Marc the man, marc the demi god, he strutted and he preened into the 70's with the panache of a white Little Richard. Whilst the Zeus of the 20th C connected to an intense orgasmic rush, Marc introduced tease to his audience. The music shifts to a sleeze of a beat that had the young women of the early 70's entering a male bisexual planet where the past was rock and roll and the future was forever bright. The perfect antidote to the unrest and civil strife that marked the the 70's. Marc danced to his own cosmic beat, a teeny bop idol cast adrift as he sold his rock and roll to mammon, bereft when his fickle fans deserted him for ersatz and chintz. In 77 Marc became "punk".
I never appreciated Marc at the time. He was the teeny boppers idol, something your younger sister might be into and in the macho world of the 70's saying you like Marc Bolan would induce a boot between the legs so you could check your own manhood. David Bowie was acceptable for some reason but MArc was off limits. Slade were the mans band I remember having the badges. No one would question anyone's sexuality with a picture of Dave Hill in a tightfitting jumpsuit with his buck teeth, mascara coated eyes and lipstick pout staring from your lapel.
As per usual a friend turned me onto Marc. He was a big fan and dragged me to a convention where we watched Born to Boogie. After the experience I began to see what he was exploring, the purrr of a lovely white sleek slickbacked 70's sportcar with legs astride a Gibson Les Paul thrusting his sweat stained body into the collective memories of everyone who remembers the 70's. Marc sang at length about cars and sex, almost predicting his own demise.
This album is one of the best, a lost magical world which disappeared when punk erased the daydream and exposed the reality. Acid House and Hip Hop never ventured near planet Marc. This album is a beam of light from another time and another place, I am a convert and I ask you to let it in.
