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Rating: Often, the best work of a rock band, the jewel of the entire discography, is produced just before the decline, the breakup, or perhaps a futile reformation with some new elements. When the internal coexistence among different strong personalities, among those who want to do this and those who want to do that, is still in balance, albeit precarious, creativity often soars, stylistic variety and musical consistency rule, and internal struggles bring out the best in the belligerent roosters leading the coop.
Such is the case with this "Mott," the sixth and penultimate album by Mott The Hoople dated 1973. Speaking of the two roosters of the group, the singer and pianist Ian Hunter is a strange rock animal with his own unique characteristics: he sings just like Bob Dylan (with much more breath and power, of course) but also has quite a pop/rock talent, which makes him write anthemic and irresistible choruses, perfectly suited for one of the popular genres at the time, that glam rock which sees Spider From Mars by David Bowie and T.Rex by Marc Bolan as the acclaimed leaders. The guitarist Mick Ralphs, on the other hand, is the typical British hard blues musician, devoted to a much drier and more geometric genre, with the great things combined in those years by Zeppelin, Free, Rolling Stones and company in mind, completely resistant to glitter, sequins, swagger, eyeliner around the eyes, and nursery rhyme choruses.
The trouble for him is that Mott The Hoople finally managed to break through the year before, thanks to a super glam anthem given to them by David Bowie, that "All The Young Dudes" so good that Bowie almost regretted it, soon taking it back and putting it in his concert setlist. Hunter, therefore, has a good game in this album, invaded by dazzling urban rock'n'roll, his acidic and melancholic lyrics, the scent of the filthy, ill-frequented alleys of old London. Ralphs can do nothing but leave after these recordings, soon and more than happily fulfilling his rock blues aspirations by forming the glorious Bad Company with his new partner Paul Rodgers.
As with all well-done works, there isn't a track to throw away in "Mott," and it's worth spending a few words on each of them. The debut "All The Way From Memphis" is electrifying: the piano stubbornly pounded on a single chord takes a while to modulate and be joined by the rhythm section, creating one of the longest, most suspended, and captivating intros of shimmering piano rock'n'roll, onto which Andy McKay's (Roxy Music) sax glistens, exchanging solos with Ralphs' proverbially essential and penetrating guitar. "Wizz Kid" seems to come out of "Ziggy Stardust," the guitar has the same sounds as Mick Ronson's (guitarist and arranger of the Spiders), backing vocals (aaah?) recorded altering tape speed dominate, all typical glam ingredients, but the lyrics go even further, containing phrases that greatly anticipate a certain future ("Her dad's a street punk", and we're in 1973!). "Hymn For The Dudes" is a whole different world, also because the music comes from the group's former keyboardist Verden Allen. In fact, it is an emphatic and lyrical piano ballad, with glam temporarily set aside. It rather approaches Bruce Springsteen atmospheres (at the time perfectly unknown, mind you), therefore practically an intense and noisy vision of Bob Dylan, brought into focus by Hunter's appreciably off-key but magnificently expressive voice. "Hanaloochie Boogie" shows as never before the subjugation of Ralphs' rock blues riffs, the author of the music, to the glam word made of hyper-compressed sounds and falsetto choruses, while singing of long hair, boots and other glittering trinkets. The subsequent "Violence" is unbridled and shameless glam, with lyrics as metropolitan as can be, worthy of the young Lou Reed. In "Drivin Sister," Ralphs is left free to develop his beloved themes without too much embellishment, resulting in a very direct hard rock, the kind he will have later the chance to perfect greatly in his subsequent and definitive band. "Ballad Of Mott" is, by contrast, a track musically entirely subservient to its verbose lyrics, in which Hunter paints a picture of what life on the road in the rock'n'roll circus is like, calling directly on himself and his fellow travelers. "I'm A Cadillac" is sung by Ralphs, his weak and ineffective voice sounds like a final consolation prize, before the musician's departure from the group, but the long instrumental coda ("El Camino Doloroso") is unheard of as one of the album's peaks! The great guitarist interlaces an acoustic guitar with continuous interventions with the electric one, played with a slide finger, showing the incredible class, taste, and restraint he is endowed with. One of those musicians appreciated especially for what he DOESN'T play, capable of increasing the strength and meaning of what he does play. The epilogue is entrusted to the hyper-Dylanesque "I Wish I Was Your Mother," with Ralphs on mandolin and a beautiful lyric by Hunter.
Those who adore "Ziggy Stardust And The Spiders From Mars" and don't know this album absolutely cannot miss the experience of listening to it. Personally, I consider them the two giants of glam rock, with a certain preference for ? "Mott," which says it all given the excellent quality of Bowie's well-known exploit.
Tracklist Lyrics and Videos
01 All the Way From Memphis (04:59)
Forgot my six-string razor - hit the sky
Half way to Memphis 'fore I realised
Well I rang the information - my axe was cold
They said she rides the train to Oreoles
Now its a mighty long way down the dusty trail
And the sun burns hot on the cold steel rails
'N I look like a bum 'n I crawl like a snail
All the way from Memphis
Well I got to Oreoles y'know - it took a month
And there was my guitar, electric junk.
Some spade said "Rock'n'rollers, you're all the same.
Man that's your instrument." I felt so ashamed.
Now its a mighty long way down rock'n'roll
Through the Bradford Cities and the Oreoles
'N you look like a star but you're still on the dole
All the way from Memphis
Yeah it's a mighty long way down rock'n'roll
From the Liverpool docks to the Hollywood Bowl
'N you climb up the mountains 'n you fall down the holes
All the way from Memphis
Yeah its a mighty long way down rock'n'roll
As your name gets hot so your heart grows cold
'N you gotta stay young man, you can never be old
All the way from Memphis
Yeah its a mighty long way down rock'n'roll
Through the Bradford Cities and the Oreoles
'N you look like a star but you're really out on parole!
All the way from Memphis
02 Whizz Kid (03:23)
(Ian Hunter)
Little whizz kid mystified me, she was a New York City beat
She came on flash - monster mash, motors in her feet
Now we moved out of Manhattan to her home on the Brooklyn Heights
Her dad's a street punk and her mum's a drunk, but we made out alright
Far far from home, oh I felt so alone
Could not spin to the speed of the city
Oh send me my ticket, I'm too scared to stick
With my little whizz kid - such a pity
Now she really tried her hardest just to make me leave the band
She even hired a toy "rent-a-boy" straight from a Times Square stand
Oh thank you little whizz kid, but me and my friends gotta eat
So get back to school or the tying pool, just get yourself out on the street
Send you victorious, happy and glorious
You got the stardust, the sawdust, and the smile
Don't lose your sting, how I'd hate you to swing
Oh my little whizz kid you got such a style
She's a cute super sleeper, she don't dive in deeper
A natural leaper, she don't let people pass
Watch out for the auto-mite, quick or she's outta sight
Oh my whizz kid, you know you're such a gas
Such a gas.
04 Honaloochie Boogie (02:44)
(Ian Hunter)
I was a city child with a dead-end smile
And a worm's-eye point of view
Oh I knew my way, I was a back-street stray
And I had my eyes on you
Now I got this friend and he's a screwdriver-jiver
You know, some kinda automobeat on the street
And he has converted me to rock'n'roll
I just wanna dance to
Honaloochie boogie yeah
Get in time, don't worry 'bout the shirt shine
Honaloochie boogie yeah
You sure started somethin'
Now my hair gets longer as the beat gets stronger
Wanna tell Chuck Berry my news
I get my kicks outta guitar licks
And I've sold my steel-toed shoes
Now I got this friend and he's a spider west-sider
You know, he's hung up on a protection rejection thing
But I have made him see the light
He just wanna dance to
Honaloochie boogie yeah
Get in time, don't worry 'bout the shirt shine
Honaloochie boogie yeah
You sure started somethin'
Honaloochie boogie yeah
Get in time, don't worry 'bout the shirt shine
Honaloochie boogie yeah
You sure started somethin'
05 Violence (04:50)
(Ian Hunter/Mick Ralphs)
I'm a missing link, poolroom stink, I can't talk
(Well that's too bad)
What's going on, something's wrong, I can't work
Can't go to school, the teacher's a fool, the preacher's a jerk
(Well that's such a drag)
Got nothing to do, street-corner blues, and nowhere to walk
Violence, violence
It's the only thing that'll make you see sense
(Repeat)
Gotta fight, nothing's right, livin' nowhere
(That's so sad)
Watch out for the gun, snake on the run, hide in my hair
You keep your mouth shut, or you'll get cut. Haha - I like to scare
(Bet you're so mad)
I'm a battery louse, a superstar mouse, I don't care
Get off my back or I'll attack, 'n I don't owe you nothin' (OK)
Head for your hole, you're sick and you're old
'N I'm here to tell you something
Violence, violence
It's the only thing that'll make you see sense
(Repeat several times )
06 Drivin' Sister (03:51)
(Ian Hunter/Mick Ralphs)
Eight-track machine playing 'Half Moon Bay'
Drivin' in my Volks down on Hamstead Way
Her mother got bust on a 88
And her brother got stuck on my number plate
Hey mister bartender won't you gimme some wine
I gotta get outta town, meet my baby on time
He put five gallons in my petrol tank
You know we just about made it but her breath sure stank yeah
Drivin' sister rock'n'roll
She's got feel on the wheel
Drivin' sister rock'n'roll
She don't make with no brakes
Drivin' sister rock'n'roll
She's an automobeat on the street
Drivin' sister rock'n'roll
She's much too much on the clutch
Drivin' sister rock'n'roll
She got her feet on the wheel
Drivin' sister rock'n'roll
She don't make with no brakes
I said drive, drive, drive, drive
And drive little sister drive
I said drive, drive, drive, drive
And drive little sister, drive on.
09 I Wish I Was Your Mother (04:50)
(Ian Hunter)
I scream at you for sharing
'n I curse you just for caring
I hate the clothes you're wearing, they're so pretty
'n I tell to not to see me
'n I tell you not to feel me
'n I make your life a drag, it's such a pity
'n I watch your warm glow palin'
'n I watch your sparkle fadin'
As you realise you're failin', cos you're so good
Now I don't mean to upset you
But there's so much crime to get through
If only I could make it easier, then I would
Oh I wish I was your mother
I wish I'd been your father
'n then I would have seen you
Would have been you as a child
Played houses with your sisters
And wrestled with all your brothers
And then who knows
I might have felt a family for a while
It's no use me pretendin'
You give and I do the spendin'
Is there a happy ending, I don't think so
Cos even if we make it
I'll be too far out to take it
You'll have to try and shake it from my head
Oooooh I wish I was your mother
I wish I'd been your father
'n then I would have seen you
Would have been you as a child
Played houses with your sisters
And wrestled with all your brothers
And then who knows
I might have felt a family for a while
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