All the ingredients were in place. Glitter, make-up and those wonderful nursery-rhyme lyrics: “She’s my woman of gold and she’s not very old” / “She’s faster than most and she lives on the coast” / “She ain’t no witch and I love the way she twitch” – and, my favourite, “I’m a labourer of love in my Persian gloves”.

 

After that Bolan puts away the rhyming dictionary, gives up on words altogether, and heads into the final straight by trying to out-Jude Hey Jude’s “Na Na-na Na-na-na-na”s with his endless litany of “La-la-la la-la-la-la”s.

 

No wonder the progsters hated it when it came out. I was hooked. Six weeks at number one made Marc Bolan the biggest star in the pop firmament.

The Glam Rock revolution had begun and it *was* televised. Complete with go-go dancers in crocheted halter tops.

 

What more could you ask?