T. Rex "Born to Boogie"

By 1972, when Marc Bolan’s first and only celluloid foray Born to Boogie was released, it had become de rigeur for huge rock stars to appear in films, owing both to the firm establishment of rock in the pop-cultural mindset and the “new breed” of experimental directors given increasing chances to ply their trades. After A Hard Day’s Night proved that an entire film could ride solely on music and the irresistable personalities of its performers, there came the documentaries (Pennebaker’s Don’t Look Back, Monterey Pop and Ziggy Stardust and the Maysles’ Gimme Shelter, the hugely sad Let it Be), and the weird, self-indulgent and occasionally entertaining mindfucks (Help, Magical Mystery Tour, Head, The Magic Christian), among others. Born to Boogie, directed by newly bored Ringo Starr, features Bolan at the peak of his popularity and creativity, and thus is occasionally magnificent. That is, when it’s not completely distracted in its attempt to be either artsy or coolly distanced from everything, or both.

It’s great to see Bolan in his prime, though, riding the wave of Electric Warrior and The Slider, two of the best records of the decade, and thankfully the film doesn’t skimp on performance clips, split between traditional concert footage and bizarre set pieces. The most memorable one is a great version of “Tutti Frutti” with Elton John on piano and Ringo (with a mullet) on drums. Bolan is a druggy ditz, his raspy voice sounding like Bette Davis after a carton of Gitanes, and and you can see him slipping in and out of character throughout the song. But that doesn’t mean it’s not fantastic, because it is. And the concert stuff is great too, even with the leftover space-folkie style from the late Sixties—he sits cross-legged and plays “Children of the Revolution” and “Spaceball Ricochet.” There was no reason not to assume he and David Bowie wouldn’t re-hash the stylistic ping-pong that the Beatles and Stones did, with Roxy Music riding sidecar as The Who. Or maybe the Beach Boys. Which would make Slade be the Animals and Mott the Hoople the Dave Clark Five. Shit, what would that make KISS? The Moody Blues?

The skits are of course here in full force, but thankfully are limited to the first half of the film. “Tutti Frutti” is introed by a mind-numbing sequence in a convertible, in the desert, presumably meant to be meaningful but which requires Bolan to act, which he sucks at. There’s also an extended outtake reel in the middle of the film, with Bolan and Ringo trying to make their way through some sort of bumper, that they keep laughing hysterically during and having to do multiple times, never completing. The weird thing is, it doesn’t seem like they’re genuinely fucking up, or that they’re fucked up, but more like a creative sabotage for a bit no one really wanted to do in the first place. Like they realized how bad it was once they stood there, and neither wants to say anything, and they left it in to pad the film out to an hour.

Like in Mystery (“I Am the Walrus”), Help (“Hide Your Love Away”) and Head (Mike Nesmith's great "Circle Sky"), the high quality of Boogie's music occasionally overcomes the lameness of the skits. The “tea party” sequence, for instance, sees Bolan, Mickey Finn, Ringo, and a very Catholic-ly attired cast of characters sitting in a field (with white powder makeup), eating American picnic food (hamburgers, Jell-O). It’s dumb and doesn't make any sense, but is completely redeemed by Bolan’s acoustic medley, backed by a string quartet, of “Jeepster,” “Hot Love,” “Get It On” and “The Slider,” which I ripped from the DVD and am posting right here (mp3). It’s a great interpretation, reimagining Bolan’s space-boogie “Eleanor Rigby”-style. And you don't have to live through the visuals, like I did.

Which gets me to something I've been tossing around in my mind for some time now: one hundred percent of the time, I think I'd rather watch or listen an artist perform in the original context, regardless of hammy context or crummy VHS quality, than watch or listen to a recreation decades after. Basically, I much prefer listening to old Motown than watching Standing in the Shadows of Motown, and I love the Smile bootlegs eons more than the sanitized, soulless version from 2004 (which I hated, but that's another post). I don't know if it has to do with aura, in Benjamin's sense (experiencing something as close to the context of its creation as possible--as crudely as it applies here), or just bull-headed purism, but I just hate re-creations. If you've gotten this far, what do you think---about this, the film, T. Rex in general, the fact that I had two posts with the word "boogie" in the title?

In the meantime, here's a word from our sponsors: Born to Boogie as a DVD (which has a second disc of extra stuff) and CD. On Netflix.

ELSEWHERE: Amy introduces me, and now you, to the remarkable, formerly lost, song "Tonight" by Sibylle Baier.

And Jon Manyjars reassesses the DigPlans and offers up "Little Renee," which I had no idea existed, perhaps due to its home on the Coneheads soundtrack.

And Jennings gives a home to a 1970 Van Morrison show at Fillmore West. I recommend, at the very least, sampling the pointy version of my all-time favorite Van song "The Way Young Lovers Do."