Album Reviews

Sound quality aside, the very fact that this album has been reissued by Rhino on vinyl (anonymously mastered at Capitol from the original analog tapes) is astounding. More than a dozen years ago, Rhino begin a limp-wristed "Save the LP" campaign. Predictably, it went down in flames and the company issued a 12-inch package of Rhino catalog items called (I Guess We Didn't) Save the LP containing a three-CD set in a 12-by-12 slide-out insert. Cute.

Now, in 2003, just as downloading MP3s seems to have gone legit, Rhino's re-entered the LP market. These are truly fabulous times! But they sure don't make pop stars like Marc Bolan anymore. A young man truly taken with himself, he lived the character he created, unlike today's boring (or fearful) types who remove the mask as soon as they get off stage.

I accompanied an old friend to a Marc Bolan interview in 1971 before his Orpheum Theater concert in support of Electric Warrior. Lounging on a couch, cat-like in a chic Boston hotel, Bolan announced, among other things, that his goal was to buy a populated island somewhere and proclaim himself king. He was audacious, outrageous, full of himself, obnoxious, and, in retrospect, fabulous.

At the time I found him offensive and too full of himself, but now I realize that's only because at the time I was feeling particularly empty inside and didn't think anyone was entitled to inhabit themselves the way Bolan did. So that rainy evening when the curtain went up and Bolan slid across the Orpheum stage, leaped high in the air, and fell flat on his ass, I thought it was perfectly justified and thanked whatever god or gods were watching over the show. Fortunately for all, Bolan got up off his ass and gave, as best as I can remember it, an outstanding performance.

For those who missed Electric Warrior, it is one of the seminal albums of the '70s. Bolan, more than Bowie, (and certainly with considerable help from the great Tony Visconti) invented campy glam rock here, and bubblegum and metal too it could be argued. Of course Bolan was heavily influenced by Bowie's first two albums, but Ziggy Stardust surely sprung from Electric Warrior. With his warbly, non-threatening growl fronting spare, distorted, fuzz-toned electric guitars riffing thick, "bloozy" boogie rhythms, and aided immeasurably by strategically placed strings, and Howard Kaylan and Mark Volman's cheery falsetto background vocals, Bolan (and his partner Mickey Finn) created a nonaggressive pop incarnation of Led Zeppelin.

Unfortunately, here in America it didn't go down well with the headbangers or the popsters (it went to number one in the U.K. but only hit 32 in America), though plenty of aspiring young musicians heard its stripped-down clarion call and marveled at its perfect conception and execution--even the cover art is perfection as a visual representation of the musical and cultural world Bolan was trying to create--with himself at its vital center, of course.

Songs like "Jeepster" and "Bang A Gong (Get It On)" have become iconic, but there's not a less-than-memorable tune on the album, including the chilling "Cosmic Dancer" and the raw, rap-like finale "Rip Off." Listening all these years later, one is struck by the craft and ingenuity of all involved in repackaging basic, familiar blues riffs in such sparkling attire. But beyond that, Bolan's lyrics still captivate. He could revisit and reinvent the '50s on "Monolith," move you to tears on "Cosmic Dancer," and then have you rocking again on "Jeepster." Every tune has some juicy riff or production trick to draw you in.

I spent a few pleasant hours comparing Rhino's CD and LP reissues with a Reprise first pressing I've had since it was issued, as well as with an original UK Fly Records pressing (HIFLY 6) mastered by George Peckham (who typically signs his work "Another Porky Prime Cut," but, on this set, uses simply "Porky" and "PECKO DUCK" to identify his lathe work).

This is a somewhat harsh-sounding recording on top. Bolan is closely miked, and when he hits consonants and sibilants it hurts if you crank it up--on any of these editions. Easily the best is the Peckham LP, but good luck finding one! It has a transparency and extension missing from all other editions, including the original Reprise. But the differences aren't what I would call significant enough to label either the reissued LP or CD a failure, though of course the vinyl has better low-level resolution, more natural decay, and more convincing percussion. In fact, both Reprise issues catch the tonal spirit of the recording quite well.

I've received some complaints about some of the other Rhino vinyl issues from some readers, but this one is pretty close to right--at least it's very close to the CD reissue, which is itself a bit brighter and harsher than the Reprise original. A sound closer to the Porky cut would have been nice--especially for its juicy, deep bass and stinging electric rhythm guitars. But short of a complete and wholly inappropriate sonic revision, you couldn't ask for too much more from either Rhino reissue.

The CD includes some bonus material, the most interesting of which is a Bolan interview conducted by Mosaic Records' Michael Cuscuna (a jazz producer). The bonus music is interesting but not essential. Bolan wanted desperately to be accepted, or at least heard, by Americans. That really didn't happen until well after he had died in a 1977 car crash. Much of the interview is consumed by the business end of music--especially the record side of it. While the LP reproduces the original cover, it does not come with the original's poster. The CD's far more impressive packaging includes a dual-pocket, 8-panel fold-out, a smaller version of the original poster, and typically complete Rhino annotation. In either format, a vital reissue.