Day 37: Glam Rock

Jobriath
Lonely Planet Boy

Flamboyant. Excessive. Superficial. Glam rock was all these things, and yet it was also entertaining enough to establish itself a secure niche in the rock and roll firmament. The primarily British genre pioneered by Marc Bolan of T. Rex with his classic Electric Warrior in 1971 reached its peak with what is indisputably the greatest glam rock album of all time: David Bowie's The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars. Along the way, the glam rock aesthetic found its way into the such acts as Queen and Roxy Music, and a few of its practitioners--the New York Dolls, in particular, influenced the development of punk rock. The glam ethos was all glitz and glitter--swooping pop hooks and triumphant guitar and piano licks set to androgynous words and visuals. Liberal use of makeup, effeminate male vocals, huge wigs, and drag outfits were all commonplace in the context of glam.

It is therefore not surprisingly that glam, of all genres, proffered the first pop artist to market himself as openly gay: Jobriath. Posthumously lauded by the modern sexual chameleon of rock music, Morrisey, among others, Jobriath is today usually either excessively lauded as an early gay-icon in music or unfairly dismissed as little more than a historical artifact. Jobriath is an amazing historical figure. The extent to which his label Elektra Records tried in vain to promote him into stardom is remarkable: the label reportedly spent tens of thousands of dollars advertising his debut album on billboards and in magazine ads. But Jobriath also left a musical legacy that, when given a fair shake, reveals him to be more than just a historical curiosity. That legacy is chronicled on Lonely Planet Boy, a compilation put out by Sanctuary in 2004. A crass dismissal of Jobriath's two LPs--Jobriath (1973) and Creatures of the Street (1974)--might read something like: "All the excess and grandeur of Bowie with none of the tight pop songwriting." This is a valid critique, but I think it goes to far. True, Jobriath is a poor man's Ziggy Stardust--he delivers epic piano ballads with anthemic pretentious but few memorable hooks. On the other hand, the sheer musical spectacle can be delightful, and Jobriath occasionally delivers a ballad worthy of its Meat Loaf-esque arrangement. "Be Still," at least, has an irresistible refrain: "Be still, I love you!" Jobriath shouts, in the shrillest, most impassioned voice he can muster. If Queen had done it, it'd probably be a karaoke anthem by now.

Hear Jobriath's "Blow Away," which sounds a bit like how I imagine Cat Stevens would sound, on platform heels and in drag.