Marc Bolan wasn't a terribly talented individual. He only had, atmost, two musical ideas, and all of his songs sound the same: atmosphericfour-chord ballads that cleverly disguise their nursery rhyme melodies,and three-chord rockers that revel in their nursery rhyme schemes andmelodies. However, the same accusations can be hurled against Chuck Berryand the Ramones; Bolan endlessly rewrote one song, but what a song it was! If you like "Bang A Gong," his only American hit, then by all means divein - there's plenty more where that one came from. For a while in theearly '70s, T. Rex was the brightest star in England, causing "T. Rex-stacsy" that echoed Beatlemania, and consistently racking up Top 20hit after Top 20 hit. He stood at the head of the glitter-glam movement,delivering catchy teenybopper guitar anthems with just the right amount ofrock edge to his fanatical horde of adolescent fans. Alas, it endedalmost as soon as it began; by the end of 1973, musical fashion had passedBolan by, and he wound up spending his final years hosting a rock'n'rollTV show. In 1977, a year in which punk rock made T. Rex's glam rock offive years earlier seem like an ancient relic, Marc Bolan died in a carcrash. His music defined his time, the early '70s, and like a great dealof music that "defines its time", his old records can sound dated, oftheir time in a way that David Bowie's records of the same era don't.Which isn't to say that his records aren't enormous fun. T. Rex's musicis the rock equivalent of early Elton John's pop: camp, meaningless,trashy, and disposable, but a total gas in spite of (or perhaps becauseof) those facts.

The eleven tracks here are divided between rockers that consist offuzzed-up rockabilly riffs modernized for futuristic teens, and spaceyacoustic-driven ballads that indulge Bolan's fantasy/metaphysical side. Bolan's the type of guy who sounds like he was heavily into Dungeons andDragons (I'm not sure they had D & D back in those days, but you getdrift). His lyrics are nimbly clever but clearly meaningless, slinky wordgames that register as neat syllables to trip the tongue - you try andcome up lines like "Rockin' in the nude/And feelin' such a dude/It's arip-off" or "Oh Girl/Electric witch/You are limp in society's ditch" orthe definitive "You're built like a car/You've got a hubcap diamond starhalo". There's much more than "Bang a Gong," which isn't even thestrongest song on this disc. That might be the massive hookfest of "MamboSun," that kicks off the album, or the spooky ballad, "Cosmic Dancer," inwhich Bolan's delivery of the line, "I danced myself into the tomb," hasan eerie impact considering how young he did indeed die. Then there's thevampire rock of "Jeepster," that utilizes the same two-chord "Bang aGong," riff to better effect - but then again, didn't Bolan repeat thatsame riff on about half of his songs? "Girl," addresses God and stillwinds up not meaning much of anything, which doesn't mean that it doesn'tsound deep, man. "Life's a Gas," might be Bolan's best everballad, and "Rip Off," the manic rocker that ends the album, is one of hisstrongest fast ones. Cut for cut, this is probably his strongest album,and justifiably considered a classic, despite a few weak tracks ("LeanWoman Blues") and the fact that it all sounds the same. Too bad thereissue doesn't add any bonus tracks.

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I have a hard time getting thrilled about this one; Bolan simplyrepeats the same formula he developed on Electric Warrior, withdiminishing returns. The sound's slightly more ornate (see the whooshingopener "Metal Guru," a #1 hit in the U.K.), but otherwise T. Rex findsitself in a less-than-interesting holding pattern. The formula reeks abit too blatantly of formula, a perception reinforced by the pacing of thealbum: first a ballad, then a rocker, then a ballad alternating adnaseum. This cleverly distracts the listener from realizing how closelythe rockers all sound like the other rockers and all the ballads sound thesame, too...the first couple of times you here this, that is - you wise uppretty fast. However, all this said, taken as individual pieces, therockers do generally rock and the ballads are pretty engaging. Easily thehighlight is the exceptional "Baby Strange," a blatantly sexual ("I wannaball ya all night long" - sheesh!) riff rocker that might be T. Rex's bestever song. "Telegram Sam," possesses an infectious chorus, and the epic"Ballrooms of Mars," is an ambitious anomaly in Bolan's canon - a sweepingballad that contains the tropes, "Bob Dylan knows/And I bet Alan Freeddid". Among the three bonus tracks (all B-sides) "Lady," is more thanworthwhile.

Someone must have told Bolan, "I like your albums, but they all soundthe same!" so he tweaked his sound more than a bit and came up with hisbest album. Why is this better than the rest? Because it's got what theothers don't: dynamic variety. Bolan and producer Tony Visconti (whowas almost as responsible as Bolan for the T. Rex sound) discover thestudio and all the tricks it can pull, which in the first song, "TenementLady," means splicing two separate songs together (the second half's byfar better), and in several other tracks means throwing violins in (don'tworry, though, they work). The sound's much fuller and more fleshed outthan on the previous two albums, which makes the T. Rex sound lessdistinct but more satisfying. Bolan's soul influence comes into play,which helps by adding another ingredient to keep the same old stew fromgrowing stale. Alongside exquisite by-the-numbers ballads like "BrokenHearted Blues," "Highway Knees," "Life Is Strange," and somewhat lessstellar than usual rockers like "Shock Rock," (which is anti-), "CountryHoney," and "Born To Boogie," are a number of songs of a type that Bolanhasn't written before. Chief among these are the glorious pop anthem,"Electric Slim and the Factory Hen," (did I mention that Dylan was a hugeinfluence? anyway, that's the best song on the album - "Me I'm loose likea golden goose/You been on my mind"), and the gospel (not you kid!) "LeftHand Luke and the Beggar Boys," that works better than you'd think - infact, it's a triumph that perfectly closes the album. But that'sdefinitely not the end - if you've got the reissue, which appends 7generally stellar bonus tracks, at least two of which are essential: theA-sides, "Children of the Revolution," that has one of the most heavenlymelodic choruses this side of "All the Young Dudes," and that has to beironic ("I drive a Rolls Royce/'Cause it's good for my voice...But youwon't stop the children of the revolution") and the hard rock masterpiece,"20th Century Boy," a terrific slice of mock-cock-rock posturing withkiller riffs. Both are among the best things Bolan ever released, and theother five bonus tracks aren't too shabby (except for the 12-second,"Xmas Message," which is exactly what it bills itself as). With the bonustracks on the reissue, Tanx now takes its place as the one T. Rexdisc to own if you only buy one. And I don't begrudge you only buyingone, because as I've said about a dozen times on this page, they all soundpretty much the same - except some are better than others.

To collate everything we have previously identified in our not-at-all-overblown roundtable on Harry Styles' first solo single: this sounds like Chris Martin called Elton John for advice on how best to write a song that sounds like "Life On Mars" as watered down for an X Factor contestant to perform in the semi-finals. I still maintain this isn't a particularly exciting cut, but in context of the rest of the album its virtues as a rock ballad that will dismantle you psychologically on a comedown emerge a little more.

Stewart took the bait and probably even surprised himself by making one of his very best albums. The fact is that Stewart remains a superb singer in a field filled with mediocre vocalists, and if you doubt me, compare Stewart's brilliantly brash reading of "Cigarettes and Alcohol" to the muddled version on the first Oasis album. Stewart does similar justice to a Rolling Stones-like song by Primal Scream, "Rocks," and pays tribute to the late Ronnie Lane with a winsome reprise of the Faces' "Ooh La La." Not everything's as good as these three -- Stewart chooses a lousy Graham Parker song ("Hotel Chambermaid") and nearly capsizes a Nick Lowe ballad ("Shelly My Love") with sugary background vocals -- but there are more hits than misses, including a sweetly rendered tune by Ron Sexsmith ("Secret Heart"). Stewart writes of the old days on the title song, but also does full justice to the songs of today. Note to the Rolling Stones: Remember "Beggar's Banquet"? Hey, ma, I'm an executive!

Without Brendan Perry's rich, romantic bass and English-language lyrics, Gerrard's eerie contralto often is given to long dirgelike numbers such as "The Comforter" and "The Circulation of Shadows," bringing down even the upbeat "Human Game" with a long, spooky intro. Both Frasier and Gerrard are known for their melismatic singing style -- sounds rather than words. Yet while Frasier has worked toward painfully sincere lyrics and recently collaborated with Massive Attack, Gerrard's work here harkens back to the early high goth of Dead Can Dance albums such as "Spleen and Ideal." "Duality" does present two exciting tracks -- "Human Game" and "Nadir" -- but the rest are a little too low, too full of chants and moans, lacking the balance of a good DCD album. Gone is the accessibility that made even a medieval Italian ballad sound like rock music.

But this is Phillips' show. He's built a career on expansive ballads that whoop with unaffected emotion. "Truly, Truly" is the best example here -- a slow, shuffling confession with the simple chorus "Truly, truly, truly, I want you." On other tunes, there are telling road signs -- Bob Dylan, John Lennon, T-Rex's Mark Bolan, even the late Jeff Buckley -- but the final destination is distinctly Grant Lee Buffalo.

"Is it going to be like this all night?" someone asked me at the Derby's bar, three songs into an uneven, morose set by W.A.C.O., which followed an uneven, morose set of murder ballads and sea chanteys by Dame Darcy. I replied, "It's only gonna get worse -- or, I guess, better." Realizing that she and her pals were here looking for an evening of Johnny Red Hot and His Rootin' Tootin' Snazzy Dressers or whatever swing-type action used to be Friday-night fare at the Derby, I told her, "It's not gonna be a dance party here tonight." be457b7860

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