My favourite band growing up were the Manic Street Preachers, a Welsh rock act that rose to prominence in the early 90s and who were initially derided for being Clash rip-offs that stole their songs, their look, their entire schtick from Joe Strummer and Mick Jones. Even today, their records are peppered with Clash covers […]
London Calling by the Clash (1979) Read More »
Rumours is the sound of a disintegrating band. Lindsey Buckingham and Stevie Nicks were embroiled in a bad-tempered separation while making the album; they apparently hurled insults at each other across the studio in between recording their vocals. Christine McVie was blissfully loved up but, unfortunately, not with John McVie, Fleetwood Mac’s bassist and the
Rumours by Fleetwood Mac (1977) Read More »
It’s easy to forget that, in the late 1970s, there was indeed anarchy in the UK. The economic growth and broadly social democratic consensus of the post-war period had been obliterated by the 1973 oil shock, the repercussions of which were, by the end of the decade, reaching their harrowing climax in the nightmarish phenomenon
Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s the Sex Pistols by the Sex Pistols (1977) Read More »
What madness is this? Coming immediately off the back of the review of Born to Run, surely one of the most musically and thematically cohesive rock albums of the 1970s, Queen’s A Night at the Opera appears downright demented, a schizophrenic rollercoaster careening from experimental prog rock to choral singing to heavy metal to vaudevillian
A Night at the Opera by Queen (1975) Read More »
The review of Hotel California hinted at a dichotomy between, on the one hand, the gender-bending, experimental, slightly deviant aesthetic of British glam and, on the other, the rough-and-tumble, gun totin’, horse ridin’, unmistakably masculine Americana of the Eagles. Actually, I was just playing around, thinking maybe that this contrast is a bit fanciful and
Born to Run by Bruce Springsteen (1975) Read More »
I like the Dude, but the Dude hates the fuckin’ Eagles, man, which is only to be expected, because they represent the slickest, most unashamed commercialisation of 60s utopianism, the transmogrification of serious bearded guitar music into radio-friendly and occasionally syrupy country rock. The Eagles committed the unforgivable sin of rendering the hippie aesthetic palatable
Hotel California by the Eagles (1976) Read More »
My parents repeatedly played Too Low For Zero in our car during the 80s, so Elton John reminds me vividly of my childhood. But I’ve always been mystified by his stratospheric fame. He has none of the otherworldly allure of Bowie, or the seedy, simian charisma of Jagger – he comes across as a fat
Goodbye Yellow Brick Road by Elton John (1973) Read More »
I have no connection to Neil Young: I didn’t listen to him growing up, my family didn’t, my friends didn’t, and generally speaking, I’m not keen on country music; it reeks of piss-stained old people, simple-minded rural folk, and unwashed hippies. But After the Gold Rush seems to be so universally well-regarded that I felt
After the Gold Rush by Neil Young (1970) Read More »
Seems strange in retrospect but, according to music critics like Ken Barnes and Simon Reynolds, the primary architect of 70s glam rock was not the Thin White Duke; it was Marc Bolan, the mincing, hair-brained, slightly ghoulish frontman of 70s rock band T. Rex. The reason it seems strange is because Bowie was inducted into
Electric Warrior by T. Rex (1971) Read More »
Obviously it’s a bit of a cliché to say that the 60s were all peace, love, LSD, economic stability and trendy Social Democratic government, while the 70s marked a descent into decadent, gender-bending glamour and social, political, and economic turmoil. After all, “Gimme Shelter” and the Doors’ menacing debut album came out in the 60s,
The Dark Side of the Moon by Pink Floyd (1973) Read More »