“Then comes pancake factor number one. Eyeliner rose hips and lips gloss are such fun”
So sang Lou Reed on ‘Make Up’ from his 1972 album ‘Transformer’. It was a record that heralded Reed’s cross-over from the Warhol Factory to an underbelly of glamour, transgender politics and experimentation. The record is laced with seedy, curious, impulsive characters who subscribe to a new found hedonism and desire to ‘take a walk on the wild side’.
The flower-power culture of the sixties may arguably have been painted black by Charles Manson and his ‘Family’ in the summer of 1969. That same summer saw the premier of Dennis Hopper and Peter Fonda’s counter-culture opus ‘Easy Rider’. As half a million hippies descended on Max Yasgur’s farm in Bethal, New York for ‘three days of peace and music’, Peter Fonda’s “Billy, we blew it” line in the film’s penultimate scene belied the optimism of the smoke-hazed Woodstock air.
The start of a new decade seemed to accentuate such growing cynicism. It’s perhaps inevitable that there would be a desire to bring some colour to the fore again. A year before Reed’s ‘Transformer’ record, Marc Bolan and T. Rex topped the British charts with ‘Hot Love’. The song created a template for what became known as Glam Rock: rock ‘n’ roll riffs with themes of gold, mythology, literature, classic hollywood and science-fiction, a hand-clapping drum beat and a sense of self-importance, with an emphasis on the ‘Pop Star’ as icon, idol, visitor from another planet. ‘Glitter’, ‘make-up’, ‘platform shoes’, ‘cross-dressing’ and ‘glamour’ all became key words and key factors. The modesty of the folk-hero was replaced by a candid bowing before the superior being that now was the ‘Pop Star’.
After a number of transformations and gender bending characters, David Bowie created Ziggy Stardust, an intergalactic rock-star with a penchant for excess who ‘took it all too far, but boy, could he play guitar’. With a dynamic partnership with guitarist Mick Ronson (with whom Bowie co-produced Reed’s ‘Transformer’ record) Bowie’s not-of-this earth appearance, helped greatly by having two different coloured eyes (the result of a school fight with a friend), allowed him the opportunity to create a persona to project the sci-fi fantasies of ‘Starman’, ‘Life on Mars’ and even the pre-apocalyptic ‘Five Years’.
This alter-ego even gave Bowie the scope to journey into varying places, even death in his signature track ‘Ziggy Stardust’. Bowie took this to further extremes at a live show in London’s Hammersmith Odeon in 1973. When coming out for the encore, Bowie announced out of the blue:
“not only is this the last show of the tour. But it’s the last show that we’ll ever do!”.
True to his word the audience were witnessing the death of Ziggy Stardust. Bowie soon took himself to LA to re-make re-model, and in white blizzard of milk and cocaine ventured into what he liked to call ‘plastic soul’.
Out of the art school came Roxy Music, fronted by Bryan Ferry, who merged the glam template with his Hollywood leading man looks to create an glamourous hybrid. Brian Eno created the cosmic soundscapes that gave Roxy their initial signature sound. Lyrically post-modern, Roxy took the sexual revolution and subverted it with shadowy loners and global jetsetters stuck in-between the extended sax solos of Andrew Mackay and the sonic ambience of Eno’s synth.
NME Journalist Mick Bell reflected in 1979 on the colour injected by Roxy Music into a dreary suburban no-mans land:
“It was special, fine art English rock: the ’50’s, ’60’s and the deadened ’70’s all rolled up into one immediate wham. Suddenly Roxy Music proved that fashion was fun – we were all dressed up with somewhere to go. Until they arrived 1972 was an extremely dull time. Roxy were the arbiters of taste, the first break of a new wave, encapsulated for posterity.”
Glam Rock had infiltrated mainstream pop by 1972 and soon many of its art school traits were diluted into something that could be sold to the masses. Brummie rockers Slade stripped the music of its pretention and created a fine body of stomping schoolyard good time rock anthems. They also made the foray into film in 1974 with the critically well-received ‘Slade in Flame’, a story of the rise and fall of a fictional rock ‘n’ roll band, played by the band themselves.
‘Slade in Flame’ surprised and confused as it was quite dark and belied the good-time rock ‘n’ roll persona of the band. Far from a celebratory affair, it delved into the more unglamourous aspects of being in a rock band, and its conclusion is quite bleak. The critics applauded. Many fans scratched their heads.
The album that came with the movie is regarded by many critics as Slade’s best. Much more diverse than what they were known for, ‘Slade in Flame’ showed a band with a finer scope than many of the contemporaries they were lumbered in with. Highlights included the anthemic ‘How Does It Feel’ and ‘Far Far Away’.
The Sweet, Alvin Stardust, Gary Glitter and The Rubettes all benefited with chart-topping pastiches of Bowie, Bolan et al. Despite this, the fact that these, admittedly good toe-tappers, had such a grip on mainstream Britain was something to take note of because it appeared that the USA was not as accepting of the Glam movement.
Much more conservative (still to this day!) about sexual ambiguity in music, even the mildest hint of androgyny was never going to make a positive dent American market. Their own glam exponents fared poorly. The New York Dolls, despite the obvious impact they were to have with the emerging punk scene, were cast as industry outsiders marrying the rock ‘n’ roll excess and looseness of The Rolling Stones with the cross-dressing flamboyence of Bowie.
While Lou Reed had chart success with ‘Walk on the Wild Side’, the adult subject matter was edited on mainstream radio. Success was to elude Philidelphia songwriter Jobriath completely. Hopes were high that he would become the US Bowie. Electra Records signed him reportedly for $500,000, and a huge promotional campaign began. Despite his obvious talent and ability to create rousing mini-musical ballads such as ‘Be Still’ and ‘Heartbeat’, it was never going to be for Jobriath. Openly gay and with an alien androgyny to rival Bowie, it was clear that commercial success was never going to be a reality. He soon faded into obscurity, making a living performing at parties and diners right up to his death with an AIDS related illness in 1983.
In the sphere of Glam Icons Jobriath deserves to be more than a footnote. Over 30 years since his two solo records were released, his influence is now just beginning to be realised as those who have been influenced by his work tip their hats his way – namely iconic figures in their own right: Morrissey, Gary Numan, Elton John and The Pet Shop Boys.
By 1975 the Glam Icon was in decline. Its main players had all moved on to other fields and genres. There was also a changing of the guard which demanded that things came back down to earth a little bit. Despite the obvious influence of Bowie, Bolan and The New York Dolls on the emerging Punk of The Sex Pistols and Siouxsie and the Banshees, the DIY approach leaned more towards a chaotic dissaffection rather than glamour. The ghosts of the Glam Icons could be heard yes, but it was important that they were not to be seen.
This was not the case in the late ’70’s as experimental post-punk band Japan displayed many elements from the Glam period, none more so than singer David Sylvian, whose vocal style and penchant for make-up echoed David Bowie. The band were out of the step with the post-punk New Wave sound that was in vogue at the time, and were dismissed as Bowie copyists by the music press. Yet in truth, tracks like ‘Ghosts’ and ‘Quiet Life’ had a scope and ambition that saw them as honourable heirs to their heroes as opposed to a mere tribute act.
The same could not be said for the vapid New Romantic scene of Culture Club, Visage, Duran Duran and Spandau Ballet, which was to follow in the early ‘80’s with global chart success. Taking just the surface factors of the Glam Icons and even Japan, whose sound was lifted by Duran Duran for their hit single ‘Planet Earth’, the New Romantics were bereft of the soul and substance which made the Glam era such a seminal period in popular music.
Does it have a significance in today’s musical circles? Guitar music is so steeped in a desire to be ‘real’ that any sense of theatre or dramatics is almost frowned upon. Ironically, the country where Glam’s legacy is most visable now is the US: in Marilyn Manson’s cartoon devil and the mascara emo of My Chemical Romance – both of questionable substance and merit. Still, the music of Bolan, Bowie and Roxy Music lives on and new generations are constantly being introduced to those records. As long as we dance ourselves out of the womb, there will always be room for a bit of glamour in popular music and forever an anticipation of another alien coming to visit us soon.
Some selected personal favourites:
T-Rex – Cosmic Dancer, Hot Love, Metal Guru, Children of the Revolution
David Bowie – Life on Mars, Moonage Daydream, Quicksand, Five Years, Ziggy Stardust, Rock ‘n’ Roll Suicide
Roxy Music – Re-make Re-model, Virginia Plain, In Every Dream Home A Heartache, Street Life
Slade – Cum on Feel The Noise, Far Far Away, Mama Weer All Crazy Now
New York Dolls – Personality Crisis, Jetboy, Trash
Jobriath – Be Still, Heartbeat, I’m A Man
Sweet - Blockbuster
(for Greg Rogers: the best Boss North of New Jersey!)
I love Joy Division and like Ian Curtis. I thought he was a great presence and an original figure. He may have set a template for a style of 6th form poetry that is a less than endearing legacy, but we can't really blame him for that; he was simply being himself, in all his harsh glory. I do find the legend that has grown around the guy since he took his own life in 1980 a little hard to take. He wasn't that great. He wasn't a poet. He wasn't a spokesperson for a generation. He was one part of four, or five if you include the innovative production skills of Martin Hannett, that created a dark and sometimes beautiful soundscape that reflected the grim northern environment that they sprung from. Joy Divsion's legacy belongs as much to Hannett, Hook, Morris and Sumner as it does Curtis. Without them, it would never have happened.
