1971 T Rex: Hot Love

T Rex started out in life as Tyrannosaurus Rex, an acoustic duo of guitar (Marc Bolan) and bongos (Steve Peregrin Took) who pedalled a spare and folksy sound in a series of airy fairy albums (“My People Were Fair And Had Sky In Their Hair” et al) designed to appeal to socially inept Sixth formers who'd read way too much Tolkien – you know the type: “that’s a six, your elf has attacked my orc in the enchanted forest glade”. A bit stereotypical maybe, but I’m in that mood. Bad eggs.

By dropping the name to a simple T, plugging in the guitars and adding bass and drums proper the band and their songs were given a major jump start and re-boot. Although Bolan's head was still in Middle Earth when 1970's 'Ride A White Swan' single lit the touchpaper, by the time 'Hot Love' came around there was more change afoot than simply going electric.

Change in some areas anyway - the lyrics are still so much a nonsense exercise in junior school rhyme ("Well she ain't no witch and I love the way she twitch u-huh-huh"), but wrapped in their new electric cloak they attain a patina of sensuality in Bolan's mouth that they wouldn't have if they were left bare. Not that Bolan ever had a soulful bone in his body, but anybody would be hard pressed to come up with a more sexily predatory sound than that on 'Hot Love'; the title alone reminds of a Swedish porno loop and Bolan coos and groans his words over a loose and loping bassline and guitar riff that thrusts randomly in and out of a mix that comes bathed in its own red light. The Dungeons and Dragons boys wouldn’t have been impressed.

Though he came to be closely identified with the brash glitter of Glam rock, 'Hot Love' is too smooth and simmering to rank alongside the usual in your face, campily macho yob stomp that prevailed through most of the genre; it's far too playful and slinky for that. Honest too - less camp and cerebral than Bowie, less ‘last gang in town’ than Slade and less just plain odd than Gary Glitter; Bolan is only out to get into somebody's knickers and 'Hot Love' is a track designed to appeal to the girl fans only too willing to let him in. The lads may well have wanted to be Bolan, but without the attendant charisma or the sly wink of his seduction techniques then they were always on a hiding to nothing whenever Marc was around, in any form.

No wonder that the endlessly looping 'lalalalala' singalong ending is less the lumpen, arms linked chanting that closed 'Hey Jude' and more the sound of Bolan celebrating the best sex of his life with the cackling glee of one who knows he's cracked the Rosetta stone that leads to pop immortality at last and has finally made it. For a year or two anyway.