The sax tail offs at the end of each guitar riff help provide a neat turnaround phrase, so we can swing right back into the start of the riff again. The partially hidden elements of the song, from the bawling saxes to the zinging piano glissandos to the droning backing vocals that creep in from time to time, they all somehow blend seamlessly into the fabrics of the track, which is made up of trembling vocals, leaden guitar, trebly bass and biscuit box drums.
This is a car song in some ways, the way the verses crank up for the ear drum busting chorus or the way the guitar, bass and sax all rev up during the bumping chorus before the ecstatic cry of "Get It On"
This is a car song in some ways, the way the verses crank up for the ear drum busting chorus or the way the guitar, bass and sax all rev up during the bumping chorus before the ecstatic cry of "Get It On"
What's remarkable is this manages to be both an immortal ode to 50s rock and roll whilst smacking of that soulful/ hipcocking strut that frequently dominated the early 70s rock scene.
One of the great things about this track is how Marc Bolan draws you in with his slithering, entrancing delivery; he never actually overdoes it, there is no lisping or overly camp pronunciations, unlike in other parts of his discography. The repetitive verses with their backstreet metaphors work a charm, you can almost picture Bolan with his jet black, leather jacket swank, coming on to a woman during this song. The leering, suggestive lead vocal, his idling Les Paul guitar, just ticking over; the surging rhythm guitar is the anchor, a calm before the storm before the riotous chorus cracks into life. Suddenly the harmonies wail, the saxes gargle and the guitar screeches fly right off the neck. They are then all bottled back up again, the restless energy is brought back into submission as we slip back into that chug, always ready to explode back into life again.
One of the great things about this track is how Marc Bolan draws you in with his slithering, entrancing delivery; he never actually overdoes it, there is no lisping or overly camp pronunciations, unlike in other parts of his discography. The repetitive verses with their backstreet metaphors work a charm, you can almost picture Bolan with his jet black, leather jacket swank, coming on to a woman during this song. The leering, suggestive lead vocal, his idling Les Paul guitar, just ticking over; the surging rhythm guitar is the anchor, a calm before the storm before the riotous chorus cracks into life. Suddenly the harmonies wail, the saxes gargle and the guitar screeches fly right off the neck. They are then all bottled back up again, the restless energy is brought back into submission as we slip back into that chug, always ready to explode back into life again.
The underlying tension of the verses are palpable from the subtle scoring of vocal hums; gradually building in size as band members join in on the act, one by one, the volume of the hums increasing as they are steadily pushed further forward in the mix. It sounds like a choir of throat singers or a human didgeridoo at full blast before dropping off again, occasionally returning in waves before dissipating out again; lurking around, waiting to seap back in, ultimately creating an unsettling sense of unease.
The juxtaposition of the agitated, pared down verses into the white hot, yelping chorus with its busy sound and those inimitable harmonies jolting you with shrieking orders to 'get it on', and 'bang a gong' while you're at it, in that order; is it a about drug use, sex or just oriental percussion?
Few cover bands exist that can even attempt T Rex, for many reasons, from the fact Bolan hit such a perfect balance of gritty and yet smooth to the stodgy, glam rock bop to the fact those harmonies were so impossibly shrill and high.
For example, the harmony vocal does something unusual; usually the pitch of a vocal line naturally lowers as the vocal drops off, but here the vocal line increases in pitch almost inflecting upwards with each word. Speaking Get It On, the words would all stay flat on the same tone with no deviation, but on the track, Flo and Eddie start high on the first word as they shriek 'Get' then continue to go up, ending even higher on 'on'. It's so hard to replicate as your natural instincts are to lower the pitch as the vocal goes out.
The bump and grind rhythm guitar and cooing snarl of Bolan are poised like a coiled snake ready to pounce as they do in the big hook of the song.
For example, the harmony vocal does something unusual; usually the pitch of a vocal line naturally lowers as the vocal drops off, but here the vocal line increases in pitch almost inflecting upwards with each word. Speaking Get It On, the words would all stay flat on the same tone with no deviation, but on the track, Flo and Eddie start high on the first word as they shriek 'Get' then continue to go up, ending even higher on 'on'. It's so hard to replicate as your natural instincts are to lower the pitch as the vocal goes out.
The bump and grind rhythm guitar and cooing snarl of Bolan are poised like a coiled snake ready to pounce as they do in the big hook of the song.
Proceeding at a staggered pace, the guitar riff continues to pip up at the end of every couplet during the verse and each call during the rave up chorus; kinda like an imitation of what a horn part would play in those fills. The rock steady drum beat keeps the whole thing from being let loose and or go off the rails for a few more bars of foreplay, then turning into a heavy oil drum pounding when the chorus begins to rave up, before releasing the tension once again on cue as we slide back into that endless groove.
It's early 70s hard rock in its sensational dynamics and cool swagger, shifting from the gruff masculine verses, which are almost mumbled, to the 'clear as daylight' penetration of those big choral harmonies. The ghostly backing vocals in the chorus are strained and euphoric for the orgasmic chorus, the tempo is driven up, the drum beat ramps up and the song almost climaxes before swiftly shifting down gears for the sensual verses. In between all these elements are Bolan's thrusting posteurs; tossing off axe and vocal licks aplenty and don't forget contributing the initial guitar riff and possessing that almighty, quivering voice that seems to be dragged along by the locked in grooves like a phone on vibrator mode.
Bolan bursts out the words, 'Take me!' in an exasperated and breathless tone of voice before unleashing a little guitar part that temporarily fools us into thinking we're gonna get a solo. Instead we continue on this exhausting blues rock carousel; it feels like workout of rock tune, like running on the treadmill with someone constantly putting your pace settings up every four bars.
The monotonous groove, the circular riffs that seem almost synchronised or set off by a timer, as well as the repeated, cheap corner store couplets add to this idea of rock as a western form of mantra; lulling you in whilst exciting all your physical senses. Songs like this are almost transcendental, compared to any club track being played or overplayed in any nightclub, they never get old or too familiar, you're just stuck listening to it on repeat for it's excited highs; trapped on it's catchy conveyor belt. Finally one last point, this song is the epitome of Rock and Roll, in how it rolls along in the teasingly flirtatious verses and then literally rocks you in the chorus.
