T. Rex Albums (11)
What The Critics Say
Ever since Marc Bolan's tragic 1977 death, the marketplace has been absolutely flooded with both T. Rex "hits" compilations and "odds and ends" sets. Released in 2007, Electric Jewels fits into the latter category. Countless similarly styled sets surfaced prior to this one, but while some stretch into the multi-disc box set format and span Bolan's entire career, Electric Jewels focuses solely on the group's prime era -- 1971-1972. It was during this period that Bolan seemed to be able to whip up one U.K. Top Ten single after another with a snap of his fingers. So, expectedly, interesting versions of several of his best-known tracks are included here -- a live take of "Hot Love," a demo of "Jeepster," and a noticeably different solo rendition of "Get It On" (listed as "Get It on Blues"). Also included are fine, stripped-down versions of "Planet Queen" and "Girl" from radio performances, as well as an early demo of one of T. Rex's most melancholic compositions -- "Life's a Gas." Along with 1994's Rabbit Fighter: The Alternate Slider, Electric Jewels is one of the finest T. Rex outtake/rarity sets out there. ~ Greg Prato, All Music Guide
'Live at the Boston Gliderdrome'
Release Date 1/8/2002
Tracks 9
Label Import
See Album Tracklist and Review
What The Critics Say
T. Rex might, at the early-'70s height of their fame, have been one of the greatest live bands around. But it is only with hindsight that even the most awe-stricken fans discover just how unnecessarily loud, and brutally clumsily, the group actually played. A number of bootlegs have already documented this sad fact; now Live at the Boston Gliderdrome lumbers into view, to fill our ears with the positively painful view from somewhere towards the back of the stalls.The sound quality is the first thing you notice. Chunky and lumpy, its sufficiently distorted that it's unclear where the problem lies -- in the original source tape? Or in the venue's own amplification? But, if you can peel through that, and the ruthlessly protracted versions of "Cadillac," "Jeepster" and "Thunderwing" that comprise almost half the CD's playing time, Live at the Boston Gliderdrome is, in fact, one of the more enjoyable T. Rex live discs around. But anybody with treasured memories of the songs as they have lived in our minds for the past 30-plus-years -- that is, short, sharp and instant jukebox classics -- will really have their work cut out for them here! ~ Dave Thompson, All Music Guide
What The Critics Say
The most blatantly, and brilliantly, portentous of Marc Bolan's albums since the transitional blurring of boundaries that was Beard of Stars, almost seven years prior, Futuristic Dragon opens on a wave of unrelenting feedback, guitars and bombast, setting an apocalyptic mood for the record which persists long after that brief (two minutes) overture is over. Indeed, even the quintessential bop of the succeeding "Jupiter Liar" is irrevocably flavored by what came before, dirty guitars churning beneath a classic Bolan melody, and the lyrics a spiteful masterpiece. While the oddly Barry White-influenced "Ride My Wheels" continues flirting with the neo-funk basics of 1975's Bolan's Zip Gun, the widescreen sonic majesty of Futuristic Dragon was, if anything, even more gratuitously ambitious than its predecessor. "Calling All Destroyers," "Sensation Boulevard" and the magnificent "Dawn Storm" all bristle with lyrical splendor, while "Casual Agent" revisits some older glories with its near-slavish re-creation of the old "Rip Off" vibe. But if the other tunes pursue Bolan's new-found fascination for pomp over pop with barely disguised glee, he wasn't above slipping the odd joke into the brew to remind us that he knew what he was doing. "Theme for a Dragon" is an all-but Wagnerian symphonic instrumental -- with the sound of screaming teenyboppers as its backdrop, and the punch line lurking further afield among the handful of obvious hits which he also stirred in. The first of these, the big-budget ballad "Dreamy Lady," scored even before the rest of the album was complete. It was followed by the idiotically contagious "New York City," a piece of pure pop nonsense/genius which so effortlessly returned him to the British Top 20 that, for a few weeks through mid-1976, the idea of seeing "a woman coming out of New York City with a frog in her hand" really didn't seem as silly as it sounded. And when he followed that up with the rhythm'n'punk swagger of "I Love to Boogie," few people would deny that Bolan was on the way back up. That particular gem would be featured on his next album, 1977's Dandy in the Underworld; the Edsel remaster of Futuristic Dragon does, however, wrap up three further cuts from the era, the single sides "Laser Love," the languid "Life's an Elevator" and, best of all, "London Boys," a piece of undisguised childhood nostalgia which was allegedly written about David Bowie, one of Bolan's teenaged running mates. The song, incidentally, was drawn from a proposed concept album, ambitiously titled "London Opera" (one of two Bolan was then considering, the other was the sci-fi themed Billy Super Duper). The project was never completed, however -- for something else was stirring in the capital's bowels, that snarling monster which emerged as punk. And the moment Bolan saw it, he knew precisely what it represented. He began work on a new album right away. ~ Dave Thompson, All Music Guide
What The Critics Say
Having reinvented himself as a bionic soulboy across the course of 1974's Zinc Alloy, Bolan's Zip Gun was less a reiteration of Marc Bolan's new direction than a confirmation of it. Much of the album returns to the understated romp he had always excelled at -- the delightful knockabout "Precious Star," the unrepentant boogie of "Till Dawn" and the pounding title track all echo with the effortless lightheartedness which was Bolan at his most carelessly buoyant, while "Token of My Love" is equally incandescent, a playful blues which swiftly became a major in-concert favorite. But the essence of Zip Gun remains firmly in the funky pastures which characterized Zinc Alloy, with the only significant difference lying in the presentation. Out went the plush production which so diluted the earlier set, to be replaced by a sparser sound which emphasized the rhythms, heightened the backing vocals, and left rock convention far behind. "Light of Love," "Golden Belt" and the heavyweight ballad "I Really Love You Babe" may not be Stax-sized attractions, but they have an earthy authenticity nevertheless, while bonus tracks on the Edsel remaster include single-only stabs at "Dock of the Bay" and "Do You Wanna Dance," further indications of just how seriously Bolan was taking his new role -- and how far he'd moved from the bopping elf of three years earlier. The difference was, in 1972, Marc Bolan was a God. By 1975, he was barely even a minor deity. It was, of course, the old, old story. When he made records that sounded like the old ones, the kids all complained he'd stagnated and lost it. When he made records that didn't sound like them, then they moaned even louder that things just weren't the same. So he made ones that fell smack between the two poles, and that wasn't right either. And yet, played back to back alongside the "classics," there ain't much wrong with any of them. Whatever was the fuss all about, then? Decades on, each of Bolan's latter day albums retain a hint of their original controversy, but hindsight lends them an impact (and, for what it's worth, a credibility) which contemporary listeners could never have imagined. And Zip Gun, an album which scored the worst reviews of all, hits as hard as any of them. ~ Dave Thompson, All Music Guide
'Zinc Alloy and the Hidden Riders of Tomorrow'
Release Date 1/1/1974
Tracks 14
Label EMI
See Album Tracklist and Review
What The Critics Say
By late 1973, Marc Bolan's star was waning fast. No longer gunning out those effortless classics which established him as the most important figure of the decade so far, he embarked instead on a voyage of musical discovery, which cast him so far adrift from the commercial pop mainstream that when his critics said he'd blown it, he didn't even bother answering them back. Or that's the way it appeared at the time, and today, too, it must be acknowledged that 1974's Zinc Alloy & the Hidden Riders of Tomorrow is not classic Bolan, even if one overlooks the transparency of its title. After all, hadn't Bowie already done the Fictional Someone & the Somethings from Somewhere routine? Indeed he had, as his fans kept remarking at the time, and when the knives began slashing Zinc Alloy to shreds, that was one of the fiercest wounds. Time, however, has healed almost all of them. Indeed, hindsight proves that, far from losing his muse, Bolan's biggest sin was losing his once-impeccable sense of occasion. The world wasn't ready for this latest T. Rex, and the fact that it wasn't interested in the old T. Rex either is just another object lesson in the fabled fickleness of pop fans. How faulty was Bolan's timing, though? As it transpired, he was out by no more than a year, maybe less than six months. The era of disco was coming, and with it the wholesale transformation of a wealth of rocking talents. But while David Bowie was barely dreaming of young Americans' fame, and Bryan Ferry was still road testing the pharmaceutical properties of l'amour, Bolan was up to his neck in American radio, pulling out an album which exceeded his assumed capabilities no less than it shot right over the heads of the kids who once bought all his hits. "The Groover," the spring 1973 single which many regarded as the first sign of Bolan's fall from grace, marked the birth of this new fascination, a simple but solid slab of funk-inflected rock which did, indeed, groove. (The track is one of five bonus tracks appended to the album's Edsel reissue). The yearning, heavily orchestrated hit "Teenage Dream" hit notwithstanding, the heart of Zinc Alloy, then, simply followed in "The Groover"'s footsteps, an abandoned romp through the R&B influences which Bolan had always acknowledged, but never truly explored -- the solid James Brown drive of "The Avengers (Superbad)," "Interstellar Soul," "Liquid Gang," and the implausibly slight, but impressively groove-ridden "You've Got to Jive to Stay Alive." Into the same bag, one can also throw the period b-sides "Satisfaction Pony" and "Sitting Here" -- both of which have also been added to the album. Deeply soul-soaked songs like these aren't simply a new direction. They are the very signposts which would soon be guiding so many other English rock talents down some very unfamiliar alleyways. Zinc Alloy was released in March, 1974. Bowie began rehearsing his Philly Dogs tour in July. Yet, even with such credentials to uphold it, this isn't quite Bolan's soul album. Those demons would be exorcised on a second record cut with singer Sister Pat Hall and elsewhere in his collaborations with girlfriend Gloria Jones. Besides, the production here was just a little too cautious to truly convince the wary listener. Neither can it be neatly categorized in the same fashion as, say, Bowie's Young Americans -- Bolan looked across the spectrum for his influences, but he never once went to Philadelphia. Rather, it straddles that same pop/rock, funky R&B landscape as early Funkadelic, Sly Stone and Co., neither fish nor fowl, dead fish nor foul, but something somewhere in between. Approach it with caution. But get in there regardless. ~ Dave Thompson, All Music Guide
What The Critics Say
Buoyed by two U.K. number one singles in "Telegram Sam" and "Metal Guru," The Slider became T. Rex's most popular record on both sides of the Atlantic, despite the fact that it produced no hits in the U.S. The Slider essentially replicates all the virtues of Electric Warrior, crammed with effortless hooks and trashy fun. All of Bolan's signatures are here -- mystical folk-tinged ballads, overt sexual come-ons crooned over sleazy, bopping boogies, loopy nonsense poetry, and a mastery of the three-minute pop song form. The main difference is that the trippy mix of Electric Warrior is replaced by a fuller, more immediate-sounding production. Bolan's guitar has a harder bite, the backing choruses are more up-front, and the arrangements are thicker-sounding, even introducing a string section on some cuts (both ballads and rockers). Even with the beefier production, T. Rex still doesn't sound nearly as heavy as many of the bands it influenced (and even a few of its glam contemporaries), but that's partly intentional -- Bolan's love of a good groove takes precedence over fast tempos or high-volume crunch. Lyrically, Bolan's flair for the sublimely ridiculous is fully intact, but he has way too much style for The Slider to sound truly stupid, especially given the playful, knowing wink in his delivery. It's nearly impossible not to get caught up in the irresistible rush of melodies and cheery good times. Even if it treads largely the same ground as Electric Warrior, The Slider is flawlessly executed, and every bit the classic that its predecessor is. ~ Steve Huey, All Music Guide
What The Critics Say
The third Tyrannosaurus Rex album, and their debut U.S. release, Unicorn was also the first to steadfastly state the game plan which Marc Bolan had been patiently formulating for two years -- the overnight transformation from underground icon to above ground superstar. Not only does it catch him experimenting with an electric guitar for the first time on record, it also sees Steve Peregrin Took exchange his bongos for a full drum kit, minor deviations to be sure, but significant ones regardless. And listen closely: you can hear the future. The opening "Chariots of Silk" sets the ball rolling, as slight and lovely as any of Bolan's early songs, but driven by a tumultuous drum roll, a pounding percussion which might be the sound of distant gunfire, but could as easily be a petulant four-year-old, stamping around an upstairs apartment. Either way, it must have been a rude awakening for the bliss-soaked hippy acid-heads who were the duo's most loyal audience at the time -- and, though the album settled down considerably thereafter, that initial sense of alarm never leaves. By the time one reaches the closing "Romany Soup," a nursery jingle duet for voice and whispered secrets, you feel like you've just left the wildest roller coaster on earth. If the peaks are astonishing, however, the troughs are merely comparative. "Pon A Hill" is certainly more remarkable for the backing chorus of absurd twitters than for a fairly standard Bolan melody. But "Cat Black," a song which had been around since before Bolan joined John's Children, comes on like a lost Spector classic, with apoplectic percussion and a positively soaring, wordless chorus. "She Was Born to Be My Unicorn," meanwhile, drifts by on piping Hammond and tympani, while "Warlord of the Royal Crocodiles" is no less resonant than such a title demands. Reprising his role on the duo's first album, DJ John Peel reappears to read a brief children's story, but that truly is the only real point of contact between Unicorn and its predecessors. Indeed, in a moment of pure prescient enthusiasm, Melody Maker's review tagged the once painstakingly eclectic acoustic duo "electrified teenybop" and, had things not gone horribly awry between Bolan and Took during their first U.S. tour that same year, all that T Rex was to achieve in the first years of the next decade might have instead fallen into place during the final years of the '60s. Because again, you can already hear the storm brewing. ~ Dave Thompson, All Music Guide
What The Critics Say
An extraordinary two-CD set that's as much a tribute to an album as it is to an artist, reprising the Electric Warrior sessions and the way in the songs evolved and developed. Included are three versions of "Get It On," including one with just Bolan's original basic rhythm guitar track, and working versions of much of the rest of the album. The opening uncut version of "Get It On" running more than six minutes is worth the price of admission, and it gets better from there are we hear the album get pieced together. In contrast to some bootlegs that give take after take, the editing here is judicious and worthwhile, giving a succinct audio documentary style account of the creation of this landmark album. And the sound, from the original raw session tapes in mid-1990's transfers, is a lot crisper than the Warner Bros. standard CD of the album--the guitars have a sharp, slashing attack, the drums are close, and the bass is very hard and heavy, like being at the session, and you haven't lived until you've heard Bolan's raw version of "Honey Don't." As a bonus, there's also an interview with Bolan about the album, done at the time of its recording, on Disc Two. ~ Bruce Eder, All Music Guide
What The Critics Say
There was a big and obvious change to Tyrannosaurus Rex on their fourth album, A Beard of Stars, as Steve Took was replaced by Mickey Finn, with Marc Bolan remaining the true captain of the duo act as singer and songwriter. Of more significance was the change in the band's sound, moving into far more electric rock territory with much greater use of electric guitar, though Bolan's songs were still often grounded in the fairytale-like musings of his earlier work. It was still a ways off from his glam rock approach, but it was definitely more accessible than the relatively homespun elflike folk-rock of the earliest Tyrannosaurus Rex albums. It also made some effective use of organ and somewhat more pop-friendly, conventional tunes like "By the Light of the Magical Moon," "Elemental Child," and "A Daye Laye," though weirder items like "Wild Cheetah" and "Dove" bore a slight similarity to some of Syd Barrett's gentlest compositions. ~ Richie Unterberger, All Music Guide
'Prophets, Seers & Sages the Angels of the Ages'
Release Date 1/1/1968
Tracks 14
Label Regal Zonophone
See Album Tracklist and Review
What The Critics Say
The most underrated of Tyrannosaurus Rex's four albums, Prophets, Seers & Sages was recorded just six months after their debut and adds little to the landscapes which that set mapped out. There is the same reliance on the jarring juxtaposition of rock rhythms in a folky discipline; the same abundance of obscure, private mythologies; the same skewed look at the latest studio dynamics, fed through the convoluted wringer of the duo's imagination -- the already classic pop of the opening "Deboraarobed" is further dignified by its segue into the same performance played backwards, a fairly groundbreaking move at a time when even the Beatles were still burying such experiments deep in the mix. But if the album itself found the duo rooted to the musical spot, still it delivered some of Marc Bolan's most resonant songs. The nostalgia-flavored "Stacey Grove" and the contrarily high-energy "Conesuela" were as peerless as any of Bolan's more feted compositions. Equally intriguing is the confidence which exudes from "Scenes of Dynasty," a successor of sorts to the last album's "Scenesof," but presented with just percussion and some strange vocal noises to accompany Bolan's singing -- at a time when "singing" was maybe not the term a lot of listeners would employ for his vocals. The excited "one-two-three-four" count-in only adds to the dislocation, of course. Finally, the owlishly contagious "Salamanda Palaganda" offers a first-hand peek into the very mechanics of Bolan's songwriting. Other composers stuck for a rhyme either reach for the thesaurus or abandon the lyric altogether. Bolan simply made one up, and in the process created a whole new language -- half nonsense, half mystery, but wholly intoxicating. Just like the rest of the album, in fact. ~ Dave Thompson, All Music Guide
