Museum Musica

UK, 1970, glam rock

A classic I’ve heard so many times I don’t know what to say about tunes as familiar as my most intimate surroundings. Every guitar lick, every word sung with equal parts nasal and gravel, every sexcapade with a gay devil, every desire to escape the inescapable sadness of a cruel world, every spoken, whispered word, every comic, haunting recorder phrase, every secret ball where subverted old songs are played for the painted revelers, every step taken in the mad parade, every reminder of the horrors of war, every dystopian vision of ease, every face-to-face confrontation with the part of yourself that has no idea what it’s doing.