It seems to me to dreamIs something too wildIn Max’s Kansas CityYou a belladonna child
I like joining in Jim’s Song Lyric Sunday when I can. I wanted to this weekend, and when I saw the subject (a Song that mentions your name), the answer should have been easy…Maxwell’s Silver Hammer. One problem: I don’t like it, and I only post songs I like. I searched around and found many songs that have my name, but this one I really liked.
Now, what was Max’s Kansas City? It was a well-known nightclub, restaurant, and music venue in New York City, located at 213 Park Avenue South. It operated from 1965 to 1981 and became a central meeting hub for artists, musicians, and the counterculture. It was famous for being a meeting place for Andy Warhol’s Factory crowd, the punk rock movement, and early glam rock acts.
This song was on the album The Slider, released in 1972, and was written by Marc Bolan. It was never released as a single, but the album did really well. The album peaked at #4 in the UK, #11 in Canada, and #17 on the Billboard 200. It was their highest charting album in America and Canada.
T. Rex was huge in the UK starting around 1970 but then declined in 1974. They did have a documentary made about them, produced and directed by Ringo Starr, called Born to Boogie. Some have credited Bolan with starting Glam Rock.
He went on to host a musical TV show called Marc, in which he hosted a mix of new and established bands and performed his own songs. Marc’s final show was recorded on September 7, 1977, with special guest David Bowie, who was a friend of Bolan.
Baby Boomerang
Slim lined sheik facedAngel of the nightRiding like a cowboyIn the graveyard of the night
New York witch in the dungeonOf the dayI’m trying to write my novelBut all you do is play
Mince pie dog-eyeEagle on the windI’m searching through this garbageLooking for a friend
Your uncle with an alligatorChained to his legDangles you your freedomThen he offers you his bed
It seems to me to dreamIs something too wildIn Max’s Kansas CityYou a belladonna child
Riding on the highwaysOn the gateways to the southYou’re talking with your bootsAnd you’re walking with your mouth
Baby BoomerangBaby BoomerangYou never spike a personBut you always bang the whole gangThank you ma’am
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