Hoople The Hunter

Mott The Hoople

There’s a moment in the film Alice Doesn’t Live here Anymore where the son is spread out of the floor with his head between his stereo speakers blasting out All The Way From Memphis. That’s the moment when Mott The Hopple were superstars. The song was a sensation for a group that had an glam-art-rock reputation. They took their name from the novel by Willard Manus. 

They started as an average British rock band then fell under the guidance of David Bowie who produced their All The Young Dudes 1972. He wrote the title song for them. The album has some interesting Bowie atmospherics & is clearly Bowie. He added the sparkle of glam rock but with Mott 1973, (with All The Way From Memphis), they became a hard rock group. Mainly original material & sharper guitar & less atmosphere. Their final studio album was The Hoople 1974. The recent reissues include live tracks etc.

After The Hopple Ian Hunter went solo. His work without the band is merely as extension of his work with the band. So he didn’t leave to pursue a vision that was stifled by the band.  I have Ian Hunter 1975, All American Alien Boy 1976, You’re Never Alone With A Schizophrenic 1977 ( with Bruce Springsteen’s E Street Band). All are solid rock lps with some strong tracks & good listening but none had/have the bite of Mott from 73.

Ian Hunter has one of those distinctive rock voices, sort of a gravelly Bryan Ferry, that never loses its tinge of blasé detachment. His lyrics are typical love, life on the road stuff that never become overly political, & sometimes veer on sentimental romanticism. Clever with a touch of Noel Coward word play I enjoy these lps when they come up in rotation but rarely feel compelled to dig them out to listen to. If you are unfamiliar start with Mott it’ll take you all the way to Memphis.

this is the final section of

Down The Drain

4

He lifted my feet for me to pull my jeans away. Quickly sliding his hands up the backs of my legs he forced me closer to his kneeling body. My cock was in his mouth. Despite the numbness I felt in my head, my other nerves were as functional as always.

Without the strength to push him way, I fell back onto the bed, twisted to one side to pull him away but I couldn’t. Every time I managed to get my cock out of his mouth he would quickly have it back in again. We wrestled back & forth until I couldn’t focus my energy enough to resist.

Moaning he slowed to take the easy rhythm he knew worked best on me. Only this time it wasn’t working. I stopped struggling & put my hand on his head as if to encourage him.

“You like that don’t you.” I said.

“You aren’t into it. You’re not getting hard.” He leaned back from me.

“Must be the blood I lost, asshole.” I put my feet on his shoulders & pushed away, hard.

“What the fuck.” He tumbled to his back.

He started to get up & I stood & pushed him back down.

“Don’t waste that pained look on me Jim. I’m the victim here.”

I tugged on a pair of sweat pants & went the the living room. I pulled his jacket out of the closet, found my apartment key on his key ring & removed it.

“What are you doing?” He asked from behind me.

“Here’s your coat.” I handed it to him. I opened the door. 

He stared at me. “You can’t be serious. We can sort this out.”

“Take care.”

“I said I was sorry.” He put his coat on.

“I accept your apology. End of conversation. Good night. Take care.”

I grabbed the front of his coat & guided him out the door. Shut it. Locked it.

His knocking stopped while I watched my blood go down the drain in the shower. 

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