The umpteenth retail release for this era-defining cash-cow of Scottish junkies, and the cracks are now beginning to show. Yes, it's a beautiful burst of propulsive film-making, but after the likes of Jesus's Son and Requiem For A Dream, it seems a little too eager to please, a little too chipper, too Ewan McGregor to be wholly credible.
Blaxploitation movies were suddenly so hot in 1972 that it was deemed a smart idea to bash out—as the title may have tipped you off—a black vampire chiller. It wasn't. It was horrible, in unintended ways. But Gene Page came up with a very appetising soundtrack, which you could happily stick on between Isaac Hayes' Shaft and Marvin Gaye's Trouble Man without anyone noticing too drastic a drop in class.
As everyone knows, glam rock in the UK was begat by Bowie, Bolan and Ferry, then ruined by bandwagon-jumping brickies in mascara. Well, yes and no—some of this rubbish was great fun, as compilers Bob Stanley and Phil King hereby recognise. And while the correct response is probably to chuckle at its tackiness, some of us, behind closed doors, will be punching the air and stomping along with surreal enthusiasm.
