Marc on wax. Clear vinyl re-masters, indeed.

While a motivated and indomitable artist, Marc Bolan, perhaps the ultimate efflorescence of the mod narcissus, chiefly fed on fame. And for a good 15 months — post-T.Rex’s Hot Love TOTP and pre-Bowie’s Starman TOTP, as glam birthed and blossomed all about him — he thrived, reigning supreme as the prettiest star in the pop firmament. But with Bowie’s ascent, Bolan’s career embarked upon a steady decline. Ziggy Stardust was Snow White to the Electric Warrior’s Wicked Queen.

‘The Slider’ (1972) captured Bolan at the apotheosis of his pomp (featuring back-to-back UK number ones Telegram Sam and Metal Guru). But by the ‘Tanx’ sessions of March ’73, the cracks were already beginning to show. Its songs (Shock Rock, Highway Knees) seemed tired and formulaic (but in a way that felt like Bolan had left his winning formula in his other jacket on the day of recording). Electric Slim And The Factory Hen grasped for plastic soul, but missed. No longer the fairest of them all, Marc was struggling.

‘Zinc Alloy And The Hidden Riders Of Tomorrow’ (1974), despite Gloria Jones giving it plenty on backing vocals, was the depressing sound of a drowning man attempting to use a feather boa as a life jacket. An attempt to strip back, Bolan’s ‘Zip Gun’ (1975) simply fired familiar blanks by comparison to Bowie’s ‘Young Americans’, released three weeks later. ‘Futuristic Dragon’ (1976) offered New York City’s enduring image of a woman with a frog in her hand, and a marginally different tack (a sitar here, Dreamy Lady’s lusciously lumpen lunge for disco there), but hitting racks the week after the Thin White Duke’s ‘Station To Station’ it sounded positively quaint. The feeling of guilt as you returned it to its browser, un-bought, was excruciating. Marc’s undignified slump was almost as painful for his lapsed fans as it was for the elf himself.

‘Dandy In The Underworld’ (1977) brought the sound of recovery. Bolan was enjoying a fully requited love affair with punk and was about to star in his own television series. With the scent of celebrity back in his coke-numbed nostrils, Marc Bolan prepared to return to full contention. What could possibly go wrong?