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**T. Rex – The Slider**
★★★★☆

By 1972, Marc Bolan had already transformed from the mystical hippie troubadour of Tyrannosaurus Rex into the glittering godfather of glam rock, but The Slider found him at the absolute apex of his powers – a cosmic peacock preening in the spotlight of superstardom while crafting some of the most irresistible pop confections of the decade.

Following the seismic success of Electric Warrior, which had spawned the chart-conquering "Get It On" and established T. Rex as the darlings of the emerging glam scene, Bolan faced the enviable yet daunting task of following up a masterpiece. The pressure was immense – teenage girls were fainting at concerts, John Peel was championing every release, and even John Lennon had publicly declared his admiration. Yet rather than play it safe, Bolan doubled down on his formula of primal rock'n'roll filtered through a kaleidoscope of cosmic imagery and sexual ambiguity.

The Slider opens with "Metal Guru," a track so perfectly crystallized in its simplicity that it feels like it was beamed down from some glam rock mothership. Over Mickey Finn's tribal percussion and a guitar riff that could have been carved from pure electricity, Bolan purrs his devotion to an unnamed metallic deity with the conviction of a true believer. It's nonsense, of course, but delivered with such conviction that you find yourself genuflecting before the altar of Bolan's charisma.

The title track sees Bolan at his most lascivious, grinding out innuendo over a hypnotic groove that's equal parts Chuck Berry and cosmic debris. "I could never die, I'm a metal guy," he declares, and you believe him completely. Producer Tony Visconti's touch is evident throughout – the sound is fuller and more expansive than Electric Warrior, with strings and brass arrangements that add orchestral grandeur without diluting the primal power of the core trio.

"Telegram Sam" had already proven its worth as a single, its infectious stomp and playground-chant vocals making it an instant classic. But in the context of the album, it reveals new depths – the way Bolan's voice multitracked into a one-man gang vocal, the subtle interplay between electric and acoustic guitars, the sheer joy radiating from every groove. It's three minutes of pure pop alchemy.

The album's deeper cuts reward repeated listening. "Spaceball Ricochet" finds Bolan in full cosmic cowboy mode, while "The Motivator" strips things back to their essential elements – voice, guitar, and an unshakeable belief in the transformative power of rock'n'roll. "Chariot Choogle" might be the album's most underrated moment, a swaggering blues that proves Bolan hadn't forgotten his roots even as he reached for the stars.

Yet The Slider also hints at the creative restlessness that would eventually undermine Bolan's commercial appeal. His lyrics, always more about sound than sense, occasionally tip into complete abstraction, and some tracks feel like sketches rather than fully realized songs. The closing "Main Man" meanders where it should soar, suggesting that even Bolan's considerable charisma had its limits.

Still, these are minor quibbles with an album that captures a singular artist at his commercial and creative peak. The Slider sold like hotcakes upon release, spawning multiple hit singles and cementing T. Rex's position as Britain's premier glam rock outfit. More importantly, it established a template for intelligent pop music that was both accessible and genuinely subversive – Bolan's androgynous image and sexually charged lyrics were genuinely radical for 1972.

The album's influence can be traced through generations of artists, from David Bowie (who clearly took notes) to Suede, from The Strokes to countless indie bands who've tried to capture that elusive combination of simplicity and sophistication. The Slider proved that pop music could be both throwaway and eternal, that three-chord songs could contain multitudes.

Fifty years on, The Slider remains a glittering artifact from pop's most flamboyant era, a reminder of when rock stars were genuinely otherworldly creatures rather than carefully managed brands. Bolan may have burned out rather than faded away, but albums like this ensure his cosmic boogie will echo through eternity. Essential listening for