Showing posts with label T Rex. Show all posts
Showing posts with label T Rex. Show all posts

Friday, 25 August 2017

Three Faced

It's called 'Doing a Swede' - named after the young man who thought it would be a hoot to have your photograph taken holding the first album you ever bought with your own money; whilst at the same time doing a rudimentary version of the Dance of the Seven Veils.

Anyway, as you can see, Mr. Swede lost his cherry to Marc Bolan, I took the Sweet behind the bike sheds and Alyson, well...it would appear Alyson let Mr. Presley into her boudoir after lights out. Allegedly.

If you still have your first 33 and you don't mind sharing a Polaroid of yourself in the kitchen clutching said artefact (looking only mildly silly), then now's the time to say 'There's no time like the present' and ping the image over to Medd Towers.

I'd particularly like to hear (and see) regular (and irregular) readers' debut platters. So Mondo &PileyCMartinMark, Skirky Rol and anyone else out there who can still locate that first piece of black plastic they bought in 19 Seventy/Eighty, come on down. 

Wednesday, 26 July 2017

On yer Marcs...

MARC 7
T Rex's Slider is 45 years old this year; last week, in fact. I know that because The Swede told me.
However, a more sobering anniversary is lying in wait just around the corner: this September will mark 40 years since Marc Bolan bought the farm.

MARC 2
Cut down in his prime, Bolan was on the up, as opposed to on his uppers. He'd been on the skids for a couple of years. But he was back. He was fit. He'd even got his own TV show. And he'd got a new band to take on the road. For support he hooked up with a bunch of young punks and let them open for him. The Damned didn't disappoint. And neither did Bolan.

Who knew what was round the corner - Bolan certainly didn't. Could he have been a contender again? I think he still had a trick or two left up those elfin sleeves of his.


Thursday, 21 March 2013

Easy as picking foxes from a tree

Now here's a great single from 1972 that comes with its own built in rock anecdote. It would appear that Marc Bolan saw into the future and predicted the number plate of the purple Mini his girlfriend would plough into a tree on Barnes Common - in five years time.