MARC BOLAN was a shooting star who shone dazzlingly bright for a brief time . . . and then he was gone.
As that star reached its zenith in 1972, he gave a candid chat show interview.
6
6
There’s a clip from it in a captivating new documentary film, the appropriately titled AngelHeaded Hipster.
The T. Rex teen idol was asked: “Do you ever wake up in the middle of the night and think, ‘In another 20 or 30 years, I’m going to be 50 or 60, what shall I be doing?’.”
Without hesitation, Bolan shakes his mop of dark corkscrew curls and replies: “I never think about it. I doubt I’ll live that long.”
Five years later, two weeks short of his 30th birthday and exactly a month after Elvis died, his words proved sadly prophetic.
In the early hours of September 16, 1977, he was travelling in the passenger seat of his purple Mini and was killed instantly when it struck a tree in Barnes, South West London.
A rare and mercurial talent was lost — a serial hitmaker who created the dancefloor fillers Get It On, Hot Love, Jeepster and Metal Guru.
From late 1970, for roughly three years, T. Rex filled the void left by The Beatles as Britain’s biggest chart sensations.
“There was nothing quite like Beatlemania until T. Rextasy,” says producer Tony Visconti, who was at Bolan’s side during the glory years.
Only Bowie could match his style and charisma
“Marc was a rock icon. There should be blue plaques across London — even where he had lunch.”
Bolan was the self-confessed “Dandy In The Underworld” who donned leopard print, make-up and platforms to kick-start the glam rock revolution.
His fans, who called him Supermarc and pinned his image on their bedroom walls, were, to borrow from another T. Rex smash, the children of that revolution.
Nobody, save perhaps his friend AND rival David Bowie, could match Bolan’s flamboyant style, infectious grooves and sheer charisma.
Like Bowie, he was a master of reinvention. He started out in a mod band, John’s Children, moved into a fantastical Tolkien-inspired world of psychedelic folk before finally making it as a glittering pop superstar.
With his influence continuing to stretch far and wide decades later, it seems only natural that there’s an in-depth exploration of the Bolan phenomenon.
AngelHeaded Hipster has been seven years in the making, the brainchild of New Yorker Ethan Silverman, a director and screenwriter, who says it became a “labour of love”.
The ambitious film combines footage of Bolan performing and talking, fascinating archival insights from Bowie and new interviews with those who knew him best, including his partner Gloria Jones, son Rolan, Elton John, Ringo Starr and Visconti.
It also follows the making of a tribute album, lovingly curated by the late Hal Willner, who made a speciality of such projects.
We see fly-on-the-wall glimpses of U2, Kesha, Nick Cave, Joan Jett, Father John Misty, Lucinda Williams and many more creating compelling reinventions of T. Rex songs.
Speaking via Zoom this week from his home in the Big Apple, Silverman explains that he was introduced to Bolan’s music by a Brit — Bill Curbishley, manager of The Who — who became producer of the feature-length documentary.
“I listened to Marc’s entire catalogue, all the way through, and I became obsessed, a man with a mission,” enthuses the director.
“I thought, ‘This is crazy. Americans are ignorant — we know nothing’. Every bit of music from the early Seventies on is so influenced by his sound and his songwriting.”
When Silverman began trawling the internet for videos of Bolan in action, his “head exploded”.
“This guy was a greater, more charismatic rock star than I had ever seen,” he affirms.
As he set about painstakingly pulling his movie together, he realised that he was not alone in his admiration for the singer born Mark Feld on September 30, 1947, in Hackney Hospital, East London.
Elton John, who performed with Bolan back in the day and plays piano on U2’s rendition of Get It On, says: “He inspired people like me and Bowie — he was so ahead of his time.
“He was the first person to wear mascara and glitter and really camp it up.
“He’d come down and say, ‘Elton, I sold a million records this morning’. And I’d go, ‘Fabulous Marc, how great for you’. But he wasn’t egotistical — he was fantastic.”
And The Edge, who recorded the track with Elton in the south of France, reveals: “When I started playing guitar, the first song I learned was Hot Love.”
‘Marc brought glitter to the masses’
In one of his rare TV interviews, Bowie acknowledges the impact of Bolan, clearly the closest being on earth to himself.
He breaks into a big wide grin and says: “Marc brought glitter to the masses and I thought, ‘No! He’s done it, he’s done it first!’.”
Bowie adds: “Marc and I had an extraordinary relationship. We both knew we were going to do great things and were very close in the beginning.
“As it got closer to one of us making it, we drifted apart and were very wary of each other.”
Bowie recalls that he and Bolan reconciled their rivalries by 1974 and “we became really firm friends up until he died. That was another great tragedy”.
It’s fascinating to hear PR guru Alan Edwards, who looked after both artists, telling Silverman that the pair were like “peas in a pod”.
The director was also introduced to Ringo Starr by The Beatles legend’s son Zak Starkey, drummer with The Who.
“Ringo felt very strongly about Marc as an artist, for sure, but he also felt extremely strongly, as did Elton, about him as a person,” says Silverman.
“Those guys really loved him. They were touched by his authenticity, the utter joy he showed for his music.”
After the Fab Four called it a day, Ringo, just like the other three, became a solo artist — but he found time to direct the T. Rex concert film, Born To Boogie, even shooting some of the footage himself.
Today, the Beatle says: “Marc was so loved in England. His music was relevant.
“Where he put the rhythm pattern was great. You listen to any record of his and, before he comes in, you know it’s him.”
Ringo says Bolan was thrilled at the notion of “being the biggest selling poet in Britain”, which brings us neatly on to one of his most poetic songs, the strangely beautiful Cosmic Dancer, complete with a haunting Visconti string arrangement.
“I danced myself right out the womb,” croons the T. Rex frontman with that inimitable quiver in his voice. “Is it strange to dance so soon?”
The stately piano-led cover of Cosmic Dancer by Nick Cave is both a highlight of the film and the tribute album.
To Silverman, the Anglophile Aussie’s involvement was pivotal to the whole project.
6
6
“Nick was the first artist to say yes,” he says. “We recorded him before the contracts were even finished and we didn’t have the money in the bank.”
But typically forthright Cave insisted that he had to be on board and that he wanted to sing Cosmic Dancer.
Silverman picks up the story: “I flew out to LA with a day’s notice and hired a local cameraman. I had chills as Nick recorded.
“His generosity to all of us and what he brought to the song is everything. It is the essence of this project.”
Though Cave had just been through the personal tragedy of losing his teenage son, he graciously gave Silverman an insightful interview.
‘Billy Idol as pretty as me’
In it, he says: “Marc Bolan seemed to invent a kind of language with his songs — a way of using words and images that is entirely unique.
“Slowing Cosmic Dancer down allows some of his lyric-writing to breathe. It’s a very emotional song for me.”
Also crucial to AngelHeaded Hipster are moving interviews with Bolan’s partner Gloria Jones, who was at his side in the car when he died, and his son Rolan, who was just shy of two when he lost his father.
Jones is the Sixties’ “Queen Of Northern Soul” who went on to sing backing vocals and play keyboards with T. Rex.
She echoes the sentiments of Cosmic Dancer when she says: “Marc came into the world dancing and he loved people.”
We hear about the time Jones was opening for Bob Marley and how Bolan bonded with the reggae icon at a rehearsal, when both were literally “jammin’” with their guitars. “It was a moment of peace — one love,” she says.
We learn how Marc cried when he realised his popularity was on the wane but that he still headed for new musical horizons and embraced the burgeoning punk scene.
“We went to see the Ramones,” Jones recalls. “We were at the back and, when I looked up, Marc had gone all the way to the front. That’s who he was. He loved music.”
In the weeks before he died, Bolan had begun a Granada TV series, simply titled Marc.
One of his final guests was Bowie, who sang Heroes and took part in a closing guitar jam with his friend, their faces wreathed in smiles.
In another of the shows, the engaging host is seen making a significant introduction: “Here is a new group called Generation X. They have a lead singer called Billy Idol who is supposed to be as pretty as me.”
Idol remembers Bolan with great affection. “We were fans,” he tells the documentary makers. “In one way or another, we’d grown up with Marc.
“He championed us and stood up for us that day. Someone like Marc made you want to do something with your life.”
Towards the end of the film, there are clues to what Bolan might have done had he survived — and it appears to be a concerted move out of music into other media.
In one memorable clip, he said: “There’s been a lot of talk about revolution. The only revolution that’s going to happen is if people like myself or Mick Jagger or Rod Stewart get into other fields — be it in television or movies.” Long immersed in the fantasy worlds of Tolkien and superheroes, Bolan sought out Marvel Comics genius Stan Lee to share his ideas.
“He was so ahead of his time,” says Silverman, repeating Elton’s praise, and noting how Marvel has dominated the film industry in recent years.
Rolan Bolan, who we see in a snap as a babe in arms with proud Gloria and Marc, offers this telling insight.
“My father was fascinated with the whole James Dean concept of die young and you’ll leave a beautiful corpse,” he says. “But there’s a point where you want to live.
“I know he would love to be behind these cameras right now — that’s where he was going.”
Finally, Rolan is asked, “What do you normally do on September 16th?” (The day Marc died).
“I light a candle, play a bunch of T. Rex songs,” he replies, with genuine sadness in his eyes for the father he didn’t get to know.
Tomorrow is that precise date so, if you get the chance, I suggest you might like to follow Rolan’s example.
Just “get it on, bang a gong, get it on” or even “ride a white swan”.
6