

Glam Rock laughed in the face of the pompous
pseudo-intellectualism that was becoming prevalent in the music
world in the early seventies. It declared war on seriousness.
You want three day weeks?
We want Can The Can. You want Tales From Topographic
Oceans? We want Tiger Feet. It is, of course, the
sweetest of all ironies that Marc Bolan -
the man who it could be argued invented the Glam Rock genre, took
himself more seriously than a hundred Topographic Oceans. He
probably thought he was a Topographic Ocean . . .
Glam picked up on the hippie ideal of showing off and took it
to a new level. The hippies blew
it when they started to take themselves seriously - always the
death-knell of any movement - and that was a trap that the
Glamsters couldn't fall into. After all, how could you take
yourself seriously when you were wearing metallic blue and silver
platform boots with a five-inch heel?
Actually, some of them did - most of them did - and as soon as
they did, they were finished. Apart from the aforementioned
Grand-daddy of the scene - yes, Mr Bolan - most of the Glamsters
played with the idea of being sensible, looked at it and laughed
at it.
Any self-respecting Glam rocker needed ten basic things. You've
got to remember. That first Top of the Pops appearance
was all-important. Make the right impression and Nicky Chinn and
Mike Chapman might take notice. Get it wrong and you would be back
to doing Beatles and Stones
covers at the Greyhound in East Grinstead.
So what was the right look? What were those 10 things?
-
You've got to dress like a girl (or - in the case
of Suzi Quatro - like a man)
-
You've got to have long hair
-
Your hair's got to be bouffant
-
You've got to wear loads of make-up, preferably
put on while you're wearing boxing gloves
-
You've got to wear trousers that are incredibly
tight at the top . . .
-
. . . . And very flared at the bottom
-
Your trousers have got to be so tight at the top
that they split you in two, leaving people in no doubt a)
about your religion, and b) that you're built like a Grand
National champion. (The same effect can be achieved by a
quick visit to your local greengrocer)
-
You've got to have loads of glitter and/or
mirrors plastered all over you
-
Your shoes have got to be orthopaedic and be able
to double as step-ladders
-
Any jacket lapels or shirt collars must be at
least 6 inches long, and - if you're really serious
about it - across
If you adopted a minimum of, say, five of those point, really,
you stood a good chance of making it big. If you did between five
and eight, you'd get in the Top 20 after one Top
of the Pops appearance. If you followed all 10 points, Mickie
Most would probably invite you round for dinner.
After five glorious Glam years, the word changed for
ever.
A different style of dressing up caught on, a new movement was
born - the boy looked at Johnny, and liked what he saw. Clothes
were ripped, make-up was plastered on eyes with a trowel, cheeks
were pierced with safety-pins, nobody smiled. Punk
had arrived and the simple pleasures of glitter and gloss were all
too quickly forgotten.
Flares and big hair stayed in fashion for a while, enjoying a
wild time in discos around the world until well into the 1980s,
but the Glam bands of Britain woke up one morning in February 1976
and found that they had been confined to endless nostalgia tours
around seaside piers, holiday camps and bingo halls.
Many of them are still doing the scampi-in-a-basket circuit,
enjoying the beer and laughs, even if the new band members get
younger than the audience by the week.
Of course Glam didn't change the world. It just felt as though
it did for all those starry-eyed boys and girls who wrecked their
foot arches on gigantic heels, and are now worrying about their
own daughters doing the same in those daft-looking platform
trainers.
Ultimately, it was a bloody good laugh. Don't let anyone tell
you differently.
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