The first sighting of Bryan Ferry on the show, by contrast, survives as a case against both the traditional rock frontman and the coherence of the term “glam” itself: Noddy Holder gurning his way through another shouty anthem with a kookily misspelled title was a world away from this strange, ageless ex-art teacher wearing a black and green sequined jacket, gold glittery eyeliner, and a German Expressionist leer. On Top of the Pops, a rotating cast of what we now think of as icons of 1970s drear: the sweaty, permed frontmen of B-list glam rock bands Donny Osmond and his backing band of balding trombone players the Bee Gees in their pre-disco balladeer misery. Settle down in front of the TV on a Thursday evening in 1972, as summer faded into autumn in London, or Reading, or Gateshead, and you’d start to think that popular music might not be the vehicle of anarchic youthful energy, sexual liberation, or mass social consciousness that you’d once hoped, heard, or feared it was. Picture it with me, a second-hand vision, a dreamed-up memory.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |