blessed be the holy land of usa
for verily my childe
this is the source of rock
the blackmans blues
the whiteys folk
it suddenly mutates
johnny winston oboogie in old albion he catches on
micknkeef in dartford prick up its ears
jimbo in florida ….uh huh something going on
tom verlaine in del-a-where
little stevie k in a car park in canberra
waiting for his daddy
when daddy comes back he dont know his lil slim is changed
daddy i heard the who
daddy i heard a new take
daddy not morose like blues
daddy not preachy like fucking folk
daddy not complicated like jazz
daddy not limp like schmaltz
daddy this is raw and real
daddy im gonna be a rocker
even when i’m older than you are now, much older
i will build my church upon this rock
those guitars
they can shiver and wobble and vibrate and scream
and the drums like a jungle in a auto-plant
and the bass guitar …will ya listen to that….
son can you make a living plucking that 4 string behemoth
yes father
it was ever my destiny
on my 16th birthday
my first bass comes to me
and i set to
figuring out how i will say
whatever it is i will be saying
i look in the mirror
can a rock star be covered in freckles
i strum my tennis raquet
i put pictures of blue cheer and quicksilver on my wall
leon russell in his top hat leering off my wardrobe
in the darkness of those years
me n fernando drive round canberra trying to crash parties
we buy galaxy cigarettes and jam in peoples garages
5 guitarists all plugged into one amp
the drummer called mark
hes got a pretty sister who goes out with tony haze
whos in a real band
i feel important just standing in their backyard
out the back of the garage is a little room put on
we lounge around in there smoking cigs n reading magazines
i just found beard of stars in a record shop
and in one of marks sisters old teen magazine
is a story on bolan
hes sitting in some english garden on a summer day
far from wintery canberra n my thick jammin’ pals
who love the blues but not the rock like me
they aspire to denim n beards n long solos
but now ive found marc bolan i’m beginning to see the light
i gobble up the article
i read n re read it
he looks like a homo says fernando
my mother would hate it if i looked like that
said my half spanish half irish friend
but i didnt care
we went back in the garage
and tried to play some dismal savoy brown blues
shes got a ring on her finger n a ring thru her nose
sang the boys
but they had already started to lose me
i went home and i listened to bolan
his effeminate warble did not seem to disturb me
he was like a faun come to this dull world
and he sang of marvellous things
but he was starting to fuse it to this chuck berry simplicity
ah here were the twelve bars that fernando n angelo n mark loved
but not as some moaning boring old whinge going on n on
but as sprightly ramped up n declarations of intent
not the old i woke up this smornin’ n baby was gone stuff
see marc didnt see the contradiction between myth n modern
he just put it all in there
but you knew in yer heart
that in the dark
marc bolan could please the ladies
more than some old grunter singin’ the interminable blues
bolan wasnt all caught up in no paying yer dues bullshit either
he fused narnia n rock n corinth n berry n dandy n delicate
he finished songs on strange ominous chords
he had a song called the wizard
and at the end
he was screaming
and his guitar was distorting
and this little orchestra arranged by t visconti
is jamming along
and it was like being at a dionysian rite
(if you were 16 n lived in canberra)
a little later that year
i was sitting in a chair at a party
when some incredible song came on
it was the first time i had ever heard” get it on”
wherein the imagery n berry n sleekness
all came together
in the most perfect song ever
no one had reassembled rocks ingredients like this before
childe, bolan had a number one hit mentioning
the teeth of the hydra…
can you believe the significance of that to me…?
at the same time as i was hearing this new rock amalgam
a girl i’d never met before sat in my lap n began kissing me
this must have imprinted something on me i guess
rock became my mainstay n everything else seemed a waste of time
why did i need to mow the lawn or go to school
when there was rock…?
and all i had to do
was spin the record
and there was marc bolan
ready to take you off to some super eleusinian woodland scene
full of elvish babes and silver plated electric boogie on
and everyone there spoke in mystic poetic jive lingo
and everyone was high on love n magic
and the guitar was king
but always a little strange
like a grimms fairy tale all gone wrong
and bolan drove round in a roller
and he was a millionaire
and mickey finn was the first guy
i ever saw wearing that t shirt that said cocaine
instead of coca cola
and i didnt know what cocaine was of course
but it had to be better than getting bullied at the lyneham shops
by some teen neanderthal in a flannel shirt n his jeering flunkies
i knew in bolans world i would cut a cool figure
but out here in can-fucking-berra
things were bleak n dead for a cat like me
people in canberra in 1971 could not grok a proto-genius like me
it was a crucible to forge my identity in
in london or l.a.
i woulda been a dime a dozen
but here in the a.c.t 2602
i was at the centaur of my own uni-verse
i sat at home
i deconstructed bolans every last whisper
every last bubble of phased distortion
his pronunciation
his choice of instruments
i figured him out
and i figured myself out
and i figured out
that i WAS right
and all them planks in canberra in 1971
were wrong
and i would
aided n abetted by rocknroll
escape canberras tedious monotony
and escape the sludgy seventies
and in 1982
i materialized on a stage in london
at a 2000 people sold out gig
and i actualized my understanding
from the humble beginnings in a garage in dickson
i had sussed out a masters style
and just as he did
i was reapplying it for my own schtick…
in 1982 i visited the tree adorned with flowers
where he died in 77
all that to end up here….?!
bang a gong