Not everything that broke big musically and pop culturally in Great Britain maintained such success in the US: think Cliff Richards, Robbie Williams, Roxy Music, Dizzee Rascal. The biggest and cultiest of these Brits was rhapsodic poet/lyricist/composer and frizzly rhythmic guitarist Marc Bolan and his bittersweet glam-pop band, T. Rex, who—from 1970’s “Ride a White Swan” through to the R&B-flavored rock of Tanx in 1973—held an iron-fisted, gold-plated hold over the British charts and his young, devoted following. After that, however, Bolan fell from favor due to his little-changing sound and the rise of his teenhood pal David Bowie’s glitter-godhead Ziggy Stardust in 1973, his platinum-selling plastic soul in 1975, and his punk avatar status in 1977. In that same year, just when Bolan became something of a punk-godfather figure with a television series called Marc that booked the likes of Paul Weller’s The Jam and Billy Idol’s Generation X, Bolan was killed in a car crash.
American-born documentary filmmaker Ethan Silverman (who, like me, saw T. Rex open for Three Dog Night) does a few magical things with his new film AngelHeaded Hipster: The Songs of Marc Bolan & T. Rex. Along with presenting a footage-ripe program complete with Top of the Pops performances, sold-out concert clips, and glam-era home movie blips of Bolan with feuding pal Bowie, friends/collaborators Ringo Starr and Elton John (both additionally interviewed in the present about their friend’s too-ignored innovations), and wife Gloria Jones (the “Tainted Love” songwriter whose car Bolan was a passenger in when it crashed), the documentary goes further still, and full circle. Silverman captures the recording of 2020’s various-artists album the film takes its name from, as produced by the man who built the multi-genre, multi-musician tribute album: Hal Willner.
If anyone deserves his own documentary, it’s the late Willner. Along with being the longtime music director of sketches and such at Saturday Night Live, Willner was a curator-producer of great renown (latter-day Lou Reed was among his triumphs) and the king of the conceptual artist compilation made up of tracks by disparate songwriters in true homage to composers such as Nino Rota, Harold Arlen, Kurt Weill, and Charles Mingus, the film music of Walt Disney, and the angular jazz of Thelonious Monk, as well as creating like-minded live events for the works of Edgar Allen Poe and Allen Ginsberg. His still-living cast of characters for these albums include everyone from Keith Richards and Aaron Neville to the members of U2.
Bono and co. open AngelHeaded Hipster with their slowcore take on “Bang It On (Get It On),” with The Edge talking about the incomparable, sensual nature of Bolan’s slithering songwriting and the femme, fuzz-tone of Marc’s guitar—and the rhythmic click that introduced his first, electric guitar–coated hit, “Ride a White Swan,” and became one of T. Rex’s sonic signatures, courtesy of producer and on-screen interviewee Tony Visconti. Silverman never allows AngelHeaded Hipster’s interview subjects to become long-winded talking heads and overtake Bolan’s glitter-boogie chug and gossamer, quavering vocal quality. Nor does Silverman allow the old footage of Bolan bands such as John’s Children or his hippie-dippy, fanciful folk, prose-heavy Tyrannosaurus Rex stuff overwhelm the present day’s import, let alone Marc’s rise through all things that glitter.
Later, Nick Cave quietly discusses Bolan’s poetic prowess while tinkling his way through a fragile, ballad-like take on “Cosmic Dancer,” while Kesha offers her unique take on the soulful heft of “Children of the Revolution” and raps about the songwriter’s funk chops (Gloria Jones does much of the latter, too, saying how R&B and disco were Bolan’s next directions until he was upended by Bowie beating him to the punch). While the filmmaker shows off dueling saxophone-heavy, juxtapositional edits between The Orwells and Snarky Puppy recording live Bolan on the roof of Willner’s studio, Def Leppard’s Joe Elliott proves his devotion to Bolan during his interview segment by showing off his grade school notebook where he copied, word for word, every poem of Marc’s, so as to memorize each sweetly surreal stanza.
Ultimately, that is the true charm of AngelHeaded Hipster: that whether it’s Elliott’s teenage-dream treasures or Visconti talking up his conga-based polyrhythms, or artists such as Beth Orton and Marc Ribot making choppy blues in time to his “chopped for firewood” lyrics, Marc Bolan was worth every bit of the obsession that his fans, friends, devotees, and, obviously, this director hold for the legacy of T. Rex.
