T. Rex’s Cosmic Whisper: Monolith Stands Tall in Time – A Poetic Meditation on Time’s Majesty and Love’s Elusive Dance
When T. Rex dropped “Monolith” as part of their seminal 1971 album Electric Warrior, it didn’t storm the singles chart never released as a standalone 45, it lived in the shadow of the LP’s giants like “Get It On” (number 1 in the UK, number 10 in the U.S.) but the album itself reigned supreme, hitting number 1 on the UK Albums Chart and lingering there for eight weeks. For those of us who were there, cradling that vinyl in our hands or tuning the radio to catch Marc Bolan’s latest spell, “Monolith” was a hidden treasure, a quiet giant amid the glam rock thunder. Released on September 24, 1971, via Fly Records in the UK and Reprise in the States, it was part of a record that sold over a million copies worldwide, a testament to Bolan’s reign as the glitter-dusted king of the early ‘70s. Now, in 2025, as I sit with the ghosts of those days, this song unfurls like a faded tapestry, weaving me back to a world of shag rugs and platform heels, where every chord carried a hint of the eternal.
The story of “Monolith” is one of spontaneity and stardust. Marc Bolan, the elfin visionary behind T. Rex, penned it during the whirlwind sessions for Electric Warrior, recorded across London’s Trident Studios, LA’s Wally Heider, and New York’s Media Sound. With producer Tony Visconti at the helm, the track emerged as a late-night reverie Bolan’s Les Paul guitar snarling through a wah-wah pedal, mimicking a turntable scratch, while his voice coiled around lyrics born of mystic whimsy. It wasn’t a planned hit; it was a vibe, a moment when Bolan, fresh off shedding his Tyrannosaurus Rex folk skin, leaned into the electric pulse of glam. Some say it’s about star-crossed lovers, others a nod to the monolith of 2001: A Space Odyssey fame Bolan loved his cosmic riddles but he never spelled it out, leaving us to dream. Flo & Eddie’s backing vocals, a gift from his Turtles pals, added a layer of eerie harmony, sealing its otherworldly glow.
The meaning of “Monolith” is a soft, shimmering puzzle it’s Bolan gazing at time’s throne, a “kingly thing” where “we all do begin,” and mourning a love dressed in “fashions of fate,” too late to catch. “Shallow are the actions of the children of men,” he muses, and you can almost see him, glitter on his cheeks, staring past the crowd into some ancient haze. For those of us who spun it back then, it was the sound of basement parties fading to dawn, of staring out a window as the world turned, wondering if we’d ever find what we were chasing. It’s not a loud proclamation it’s a sigh, a velvet curtain drawn across a stage we didn’t want to leave, a reminder that time’s a monolith we all bow to, whether we strut or stumble.
T. Rex were glam’s pioneers, and “Monolith” tucked into Electric Warrior’s heart caught Bolan at his peak, before the slide of the late ‘70s and his tragic 1977 exit in a car crash. I remember it spilling from a friend’s stereo, the way we’d sit cross-legged, letting its mystery sink in, the needle tracing grooves that felt like secrets. For older ears now, it’s a bridge to 1971 of bell-bottoms swaying, of a world before the rush, of a voice that made the ordinary feel mythic. “Monolith” stands quiet but proud a relic of when music was a portal, and Marc Bolan was our guide, whispering truths we’re still unraveling.