Marc Bolan has been pretty well served with documentaries over the years, to the point that most fans have heard numerous anecdotes about his fabled life many times over. Ethan Silverman’s Angelheaded Hipster (the title is taken from Alan Ginsberg, if you’re wondering) at least brings something new to the party by framing the story around the making of a tribute album (released a couple of years back), allowing the film to focus on Bolan’s songwriting rather than the more iconoclastic, flashy or tabloidy aspects of his life and, indeed, death.
The beats of the Bolan story, after all, are pretty well known: the working class Jewish kid dragged up in post-war London, who becomes a proto-mod at 13, spends the mid sixties, alongside David Bowie, doing everything possible to become a popstar, drifting into Tokienesque hippiedom in the psychedelic era before donning glitter on his cheeks and a feather bower to kickstart the age of glam rock in 1970.
What tends to get less attention, however, is Bolan’s gift as a songwriter. His music could be straightforward to the point of simplistic and his lyrics mystical nonsense, but his blend of Chuck Berry and CS Lewis could cast an astonishing spell. The run of incredible T.Rex singles that begins with 1970’s’ ‘Ride A White Swan’ and ends in 1973 with ‘20th Century Boy’ is as bulletproof as any in pop history, and the odder corners of his back catalogue, especially in his early career, are often fascinating. It’s often something that’s overlooked in favour of his role as a pop icon, his fall and rise, his friendship with Bowie, his style. The songwriting tends to come second.
Silverman’s documentary has no such prejudice. Using the likes of Nick Cave, U2, Beth Orton and Macy Gray to discuss the songs themselves as they attempt to create their own versions, and using those as a springboard to delve back into a well curated archive of Bolan material. The balance is just about right – the guest stars never sideline Marc in his own film, which could definitely have been a risk, and all have an endearing love for the material,
If there’s a fault it’s that the new versions themselves are generally fairly stale retreads (especially U2’s hoary old take on ‘Get It On (Bang a Gong)’, though a few find new shades to colour – Devendra Banhart’s delicate, dreamy working of early early Bolan number ‘Scenescof’ especially. Balancing out the covers are some electrifying archive performances with the bopping elf in both strutting peacock and mystical pixie modes.
There’s some great talking heads here, too. Ringo Starr doesn’t have much especially interesting to say, but stills brings a bit of Beatley authenticity, while Elton John and Billy Idol both have some sharp observations and real warmth. Best of all are touching interviews with Bolan’s son, Rolan who was deprived of his father while he was still in nappies but treasures his legacy.
We never go especially deep on Bolan’s personal life or notoriously bratty personality, but that’s okay – those stories have been told elsewhere. For once this is all about the music and that, dear reader, is solid gold.
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