse, which is causing increasingly dangerous spikes in his blood pressure. Doctors find that his heart rate is comparable to that of a seventy-year-old, worn down by a constant obsession with studio work and live shows. When Gloria admits she has something to tell him, Marc immediately thinks it's his death sentence. Instead, the two are expecting a baby, and something shifts radically in his spirit.

Still carrying on with brandy and cocaine, Bolan returns to Paris where he finds the sole surviving member of T. Rex, Steve Currie, alongside new drummer Davy Lutton and keyboardist Dino Dines. With this new incarnation of the band, he decides to throw himself into what he himself calls a "teenage punkoid opera" titled Billy Super Duper. The recording sessions are a disaster, though, later moved to Munich in the spring of 1975 and constantly interrupted by Marc's psycho-physical crises. Back in London to have his son born on home soil, with the new T. Rex lineup he releases the single "New York City", which recycles the riff of "One Inch Rock" to present the public with a new "boogie poem". The track gets a decent amount of success too, spending eight weeks at number 15 on the UK singles chart, but the small English tour that follows in summer is a flop. T. Rexstasy is by now a phenomenon light years away: Bolan is just an old superstar who has come back down to earth with a loud, unexpected thud.

And yet, his still sizeable fanbase suddenly gives him back the urge to get back on the road. Despite the dismal success in the United States, T. Rex can still count on the love of their old English fans. In August, the new band starts recording at Scorpio Studios in London, even inviting some of the fans gathered outside to watch the rehearsals. One of the songs recorded is "Silver Lady", which will come out as a new single in September under the new title "Dream Lady". The track, with its new funky-disco sound, is showcased on the pop TV show "Supersonic", on which Marc becomes a regular guest. Billed to the public as the first offering of the "T. Rex Disco Party", "Dream Lady" fails to match the relative success of "New York City". Most critics and the public have by now abandoned Marc, who finds solace in the birth of Rolan Seymour Feld Bolan at the end of September 1975.

Fatherhood leads Marc's mind back to his childhood, while the big T. Rex comeback is being prepared with the release of a new album and the gestation of the most extensive English tour since 1971. At Scorpio Studios, new songs with a nostalgic flavour are tried out, which will go on to make up what Bolan titles The London Opera. Alongside it there is the Billy Super Duper project, conceived as a science-fiction opera in music that revives the never-quite-dormant "The Children Of Rarn" and mixes it with "Arancia Meccanica" and "2001: A Space Odyssey". At least according to what Bolan tells the press, speaking of a mythical "three-hour audio-video experience" meant to introduce the world to an "intergalactic street punk". Between late 1975 and early 1976, both projects remain only in Marc's mind, as he returns to the record market for Emi with Futuristic Dragon, in the new incarnation of T. Rex, featuring the sole survivor Steve Currie on bass, Davy Lutton on drums and Dino Dines on keyboards.

Introduced by a proto-noise guitar squall, Futuristic Dragon keeps Bolan's promise to his audience: staying at the school desk of imagination with a book open on the future of music in the mid-70s. "Jupiter Liar" does sound like "Telegram Sam", but with a less glittery approach, more focused on a kind of blue-eyed soul. On the intriguing "Chrome Sitar", Bolan hammers away again at the orchestral power-ballad, but does so with renewed effectiveness, recalling the white R&B already explored by Bowie. Backed by Gloria Jones's voice, the album is a plunge into funky-disco music, from the bass-sax combo of "All Alone" to the cop-show swagger of "Calling All Destroyers". Bolan pens two of his trademark pop-ballads - "New York City", in a Bowie-flavoured vein, and the less convincing "Dreamy Lady", which evokes dancefloor romanticism - and with Futuristic Dragon he lands a release that shows at least a sincere attempt to move beyond the old T. Rex.

Snubbed by critics at the time, the album actually deserves a listen for the direction dance music was taking towards the end of the Seventies. Just like his futuristic dragon, Marc Bolan is an artist who always thinks about what he's putting out, as in the umpteenth unmissable chorus of "Sensation Boulevard".

Between January and spring 1976, the new T. Rex tour turns out to be a flop. Beyond Bolan's questionable new outfits, the chemistry between the new band members doesn't hold up. But above all, it's Marc's fault, as he never stops drinking for a moment and often forgets the words to his own songs during live shows. During a Valentine's Day show at the Withernsea Pavilion, Bolan can't stand the chatter from the crowd and suddenly snaps: "How can you expect me to play while you're wandering around eating fucking hamburgers?". A stage invasion follows, Bolan throws his guitar to the ground and punches a window, while it's said a whole bottle of champagne was thrown towards his dressing room by an "adoring" fan. In Manchester, another fan punches him in the face shouting: "Bowie is way better than you!". The press would be told that the resulting black eye was simply due to an accident caused by the crush of fans. In London comes the final, saddest act: the former deity of English glam in front of an audience of just a few hundred people, looking like an "obese puppet" in the eyes of his own bandmates. Despite the bold statements to the press, the new tour is a total disaster, so much so that the final Scottish dates are even cancelled. And it's a shame, because the album Futuristic Dragon is one of the best in his discography, with the single "London Boys" - which was meant to be part of The London Opera - snubbed by the charts despite being a great return to the T. Rex sound with arrangements worthy of the Visconti era.

Gripped by a sudden nostalgia for the old rock'n'roll sound, Bolan asks Jeff Dexter to book him the cheapest recording studio in London, to get straight back to work in the spring of 1976. While his friend-rival David Bowie is by now a global star with his planet-spanning "Station To Station" tour, Bolan seems to have exhausted his path through "interstellar soul". At this exact moment in Marc Bolan's story, his final artistic manifesto is born: written and recorded in under ten minutes, "I Love To Boogie" is a return to the synthetic fury of the rockabilly that had spawned T. Rexstasy at the start of the decade. The throwback is so heartfelt that "I Love To Boogie" is immediately accused of plagiarism, being very similar to "Teenage Boogie", recorded in the 50s by Webb Pierce. In the summer of 1976 the track reaches number 13 on the singles chart, while in December Vixen comes out, Gloria Jones's album produced by Bolan.

Pushed by his management, Marc brings new members into T. Rex, starting with drummer Tony Newman and bassist Herbie Flowers, who had already worked on David Bowie's "Diamond Dogs" tour. With a new, darker look, Bolan takes the American rock'n'roll of "Laser Love" to the TV show "Supersonic" and comments on the new punk movement shaking up London at the end of 1976 like this: "This so-called punk-rock thing doesn't sell. Kids don't want it". Only to then declare at the start of 1977: "I consider myself the oldest statesman of punk. The godfather of punk, if you prefer".

Not wanting to miss out on the public relations opportunity, T. Rex organize a launch event for the new album Dandy In The Underworld at the mecca of punk, the Roxy Club in Covent Garden, on 2 March 1977. Among the audience are members of Sex Pistols, Damned and Generation X, the very bands turning England upside down with their sonic fury built on simple, breakneck chords.

When he steps onto the stage at the Roxy Club, Marc Bolan seems like a different person: slimmed down, sober from alcohol and drugs. In a new handmade jacket, the dandy of the underworld truly presents himself to the punk universe as a godfather. "This will be my year", he tells the trade press. Released again on Emi, Dandy In The Underworld is indeed a grand-scale return to primal rock'n'roll, carried by the success of "I Love To Boogie", which allows Bolan to step back into the spotlight as the putative father of punk-rock. From the tribal-blues of "Crimson Moon" to the apocalyptic rock of "Teen Riot Structure", the new record definitively leaves the interstellar soul project behind for a genuine return to a more immediate songwriting style.

In between, there are excellent songs like “Visions Of Domino” – which revives old Tony Visconti arrangements – and the irresistible “Jason B. Sad”, the latest incarnation of the spirit of “Telegram Sam” and “Get It On”. Although left off the initial tracklist, the anthem “Celebrate Summer” is perhaps the song that best represents Bolan's new direction, as he sings: “Hey, little punk, forget that shit and celebrate summer with me”. Amid surf chords and raw New York speed, Bolan seems determined to put his signature on the punk movement's founding charter.

Epilogo – If I could have grown

It would have been nice to meet again, just once, as a pair of fifty-year-olds

(John Peel)

The promotional tour for Dandy In The Underworld brings back to the English music scene an almost reborn artist, far removed from the alcoholic excesses of his US shows. Marc Bolan manages to survive his old fame, slipping into the folds of the new punk sounds thanks to the revival of hits like “Jeepster” and “Get It On”. Beer and brandy have now given way to sparkling water and lemonade, as he sets off on tour with the unruly Damned in early spring 1977. Even though the album's sales aren't exceptional, Bolan is a contented musician, devoted to vegetables and rock'n'roll. The success of the “Dandy” tour even stirs up his never-dormant ego, to the point that he tells the press he could wipe out bands like Queen, Led Zeppelin and The Who.

In early September, Bolan embraces his friend and rival David Bowie during his show “Marc” at the Granada television studios in Manchester. The two record the short, distorted R&B number “Standing Next To You” live, with the camera lingering at the end on Marc telling the audience: “Thank you and goodbye”. Just weeks from his thirtieth birthday, Marc Bolan is on top of the world: he has nearly wrapped up one of his most prolific years, and his beloved Gloria is about to come home from the United States.

September 15, 1977 is an ordinary day in Marc Bolan's life. He needs a dental bridge fitted, so he goes to his dentist and talks him into sharing a bottle of red wine for the occasion. He's happy, because that afternoon he'll see Gloria first and then Jeff Dexter at a club called Speakeasy, one of London's most famous music haunts. But Bolan is already visibly drunk, despite his recent attempts to stay sober. Dexter warns the owner of Morton's, one of his favourite restaurants: a Marc incapable of even eating would be arriving. “It was a wonderful evening,” Gloria Jones would later say, “with all our dearest friends there. I got up to play a couple of songs on the piano and everyone wanted more. Marc kept telling me how much he loved me, and I told him the same. We all had a beautiful evening.”

Even though he always has a private taxi service at his disposal, at 4am on September 16, 1977, Bolan decides to make his own way home. It's still dark and the streets between South Kensington and Fulham are deserted: it would take less than 20 minutes to get home. Gloria and Marc get into the purple Mini 1275 GT, with the singer behind the wheel, since Marc never got a driving licence or learned to drive, too afraid to try. A few minutes before 5am, two cars cross Putney Bridge. The second belongs to their friend Richard Jones, who suddenly sees what looks like a flash in the dark, then a crash and a cloud of smoke rising into London's near-dawn sky. The Mini 1275 GT is completely wrecked, having gone off the road into a tree. Gloria Jones is breathing, though her foot is trapped. The problem is the passenger side, which has been completely crushed in the crash. When Richard Jones sees Marc in his orange lycra suit, he has no doubt left: Marc Bolan is dead.

Barnes police officially declare him dead at 7:30 that morning, passing the news on to the radio stations. On the very same day that the diva Maria Callas also dies, English newspapers run the front-page headline: “Marc Bolan killed in car crash”. While the investigation into the accident naturally focuses on Gloria, who was visibly driving under the influence, strange rumours start to circulate. The Mini 1275 GT had been checked just days earlier, kept in the garage with its tyres changed. Later, a disturbing discovery emerges: one of the tyres had a pressure level far lower than normal, even though the whole vehicle had supposedly been “thoroughly” inspected.

While Gloria is in hospital with her face badly injured, on September 20, 1977 a farewell ceremony for Mark Feld is held at the gates of Golders Green Crematorium. Friends, family, fans and plenty of stars are there, from David Bowie to Rod Stewart. Tons of flowers are brought by Elton John, Gary Glitter, Keith Moon, and above all a huge white swan built out of hundreds of chrysanthemums. “In life, in death, in love.” The end of the dream of the 20th Century Boy.

Posthumous works

There's so little time for all of us. I have to be able to say what I want, quickly and to as many people as possible

Marc Bolan's tragic death leaves a gaping hole in the English music scene at the end of the 1970s. From his old glam friends to the new punk disciples, the celebration of a star who faded too soon continues in the years that follow. The first reissue dates back to 1981, when the album You Scare Me To Death, produced by Simon Napier-Bell, comes out on the Cherry Red label. The record is like an augmented reality, adding a number of electric overdubs to a series of acoustic recordings made by Bolan alone at De Lane Lea studios in 1966. The psychedelic “Eastern Spell”, the Dylan-esque frenzy of “I'm Weird” and the schizoid “Hippy Gumbo” trace the dawn of Tyrannosaurus Rex, when everything was a continuous stream of Tolkien, hippie imagery and stoned percussion. From the country-blues of “Observations” to the poignant pastoral melody of “The Perfumed Garden Of Gulliver Smith”, the album is a return to a sound that by then feels light years away. The sole exceptions are the opening “You Scare Me To Death” and “You've Got The Power”, reworked in the studio and closer to the trashy soul-and-roll of his final years before the crash.

The following year sees the release of Billy Super Duper, this time credited to Marc Bolan & T. Rex on his own label Marc on Wax. It's effectively the first album of unreleased material put out after Bolan's death, put together by John and Shan Bramley, leaders of the English fan club, from studio outtakes and home demos recorded between 1972 and 1977. The more recent tracks – such as the rock'n'roll “21st Century Stance” and the unexpectedly medieval-sounding ditty “Foxy Boy” – were meant to make up the follow-up to “Dandy”, to be titled “Jack Daniels”. More interesting is the recovery of tracks recorded throughout the '70s, from the funk (or interstellar soul) numbers “Billy Super Duper” and “Depth Charge” – which were meant to form part of Bolan's never-completed rock opera – to yet another killer riff on “Buick MacKane & The Babe Shadow”. This record is definitely the strongest of the posthumous releases, since it captures the crossroads Marc found himself at in life, between his passion for white soul and his natural pull towards American rock'n'roll.

In 1983, Marc on Wax releases the third album, titled Dance In The Midnight, once again produced by fan duo John and Shan Bramley from old recordings and demos dating from the early to mid '70s. It opens with the unmistakable glam-pop chorus of the title track, its orchestral coda leading into the touching star-ballad “Everyday” before the cheesy soul-and-roll of “Saturday Night”. The record's real gem is the dark string symphony “Metropolis”, proof of just how compelling a T. Rex foray into rock opera territory could have been.

On the second side, the album continues along glam lines – “All My Love” and the reworked “Fast Blues (Easy Action)” – before closing fittingly on the poignant piano notes of “Down Home Lady”.

Marc Bolan inspired so many people to pick up a guitar and form a band

(Tony Visconti)

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