Review Summary: A masterful display of cool, out of this world rock 'n' roll.
I don’t think it’s any coincidence that Marc Bolan, father (and given the movement’s proclivity to androgyny, perhaps mother) of glam rock, started T. Rex as a psychedelic folk band. The psychedelic craze made it okay to give into flights of fancy, okay for rock artists to embrace femininity, okay to let an offbeat aesthetic dominate live shows. So it’s not really shocking to think that artists of the late 60s might take these traits of psychedelia to their extremes: trade in songs with hints of Tolkien for full blown science fiction epics, replace flowers in the hair for boas around the neck, turn live experiences from groovy, dreamlike affairs into demonstrations of cosmic theatricality.
So, we enter Electric Warrior, T. Rex’s treatise on going big or going home (and looking fabulous on the way there). And that’s really the only word that comes to mind when I try to describe this album: big. Gargantuan. The lyrical themes, the riffs, the infectiously groovy rhythm section of Mickey Finn, Bill Legend, and Steve Currie, even the damn album cover. It’s all larger than life in the best way possible.
Electric Warrior brims with cool confidence. Bolan, moving smoothly between liquid croon and a protopunk snarl, showers us with images of bebop moons (“Mambo Sun”), flying saucers (“Planet Queen”), and celestial hairdos (“Jeepster”), all while displaying a loose, cocksure guitar style (check out the wah-heavy lead work on “Monolith”) over the driving rhythm section. The undeniable strength of the instrumental work doesn’t seem to be derived from the individual contributions of the musicians but in their combination. The pounding drums, the steady grooving bass, understated backing vocals, and relaxed guitar work come together to form a slinky homage to (and perhaps a jape of) American blues and gospel music.
While this perhaps sounds pretty standard for English rock ‘n’ roll of the period, T. Rex couples it with a tremendous theatricality and outright weirdness that makes every song feel like a novel take on the genre. Huge string arrangements supplement Bolan’s claims of “dancing [himself] into the tomb” on “Cosmic Dancer”, rollicking piano backs the absolutely killer single “Get It On (Bang a Gong)”, and Ian McDonald of King Crimson provides a saxophone solo on the stompy closer “Rip Off”. Even the emotional, folky callback to T. Rex’s early efforts, “Girl”, contains a flugelhorn and references to an “electric witch”. Bolan’s lyrical coupling of cosmic oddity with inflated, theatrical instrumentation allow these seemingly generic blues rock numbers to push beyond their limitations to become truly special.
So put on the record, and if you feel yourself flying high, it’s totally normal, the flying saucer’s coming to take you away. Welcome to Electric Warrior.
Recommended Tracks:
Mambo Sun
Jeepster
Get It On (Bang a Gong)
Planet Queen
