Memories of Fantastic Four Issue No. 137 and My Days as a Friend of Ol' Marvel

Fantastic Four #137 (Aug 1973) 

 

I. 

 

As regular readers will know, 1973 was a crucial year for me: the year that I was initiated into the world of glam rock, buying records by Gary Glitter, Sweet, and Slade. 

 

It was also the year that I bought my first US edition of a Marvel Comic - Fantastic Four #137 ...

 

 

II.

 

Published in May of that year - though cover dated August, as was common practice at the time [1] - 'Rumble on Planet 3' (aka 'Where Walks Warhead!') [2] was written by Roy Thomas and Gerry Conway. John Buscema and Joe Sinnott provided the artwork. 

 

I still remember how excited the cover made me - so glossy and colourful and so unlike the feel of British comics. And Warhead's surreal embodiment of sci-fi horror thrilled my childish imagination [3]. 

 

That said, I still also remember reading it and not understanding anything of what was going on ...

 

 

III. 

 

The story unfolds inside a '50s-themed pop-cultural universe or reality warp, created by a cosmic entity known as the Shaper of Worlds, who, like God, moves in mysterious ways and says things like: I am called the Shaper ... and it is my gift and my curse to make dreams live.

 

It features a Sputnik-headed monster with the body of King Kong battling the Fantastic Four who, at that time, included Medusa, one of the Inhumans, standing in for Sue Richards, the Invisible Girl, who was on family leave caring for her son, Franklin. 

 

Eventually, the Thing dispatches Warhead with a single powerful punch smashing his satellite-skull and causing him to fall back into the drive-in movie screen from which he emerged.  

 

Meanwhile, rival gangs - the Patriots and the Wild Ones - were fighting one another, until a third group - members of the black community (representing the civil rights movement) - comes to bring resolution. At this point, the Shaper of Worlds declares game over and restores '70s normality [4].        

 

 

IV. 

 

To be fair, reading this recap today of a barely-intelligible storyline, I think my confusion as a ten-year-old was perfectly understandable (the fact that I hadn't read part one in issue 136 obviously didn't help) [5].

 

The odd thing is it didn't dissuade me from going on to buy around 1,700 Marvel Comics over the next five or six years and even briefly becoming a member of FOOM [6].   

 

I suppose, looking back, I have a lot to thank the Marvel Comics Group for - they even published one of my earliest pieces of work; a letter complaining about censorship in the British reprints of the original American editions [7]. 

 

This letter received an unusually lengthy (and slightly narked-sounding) reply about the responsibility of publishers to provide material suitable for a UK market in which the average age of readers was lower than the US. 

 

What I didn't receive was a 'No-Prize' for my letter - unlike my friend Andy, who was awarded such for spotting some minor continuity error in an issue of The Incredible Hulk, much to my begrudgement at the time.    

  

Notes

 

[1] Comic book publishers used a future cover date primarily to act as a withdrawal deadline for retailers, instructing them when to remove unsold issues from the shelves. It also meant of course that issues seemed newer for longer. 

      Both Marvel and DC maintained a standard two-month gap between the actual on-sale date and the cover date until 1973, when competitive pressures and distribution adjustments sometimes caused the discrepancy to widen to three months. It wasn't until 1989 that the industry stabilised and things reverted to the traditional two-month gap.   

 

[2] Fantastic Four #137 (1973) has two distinct titles because of a common publishing quirk in the world of comics at that time: the eye-catching title printed on the cover serving as a hook for casual readers browsing the magazine stand often differs from the more restrained official title printed on the interior splash page, where formal story credits are listed. 

      Often, this was due to the fact covers and interiors were worked on at different times and by different artists. But an editor might also decide that a title wasn't dramatic enough to drive sales, prompting them to invent a completely different, sexier tagline for the cover. 

      Among critics and comic-book historians, "Rumble on Planet 3!" is universally preferred and recognised as the definitive title for this issue, though, personally, I've always remembered it as 'Where Walks Warhead!' and still like that title as it also makes me think of a song by British punk band the UK Subs: click here. 

 

[3] Warhead is based on the creature in the 1953 film Robot Monster (dir. Phil Tucker). His body is that of a giant gorilla, while his head is patterned after the first satellite launched into space, by the Soviets, in 1957. To watch the original trailer on YouTube, click here. 

 

[4] For a more comprehensive (though not necessarily more intelligible) story synopsis, visit the Marvel Database on marvel.fandom.com 

 

[5] Fantastic Four #137 is still picking up bad reviews: one critic recently writing: 

      "The story makes little sense, and ultimately feels like a silly and pointless exercise in clumsy cultural anthropology. Thomas and Conway compound their simplistic youths-vs-olds of the 50s dynamic by introducing the Civil Rights struggle of the 60s (which actually began in the 40s). No doubt it was well intentioned, but in the absence of a coherent story it feels preachy and naive."

      See the post by Percival Henry on his blog Percival Henry: The Fantastic Four and more (6 July 2024): click here.   

 

[6] FOOM (Friends of Ol' Marvel) was the official Marvel Comics fan club and members magazine, featuring behind-the-scenes news, artwork, and interviews. It ran for 22 quarterly issues between 1973-1978, which was basically when I collected the comics. The first issues were designed, written, and edited by Jim Steranko. 

 

[7] The letter was published in an issue of The Mighty World of Marvel in early 1976 (unfortunately, I don't recall the exact number of the issue, but it was around #176). The response from the editorial team - led at that time by future Pet Shop Boy Neil Tennant - tried to justify their censorship as a necessary measure to avoid upsetting strict British newsagent distribution networks and parental watchdogs. 

      My letter explicitly called out two instances of Marvel UK's modifications: firstly, in the black-and-white UK version of Incredible Hulk #168, someone prudishly covers a naked Betty Ross; secondly, the word 'wank' which appeared in Conan the Barbarian #24, was frantically scrubbed out for the UK reprint.  

 

Better Dead Than Woke: Reflections on Sam Tyler's Suicide in 'Life on Mars'

 

The central cast of Life on Mars (BBC One, 2006-07)

 

 

I. 

 

Whether by accident or subconscious design, I have long avoided watching the British TV show Life on Mars (2006-07), starring John Simm as Detective Inspector Sam Tyler, who, following a car accident, wakes up to find himself in 1973 and obliged to adapt his politically-correct model of policing to the times, working under the command of DCI Gene Hunt (played by Philip Glenister).  

But, since it's now being broadcast nightly on That's TV3 (Freeview channel 75, 9pm, Monday to Friday) - and since I was intrigued by Mark Fisher's k-punk posts on the first and last episodes of the series, which can be found in Ghosts of My Life [1] - I figured, what the hey, I'll give it a go ...

 

 

II. 

Initially, I didn't much like Life on Mars - I found the character of Sam Tyler and all the supernatural elements irritating. Not only did I not know what the fuck was going on - what was real and what wasn't - I didn't much care. And if I simply wanted to enjoy a seventies cop show, I could catch The Sweeney on almost any day of the week over on ITV4 without all the poncy postmodern elements [2].  

 

However, I gradually learned to love it: particularly for what Fisher calls its reactionary character and, indeed, for its amusingly nihilistic message that I'm very much tempted to endorse; i.e., that it's preferable being dead in 1973 than alive in the drearily woke (and somehow far less real) present. 

 

As I wrote in an earlier post:

 

Those who now sneer with politico-moral correctness and a sense of their own cultural superiority at the music, the fashions, the TV, and pretty much every other aspect of life in the 1970s need to be told (or in some cases reminded) that it was more than alright - it was better. For despite all the boredom, blackouts and bullshit of the time, people were happier and I'm pleased to have been born (and to have remained at heart) a 20th century boy. [3]    

 

If by jumping off a roof top like DC Tyler one could guarantee arriving in seventies heaven based upon one's own experiences of the period, then, again, I'd be very much tempted to do so ...

 

It's not that I lack confidence in the future (or the possibility of such) - although I don't share the progressive optimism of those who insist that the sun will necessarily come out tomorrow - it's more a case of accepting the fact that the future belongs to those young enough to still have dreams, whereas to those of us who are now on the cusp of old age and who value the beauty of memories and madeleines belongs the lost past [4].   

 

And death. 

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Mark Fisher, Ghosts of My Life: Writings on Depression, Hauntology and Lost Futures (Zero Books, 2014). The article I refer to, pp. 76-79, is entitled 'The Past Is an Alien Planet: The First and last Episides of Life on Mars' and is based on two posts published on his k-punk blog (the first dated 10 Jan 2006 and the second 13 April 2007).

 

[2] Fisher argues that Life on Mars was basically a cop show; "because it is clear that the SF elements [...] were little more than pretexts; the show was a meta-cop show rather than meta-SF". See Ghosts of My Life ... p. 78.

 

[3] See 'Notes on a Glam-Punk Childhood' (24 July 2018): click here. 

 

[4] I'm (rather obliquely) referencing the French filmmaker and critic Chris Marker, who describes madeleines as any object or moment that serves as a trigger for the strange mechanisms that can suddenly transport you to the past. 

      Obviously, Marker adopts the idea from Marcel Proust's novel À la recherche du temps perdu (1913-27). Readers who are interested to know more might wish to get hold of Marker's multimedia memoir Immemory (a CD-ROM released in 1997). 

 

 

Musical bonus: David Bowie, 'Life on Mars?', 1973 single release from the album Hunky Dory (RCA Records, 1971): click here for the 2015 remaster on YouTube. 

 

 

Sing Hello

 

 

I.

 

I've mentioned before on this blog how the word hello has long held a privileged place in my personal vocabulary: click here.  

 

It's disappointing, therefore, that the majority of songs that have the word hello in their title or lyrics make one wish to stop up one's ears like Odysseus, so as to never hear them again. And this includes some really well-known songs by much loved artists. 

 

For example: 

 

'Hello, Dolly!', by Louis Armstrong (1964) ...

 

'Hello, Goodbye', by The Beatles (1967) ...

'Hello, I Love You', by The Doors (1968) ...

 

'Hello', by Lionel Richie (1984) ... 

 

'Hello', by Adele (2015) ... 

 

In fact, the more I come to think about it, there is really only one great song containing the word hello - and that is Gary Glitter's smash hit single 'Hello! Hello! I'm Back Again' [1]. 

 

 

II.

 

1973 was a golden year for British pop music - particularly for the genre known as glam rock - and whilst I loved Sweet, Slade, and Suzi Quatro, Gary Glitter was my beautiful obsession at this time [2]. 

 

'Hello! Hello! I'm Back Again' - written by Glitter and genius record producer Mike Leander - was much loved not only by teeny-boppers, but by football supporters up and down the country. O what fun we had singing along to this ridiculously catchy song!    

 

Of course, that was then and this is now ... And Glitter's songs are today no longer played on the radio or sung on the terraces and his performances on Top of the Pops no longer shown - we all know why ... [3]

 

Without getting into the whole can we separate art from the artist debate [4], I think that's a shame. And ultimately mistaken. I suppose, push comes to shove, I remain of the Wildean view that there is no such thing as a moral or immoral pop record.     

    

 

Notes

 

[1] Gary Glitter, 'Hello! Hello! I'm Back Again', single release from the album Touch Me (Bell Records, 1973): click here to play. 

      Having said that this is the only great song with hello in the title and/or lyrics, I must obviously also mention Soft Cell's 'Say Hello, Wave Goodbye' (Some Bizzare, 1982): click here. And I have to give a nod to 'Public Image' (Virgin, 1978), the debut single by Public Image Ltd., which opens with Rotten repeating the word hello six times: click here.

 

[2] See the post 'Notes on a Glam-Punk Childhood' (24 July 2018): click here. 

 

[3] Glitter's career ended after he was imprisoned for downloading child pornography in 1999, and was subsequently convicted of child sexual abuse and attempted rape, in 2006 and 2015, respectively. The fact remains, however, that he is one of the UK's most successful performers, selling over 20 million records, including numerous hit singles (three of which reached number one in the charts). To deny him his place in the pantheon of pop is simply to whitewash our own cultural history. 

 

[4] It's not that this debate isn't philosophically interesting - involving as it does questions concerning ethics and aesthetics - it's just too big and wide-ranging to address here. What I would say is that whilst it's clear that bad people can make good art, it's less certain whether the morally virtuous can produce anything other than mediocre work (at best).      

 

  

Sweet Death (In Memory of Steve Priest)

Sweet in 1973: Steve, Mick, Andy and Brian
Photo: Jorgen Angel

Back in my pre-punk, glam-rocking, teeny-bopping days the band by whom I was most bedazzled were The Sweet (also known simply as Sweet).

They had hits before 1973 - Wig Wam Bam (1972) - and they had hits after 1973 - Teenage Rampage (1974) - but the three big hit singles I bought and played over and over and over again until I knew every word and every note, were all released in that golden year of British pop 1973: Block Buster, Hell Raiser, and Ballroom Blitz.

Even now, almost 50 years later, I still think they're brilliant tunes and that the band perfectly capture the non-essential essence of glam; an outrageously camp image and performance coupled with a stomping drum beat and heavy guitar riffs. Of course it was contrived, but, as Sebastian Horsley would say, it was an authentic contrivance; i.e., Sweet were fakes, but they were real fakes (like him).

Thus, I was sorry to hear the news that bassist Steve Priest died last month, aged 72, leaving guitarist Andy Scott as the last surviving member of the original group (singer Brian Connolly having died in 1997 and drummer Mick Tucker in 2002).

So, that's another childhood hero gone ... Soon, of course, they'll all be dead (and so will we).

To watch Sweet perform 'Block Buster' on Top of the Pops (25 Jan 1973): click here.

To watch them perform 'Hell Raiser' (Disco 26 June 1973), click here.

And, finally, to watch them perform 'The Ballroom Blitz', click here.

Notes on A Glam-Punk Childhood

20th century boy (c. 1973)

I. 

1977 - the year of punk - may have been of crucial importance in shaping my tastes, attitudes, and ideas, but it certainly wasn't the beginning of my long love affair with pop culture. 

Thus, whilst the first album I ever bought may have been Never Mind the Bollocks, I'd been buying singles since 1971, when Benny Hill released Ernie (the Fastest Milkman in the West), an innuendo-laden comedy song that was the Christmas number one that year and which has remained a much-loved favourite with many of those who remember it, including former prime minister David Cameron.  

The second single I remember spending my pocket money on was Crazy Horses, by the Osmonds, which reached number two in the UK charts in the autumn of 1972 and proved that even clean-living Mormons can rock out. Looking back, it's clear that the song was ahead of its time with its concerns to do with the environment and fume-spewing motor vehicles smoking up the sky. But even back then, I hated cars and knew that - like my father - I never wanted to drive.

It was the following year however - the year of glam - that I really started buying singles on a regular basis; by Slade, by Sweet, and - of course - by Gary Glitter, whom I adored and had a large poster of on my bedroom wall. I spent many, many happy hours stomping around in my older sister's platform boots and singing along to the smash hits released by the above in that golden year of 1973, including: Cum on Feel the Noize, Blockbuster, Ballroom Blitz, Do You Wanna Touch Me, Hello Hello I'm Back Again, I'm the Leader of the Gang (I Am), and I Love You Love Me Love.           

What was it about these artists and their songs that appealed so powerfully to the ten year old child (and, if I'm honest, still appeal even now) ...?


II.

Obviously, the outrageous clothes, make-up and hairstyles caught my eye and I was seduced also by the camp nature of their performance - even if I had no idea then what campness was. But, mostly, it was the music: loud, fast, tribal and ridiculously catchy - making you want to pogo up and down years before Sid Vicious was credited with inventing the dance.

There was also something distinctly British and working class about glam. Perhaps it was the fact that it didn't take itself too seriously; that, like punk, it seemed to be more in the theatrical tradition of music hall and even pantomime, rather than serious rock with its roots in rhythm and blues. It was about dressing up and messing up and having a laugh - not perfecting one's skills as a musician or soulful songwriter.

As "Whispering" Bob Harris sneered after a performance of Jet Boy by the New York Dolls on the Old Grey Whistle Test in November 1973, it was mock rock - sexy, stylish, superficial, and shiny - not something that real music lovers and old hippies such as himself needed to take seriously (the Dolls, of course, formed the bridge between glam and punk - as the fact that they were briefly managed by Malcolm McLaren in 1975, prior to his involvement with the Sex Pistols, perfectly illustrates).


III.

Those cunts who now sneer with politico-moral correctness and a sense of their own cultural superiority at the music, the fashions, the TV, and pretty much every other aspect of life in the 1970s need to be told (or in some cases reminded) that it was more than alright - it was better. 

Or, at any rate, despite all the boredom, blackouts and bullshit of the time, people were happier and I'm pleased to have been born (and to have remained at heart) a 20th century boy.