…for providing me with the only Christmas songs I can deal with, aside from certain carols. I can’t even take the Nutcracker suite due to extreme over-familiarity. So the only ones I can really bear are from the Seventies. I’m not anti-Christmas, I am merely anti-schmaltz.
Plus bonus Legs and Co Christmas routine to ‘Funky Town’. I would like a fairy dressed like them on top of my Christmas tree, as would, I suspect, most men…
Aha!! So who really invented eye crayons, eh? Was it Boots or Mary Quant? Mary Quant or Boots? We’ll probably never know, but I’m willing to place a bet that the Boots ones worked better*…
Scanned from 19 Magazine. September 1974
*I speak from experience. My nan worked in the factory where the Quant ones were made and I attempted to use them in my teens. They were, frankly, useless.
Personally, I think artificial sweeteners are the very devil, but I cannot deny the fabulousness of the photograph they’ve used to promote their evil ways (yes, yes, I know it’s from 1971, but still…). The bed reminds me of my grandparents’ bed (which I always coveted in a slightly Bedknobs and Broomsticks kind of way), I love the light fitting, mirrors and of course the clothes go without saying.
Won’t you disappear into midnight again
Ring out the vamp in me, only after dark
Moon sinful as can be, only after dark
It’s wrong to feel so free, only after dark
Only you do it to me, only after dark
Only After Dark by Mick Ronson
Sisters aren’t always necessarily doing it for themselves. Joan Jett is forever associated with I Love Rock and Roll, but it was originally a minor hit for British Glam Rock group Arrows. Mmmm, pretty boys with pretty hair in pretty clothes – it must be Mensday!!
The amazing Mr Brownwindsor has furnished me with a much-desired copy of the [would be a cult if anyone knew about it] film Side by Side. From 1975, it has a lot to recommend it if you are anything like me and care not for plot or characterisation when there’s glam rock groups, immensely outrageous clothes and period location shooting involved. Even my beloved Fox make an appearance.
Most amazingly, there’s an incredible segment recorded on location at the Biba rooftop restaurant. Wicker peacock chairs, fringed lampshades et al. An incredible, and rare, insight into the then-soon-to-be-lost world of Big Biba and one which seems to have itself largely been lost in the mists of time.
No longer!
Left: Shirt by Hans Metzen at Elle. Midi tartan culottes by Foale and Tuffin. Boots by Sacha. Hat by Bermona / Right: Vest by Girl. Sujon pants and battle jacket by Vanessa Frye. Shoes by Sacha.
One of my favourite Petticoat spreads, from September 1971, which I haven’t scanned in full before (why? I have no idea….). It was photographed at the Hard Rock Cafe in London, and published a mere three months after it opened (June 1971). The Hard Rock was a different beast back then, the memorabilia which would later become such a huge part of its identity was a later addition and quite haphazardly acquired to begin with.
Isaac Tigrett (later to marry Maureen Starkey, whom he would often introduce as “My most authentic piece of rock and roll memorabilia.”) and Peter Morton opened their American-style diner in an old Rolls Royce dealership on Park Lane. It became an instant hit with their musician and music-loving friends. They could come along, post-gig, for a hit of fast food, good company and a relaxed atmosphere. The decor developed from eclectic Americana into iconic music memorabilia, as various musicians donated their old instruments and clothes to their beloved Hard Rock diner.
‘So Clapton got to be friends with the proprietors and asked them to save him a regular table, put up a brass plaque or something. And the young proprietors said, “Why don’t we put up your guitar?” They all had a chuckle, and he handed over a guitar, and they slapped it on the wall.
No one thought much more about it. Until a week later, when another guitar arrived (a Gibson Les Paul, by the way). With it was a note from Pete Townshend of The Who which read: “Mine’s as good as his. Love, Pete.” ‘
From the official Hard Rock website.
This photoshoot is a rare insight into how the Hard Rock would have looked when it first opened and before it acquired its now legendary status and worldwide domination.
It’s also packed full of glam rock, British Boutique goodness and is almost as delicious as a Hard Rock Apple Cobbler….
Tartan pinny with button sides by Foale and Tuffin. Vest with red trim and heart buttons by Dranella. Boots by Sacha.
Left: Rhona Roy smock, under pinny by Copper Coin. Shoes by Elliotts. / Right: Syndica vest from Girl. Skirt by Mr Freedom. Jewellery from Paradise Garage. Shoes by Sacha
Left: Velvet suit by Marielle. Sox by Mr Freedom. Shoes by Ravel. / Right: Bermudas by Foale and Tuffin. Sweater from Elle Shops. Bangles by Biba. Sox by Quant. Shoes by Mr Wik.
Copper Coin red and blue pinny by Sheridan Barnett. Black pants by Gordon King. Shirt by Alkasura. Shoes by Quant.
Smock by Copper Coin. Top by Van Der Fransen.
Happy Birthday to my beloved Mr Bolan, who would have been 63 today. Spread the sparkly love around…. This interview is from Honey, November 1970. I love that the interviewer describes Marc and Mickey as “hairy and melodic”.
If the Revolution is anywhere, it’s somewhere between Notting Hill and Ladbroke Grove. You walk through scruffy streets filled with big houses filled with bedsitters filled with either enormous black families, or else pale young people in velvet trousers who burn joss sticks and spend their lives trying to get it together; and no doubt when they succeed something’s going to give like it hasn’t given before.
This is where the Underground is, with all its religions, philosophies, prejudices, freedoms, newspapers, organisations and music. And this is where Marc Bolan lives, which is where the Underground is as well.
Marc Bolan is the original founder of Tyrannosaurus Rex, that twosome who warbled their way into the lives of millions when Top Gear first came on the radio. A lot of people switched off immediately and signed up with Tony Brandon or Jimmy Young. But a few people kind of clutched their heads and went ‘Wow!’ and have been seen at the Roundhouse ever since, where they listen to T.Rex singing how they want it sung, and J. Peel saying it how they want it said.
Marc Bolan lives, as has been said, just off Ladbroke Grove. You go up through a house where bits of prams and peeling paintwork set the tone of the place, and then you go into his flat, which is all plain colours with music drifting out of the bedroom and a nice bunch of flowers on the scrubbed wood table, and the smell of incense hanging in the air around the colour television set. There you see Bolan Child sitting at the table in velvet trousers and a little jumper which ties up in the front, and in shoes with straps on them, and he’s really the prettiest little thing you ever did see.
Over a pleasant cup of coffee we got to talking about the past. Before Marc got into music, his main claim to fame was as King of the Mods in Stamford Hill.
“I never liked school very much, so I started getting into clothes when I was about twelve. Clothes were then, I suppose, wisdom and knowledge and getting satisfaction as a human being. In those days all I really cared about was creating a sort of material vision of what I wanted to be like. If I go out and buy clothes now, it’s either because I feel down or because something looks nice. And if I wear that to do something it’ll make me do it better. But it’s not the goal any more, you see. At that point if you designed a new suit or a pair of light green shoes with buckles all over them, it was like you conceived it and saved up for it—which might take you three months—and then you got the shoes, and those shoes were, for three months, the only thing that made you go. Whereas now, it’s just a day, or like I’ve just bought a new guitar which cost me £400, which I’ve always wanted, but it’s a practical thing. I don’t sit there going ‘Wow!’; whereas then, a pair of shoes was like meeting God—it was a very strong buzz.”
Not exactly chain-store sales talk, but he had me more convinced than any sweating little man measuring my inside leg might hope to achieve. He talks a bit like he sings, with his voice going up and down, almost bubbling.
We got on to integrity next, which is one thing these fellows from Notting Hill are very hot on, seemingly unbesmirched by the nasty ploys of money-crazed businessmen.
“When I was fifteen it was very important for me to be in the public eye. Now it’s important only as a means to an end—I write now, and that’s what gives me pleasure. The end product is getting it to the people and having them appreciate it, but not worshipping it, because that’s very boring.
“A lot of kids I speak with are very sheltered—they’ve never had the experiences that I’ve had or that someone else that writes has, just because they’ve had strict parents and they’ve never read anything,can’t afford anything, and they look to you as someone they want to be like. They don’t really know what you are, any more than I know what I’m like. They just see the shell which you create, which perhaps is more real than the real thing—it’s what you want to be like. I’m very truthful as a person really, so I’m like what I appear to be. Whether that’s nice or not I don’t know.
“I try to be the same on stage as I really am. The only way it’s worth being successful is when you’re exactly what people think you are, otherwise you’re not successful, you’re the product of something. Which is only exciting when you are the product, because then you eliminate all the pressures—you are what you appear to be.
“The whole Top Twenty thing must be an incredible pressure. It’s like every time you put out a new single your career’s in the balance. You have 25 hits and one bomber and you’re finished. If you’re an LP seller like me, it’s important that you maintain a momentum of excitement, but it’s not a great pressure. Fortunately we’ve been lucky with that.”
Tyrannosaurus Rex, if you didn’t know it, consists of Marc and new member Mickey Finn, both of whom are hairy and melodic, singing about joy and love rather than street fighting (“I can’t get into Mick Jagger’s head”), and they manage to get very close, if not right into, their audience, because the audience and group are all very much a part of the same thing, and that’s what the talk turned to next.
“Gigs in England are like meeting friends instead of performing, although London is the least exciting place to play of all—we get better receptions in Scotland than we do in London, where it’s always nice but quite reserved ; whereas out of town they really freak. It’s only vibrations. You’re playing the sounds on instruments that men designed two thousand years ago to satisfy their fingers—it’s just pieces of string on wood—and you plug in and you’re doing it for them. No matter how much you enjoy the performance, if the audience don’t, you’re brought down. I believe people should be joyous.
“I think that to probably 75 per cent of the people who listen to us, the things that I’m saying are very new, but it’s only what I’ve read and thought and know about.
“I think people that come across as very humble are just insecure really, and they do believe they’re a bit of a groove but they’re frightened to say it. You’ve got to basically enjoy yourself because that’s all you have to start with—awareness of yourself is an up.”
Time was drawing to a close and Marc’s wife came in wearing a patch over one eye, with a dollar sign on it, covering a scratch recently inflicted by some unhip dog. We chatted a little bit more about how people refuse to accept things, how they question everything and how Marc chose the name of the group as a reminder that there were once animals walking this earth which were so fantastic and beautiful that they made fools of people who didn’t believe in dragons and the like. We listened to T. Rex’s new album A Beard of Stars, where they’ve gone electric and have shown that they can do much more than the gentler sounds of Unicorn and Prophets. (“There are spirits that live in chords and if you do a C to A minor chord, it’s magic—like every rock song is that chord”), And then we closed with some serious discussion.
“I do believe very much in the immortality of the spirit, I believe—I know for me it’s real—in reincarnation. I know this is only a lifetime for me to work out the Karma—it’s a thing I’ve got to do.”
So I went out into Ladbroke Grove knowing that there is a little corner of W. 11 that is forever India and, until I’d waited 20 minutes fo a number 52 bus, I was living on Cloud Nine.
IAIN STEWART
I appear to be having a ‘Sweet’ kind of week. And it reminded me that I had intended to do a blog post about them ages ago.
I think the main reason I adore them so much is that they are the perfect example of how pervasive the glam-look became in the early Seventies. As a natural successor to the mod and then the psychedelic dandy (both of which you could use to describe early incarnations of both Marc Bolan and David Bowie), glam rock was as peculiarly popular with men as it was with women. It makes less sense for men than either mod or dandy. Both of those looks were smart and instinctively retro. The kipper ties and paisley prints were flamboyant, but they harked back to the fops and dandies of the past.
Glam, however, was like nothing before it.
I appreciate that most men wouldn’t have been wandering around in full make-up, seven-inch platform boots and silver lamé. But the fact that proper ‘blokes’ like The Sweet would appear on TV and in magazines dressed as such, must have heavily influenced the general street style. Away from the gorgeous young things styling themselves on Marc Bolan, men did wear flares; they wore super tight t-shirts, brighter ‘feminine’ colours and, yes, they did wear moderate platforms.
This period is possibly the last time men would, somewhat paradoxically unselfconsciously, just dress however they liked. Without fear of mockery or being thought effeminate. Every other street style subculture since then has been rigidly regulated and adhered to, and only by those with enough confidence to try. This lot were just having fun.
Watching the latest glut of ‘guitar heroes’ and ‘I’m in a rock band’ type programmes on the BBC lately, even the grimiest, blokiest of rockers were wearing skin tight t-shirts and flared jeans, and is that a hint of a heel I can see there? Can you really imagine that happening now? Please excuse me while I drift into a reverie about men being manly enough to walk around in flares and tight t-shirts….
I don’t even need super-fit, super-lean young specimens of the sex. I find the chunkier, hairier, gruffer ones the most endearing.
Which brings me back to The Sweet.
They weren’t pretty like Bolan. They weren’t weird like Bowie. They weren’t goofy like Slade. They weren’t flamboyantly arty like Roxy Music (although, Eno is another good example of a most unlikely candidate for ostrich feathers and make-up, but he rocked it pretty impressively). They were four blokes who had already tried the psychedelic route, and failed with their version of Slow Motion (a Miss Peelpants favourite when it was done by The Magicians).
It’s a rather sad story, really. They were so desperate for success they allowed themselves to be moulded by the Chinn and Chapman hit factory into strange parodies of Bolan and Bowie*. They had little control over their musical output and, presumably, their appearances. They were even replaced by session musicians on some early tracks, despite being very competent musicians. But they seem to have thrown themselves into the glam style with great enthusiasm and flair, whether or not it was something they would have done to that extent without influence.
When they eventually broke free of the manufacturers, the first self-penned hit was Fox on the Run, they wrote some of the greatest material of their career. But while the make-up was toned down, and the costumes consigned to glam history, they continued to wear tight flared jeans and t-shirts – despite the spread of comfortable living and age starting to show.
I don’t suppose they had enough identity after this point, which is why they weren’t so able to metamorphose into a more serious rock band for the late Seventies. And the New Romantic love for glam rock was far too snooty and serious to take much influence from them. I remember being very sad when Brian Connolly died in 1997. He had been a heavy drinker and the failure of his career post-Sweet just exacerbated this. I’ll definitely visit him when my time machine arrives and I’m doing the rounds of hugging random people from history….
*That said, I love this era. I love the music, the clothes and everything. And I’m sure, in retrospect, they loved it too. It was just unadulterated, lightweight fun.
You cannot keep me seated when Blockbuster is playing. Seriously.
I know David Sylvian disowns Japan’s debut album, Adolescent Sex. I know early Eighties Sylvian is infinitely superior in a soulful, shy indie boy kind of way. I know the songs are more intricate and beautiful. But I just can’t shake it….
The pretty hair. The floppy cuffs. The flares. The girly make-up. The sexy, vaguely Imagination-esque sound they were peddling back then. It just does it for me, I’m afraid. It’s a bit grimy, a bit rock’n’roll, a bit glam rock and a lot sexy…
They even covered Barbra Streisand. And Sylvia is infinitely prettier too.
Liz Eggleston 