Good find Al , reading through what the writer thinks the word Beltane meant ,
might just be his idea of the meaning.To me I always thought Beltane was Marc’s
idea of a story land much like Lord of the Rings by J R R Tolkien.Like all of
Marc’s lyrics I guess there open to interpretation. Marc did put a lot more
work into his lyrics in the Tyranno period in my opinion.Putting meaning into
song lyrics will always be open to interpretation by the listener or there
agenda.
Stewart
On Monday, November 22, 2021, 10:41:25 AM MST, ALFRED MASCIOCCHI
<cakrm@xxxxxxxxxxx> wrote:
This comes from a link in the prior article I just send. Some questionable
research (3 solo albums before Tyrannosaurus Rex?) but I think this is pretty
insightful: "With the above Bolan brilliantly crafted one of the worst lines
ever written. Why then does it feature in a celebratory feature on his
songwriting? Simply because choosing the first rhyme that pops into your head
and sticking with it even if it is nonsensical, should be a condemnable act.
However, in Bolan’s case, he somehow does it with such joy that it comes off
like a joie de vivre celebration of language and music. If you can make bad
wordplay catchy and transfigure it with bold exuberance, then suddenly it isn’t
bad wordplay at all. This carefree style is a central tenet of Bolan’s work. "
Al
https://faroutmagazine.co.uk/the-life-of-marc-bolan-through-10-best-lyrics/ ;
The life of Marc Bolan through 10 of his best lyrics
Tom Taylor
@TomTaylorFO THU 30TH SEP 2021 14.00 BST
As an artist, Marc Bolan is touted, by turns, as being the inventor of
glam-rock, punk and even rap music. While these labels might be akin to pinning
a sticker onto a river, the point remains that a hell of a lot of artistry
flowed from the bountiful reservoir of creativity that Bolan harnessed
throughout his life. That life, however, was fated to be tragically short. In
1977, at only 29-years-old, the pioneer behind so much pop culture was killed
in a car crash. Rather than focus on that catastrophe, we will be concentrating
on the trailblazing life that went before it.
Bolan burst into his prolific vein in 1965. He signed to Decca Records and
within two short years, he had released three solo albums, each of which
furthered his progressive approach. Soon after he joined John’s Children and
thereafter a folk duo titled Tyrannosaurus Rex. Together, Bolan and Steve
Peregrine Took embarked on an explosive artistic splurge, however, it always
seemed that Bolan’s sui generis punches were just being pulled a little bit or
else missing the mark as he tried to make headway in the mainstream.
When the duo split, Mickey Finn replaced Took and Bolan abbreviated the
name. With that, T.Rex was born and soon they released ‘Ride A White Swan’.
Thereafter it wasn’t so much of a case of Bolan curtailing his creativity to
slide in line with the mainstream, it was more a case of him grabbing it by the
lapels and leading it to the next bar where the Bolan show was playing.
The wild outfits, kaleidoscopic imagery and sonic experimentations, however,
would never have seeded if they weren’t propped up by some superb songwriting.
Below, we’re journeying through the creative gestalt of Bolan with ten of his
finest lyrics in tow.
Ten of Marc Bolan’s best lyrics:
‘The Wizard’
“He knew why people laughed and cried,
Why they lived and why they died.”
From the very start of Marc Bolan’s career, his trippy stylings were already
being touched upon. However, a second constant that equally ran throughout all
of his forthcoming back catalogue was also present – he always kept a keen eye
on some sort of fated meaning to his far-out creativity.
The track from his debut album might not signpost him as a future master,
but there’s enough of the zeitgeist at work that it’s clear to see Bolan knew
what was going down. As his good friend, David Bowiewould later say: “Tomorrow
belongs to those who can hear it.”
‘Hippy Gumbo’
“Met a man he was nice,
Said his name was paradise,
Didn’t realise at the time,
That his face and mind were mine.”
Fellow musician Nick Cave once said: “The great beauty of contemporary
music, and what gives it its edge and vitality, is its devil-may-care attitude
toward appropriation — everybody is grabbing stuff from everybody else, all the
time. It’s a feeding frenzy of borrowed ideas that goes toward the advancement
of rock music — the great artistic experiment of our era.”
At the time of Marc Bolan’s early solo outings, this caldron of modern music
was just beginning to stir. With the blues riff and Robert Johnson-esque
imagery in this song, Bolan’s liberal use of meddling genres was coming to the
fore, and with it, he would ultimately change music.
‘Debora’
“Oh Debora, always look like a zebra.”
With the above Bolan brilliantly crafted one of the worst lines ever
written. Why then does it feature in a celebratory feature on his songwriting?
Simply because choosing the first rhyme that pops into your head and sticking
with it even if it is nonsensical, should be a condemnable act.
However, in Bolan’s case, he somehow does it with such joy that it comes off
like a joie de vivre celebration of language and music. If you can make bad
wordplay catchy and transfigure it with bold exuberance, then suddenly it isn’t
bad wordplay at all. This carefree style is a central tenet of Bolan’s work.
‘Stacey Grove’
“And now that the gate of his evening is late,
He sits on a log picking ticks off the back of his dog.”
With the second Tyrannosaurus Rex record, it would seem that Bolan was
getting more comfortable with his surroundings. The lyrics remained as
colourful as ever, but they were more considered and had sweet melodies to suit
the out in the wild vibe that he was lyrically crafting with his C.S. Lewis
inspired campfire tales.
The la di da stylings of the song see Bolan settling into his songwriting
groove, which remained rhythmically humble throughout his career from this
point on. On songs like ‘Stacey Grove’ he might be sticking a little close to
his contemporaries like Syd Barrett, but it was this sort of songwriting that
set him on his way to eventually sailing his own ship off into unchartered
waters.
‘Beltane Walk’
“Bopping down by the whirlpool,
I met a girl she was god’s tool,
I said girl wouldn’t you like to rock,
But could it give me love,
Give me little love from god’s heart.”
With the debut album under the abbreviated name, Bolan finally made his
unfathomably queer obsession with the word Beltane clear. For those who don’t
know, which is pretty much everybody outside of the scrabble world
championships, Beltane is an ancient Gaelic May Day festival, and at an
absolute push, it can perhaps be used to describe a sort of spiritual spring.
The reason this enters the list is because it is undoubtedly a defining
feature in the tapestry of his style. Throughout his back catalogue, little
obsessions pop up time and time again. For fanatics, this only adds to the
mystique of man himself and offers a deeply personalised touch to his art. In
other words, Beltane was one of many melting clocks in his works and rarely was
it as lyrically stirring as this example.
‘Ride a White Swan’
“Ride it on out like a bird in the sky ways,
Ride it on out like you were a bird,
Fly it all out like an eagle in a sunbeam,
Ride it on out like you were a bird.”
Marc Bolan offered up many a belting anthem in his short time with us, so
much so that it was a short time that brought to mind the notion that the light
that shines brightest lasts half as long. ‘Ride A White Swan’ was released as a
stand-alone single back in 1970 and it proved so gleaming that it spawned glam
rock and truly announced the arrival of Bolan as an illuminating beacon.
The song is a blinding light of hope and exultation, almost too bright for
lockdown, but tempered just enough not to come across as clashing. It is this
poetical opening verse cut over a scintillatingly upbeat guitar riff that urges
you to take dominion over your mood when and where you can. Of course, the
symbolism is fantasy, but if you catch it at the right time then it sometimes
doesn’t feel that far from the truth. Take it with a cup of coffee in the
morning, and it’s bound to bounce your day off in the right direction.
‘Rip Off’
“Bleached on the beach,
I want to tickle your peach,
It’s a rip-off,
Such a rip-off.”
With 1971’s Electric Warrior, T. Rex landed their masterpiece that foretold
the future of music in many ways, heralding punk and glam rock in a splurge. As
producer Tony Visconti remarks regarding ‘Rip Off’, he said: “People say that’s
the first rap record, I don’t say that but some people do.”
He’s right not to say that it isn’t the first rap record by a long shot, but
the fact it gets close as he fires of an aggressive salvo is a mark of Bolan’s
daring bravura as a songsmith. The humour and sultriness to this verse exhibits
much the same.
‘Cosmic Dancer’
“I danced myself right out the womb,
Is it strange to dance so soon,
I danced myself right out the womb.”
Consider by many to be his masterpiece, ‘Cosmic Dancer’ is the sort of song
that barely even seems to have been written in the traditional sense; like some
berserk 1990s Nic Cage movie, the song seem like it had to be created to save
the world from slipping into a doomed alternate reality. It is simply too
deeply entwined with society to imagine the human race without it. From the
first uttered line the song is immediately etched into the psyche of a
listener, and the title is so ubiquitous that scientists ought to check that
the lyrics aren’t programmed somewhere in our DNA if they ever get a spare five
minutes.
As ever, his songwriting reflected his life, with ‘Cosmic Dancer’ sharing a
darkly obfuscated mystique. The lyrics are as iconic as they are unknowable at
least in the spiritual sense. Along with the bold atmosphere, this creates the
sort of track that seems bigger than itself, if that makes even a tiny drop of
sense. In other words, it seems to share the same wonder of creativity that
Hoagy Carmichael remarked upon when he said: “Maybe I didn’t write you, but I
found you.”
‘Metal Guru’
“Metal guru could it be,
You’re gonna bring my baby to me,
She’ll be wild you know,
A rock ‘n’ roll child.”
What both David Bowie and Bolan were brilliant at in this early seventies
was delivering rock ‘n’ roll from stuffiness and reinvigorating the inherent
fun that made it soar in the first place. Lou Reed might have used the
following quote about The Stooges, but it could just as easily have been about
Bolan and Bowie: “The honest sound of young guys trying to break the barrier of
stilted moulded sterile rock.”
In ‘Metal Guru’ Bolan rattles through the old rock ‘n’ roll iconography with
a sense of pride. He paints a picture of a wild party and it proves to be one
that beguiles any listener in an instant. This might not be high-end poetry,
but it is visceral, and it is very befitting of a knees-up.
‘Children of the Revolution’
“No, you won’t fool the children of the revolution.”
Poetry and lyric writing aren’t worlds apart but there are all sorts of
reasons why they don’t necessarily share a postcard. One of the differences
between the disciplines that falls in favour of a sonic accompaniment is the
ability to capture the zeitgeist. There is nothing particularly poetic,
poignant or considered about “No, you won’t fool the children of the
revolution,” but it is a defining anthem all the same that seemed to seize the
spirit of the age with an alchemical conjuring and rattle it at the rafters.
This notion is also supported by the band he had gathered behind him for
rocks subversive swansong. As well as Bolan on vocals and T. Rex filling the
spots on the song admirably, it also contained Elton John playing the second
piano and none other than The Beatles’ own Ring Starr on the drums. The
children of the revolution chanted forth into the future and stayed true to
Bolan’s lifelong glossy-eyed view of trying to change the world.
