Slade in Flame
or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Embrace Slademania
This past month saw the return of Slade in Flame to cinemas, upon the 50th anniversary of its release. While bizarrely only showing at one, albeit sold out, screening in Birmingham, Slade’s relationship to the midlands cannot be understated. It is a shame that more cinemas didn’t feel the need to screen this film to a wider midlands audience but perhaps there is a deeper reason for this. Despite being one of the biggest British glam-rock bands of the 70s, many look down their nose at Slade’s legacy. Shrugging them off as an unserious hippy band that lost any artistic mystique through their laddish antics and shouty vocals. I myself was part of this camp up until recently, put off by the brashness of famous songs like Cum on Feel the Noise. It wasn’t until after watching Slade in Flame that I decided it was time to give them another chance by listening to the entirety of their discography.
Dear readers, since then I have felt such a strange and terrible feeling come over me, an infectious sensation… I have finally succumbed to the mysterious illness of Slademania…
Formed in 1966 in the heart of Wolverhampton, Slade exploded onto the glam-rock scene that was taking over the UK charts in the 1970s. Slade in Flame’s original release was in 1975, at the height of Slade’s cultural relevance and, crucially, the peak of the “band movie” as a genre. From the 1960s to the late 1970s the band film became an enticing way for already established bands to cement themselves further into the cultural zeitgeist (and to rake in as much cash as possible along the way). Films like A Hard Days Night (starring the Beatles) and Rock and Roll High School (starring the less-attractive Ramones) created zany fictionalised versions of the bands they were based upon, larger than life personas that could be sold to audiences. Others took a documentary style approach, grounding their subjects in reality and creating an intimate atmosphere – such as the works of D. A. Pennebaker and Albert and David Maysles. Whether artful or unserious, the typical band film can often be shrunk down into two categories: ‘rags to riches’ or ‘the rise and fall’. In essence, rags to riches tales follow a band from obscurity to their perceived deserved celebrity. A cathartic exercise in getting the recognition one deserves. The rise and fall arch depicts the heady highs of sex drugs and rock and roll, and the inflated egos of those who par-take in it. It is often used allegorically to show the corruptive power of fame, and as a warning to audiences to not get too big for their boots.
Dear readers, since then I have felt such a strange and terrible feeling come over me, an infectious sensation… I have finally succumbed to the mysterious illness of Slademania…
Formed in 1966 in the heart of Wolverhampton, Slade exploded onto the glam-rock scene that was taking over the UK charts in the 1970s. Slade in Flame’s original release was in 1975, at the height of Slade’s cultural relevance and, crucially, the peak of the “band movie” as a genre. From the 1960s to the late 1970s the band film became an enticing way for already established bands to cement themselves further into the cultural zeitgeist (and to rake in as much cash as possible along the way). Films like A Hard Days Night (starring the Beatles) and Rock and Roll High School (starring the less-attractive Ramones) created zany fictionalised versions of the bands they were based upon, larger than life personas that could be sold to audiences. Others took a documentary style approach, grounding their subjects in reality and creating an intimate atmosphere – such as the works of D. A. Pennebaker and Albert and David Maysles. Whether artful or unserious, the typical band film can often be shrunk down into two categories: ‘rags to riches’ or ‘the rise and fall’. In essence, rags to riches tales follow a band from obscurity to their perceived deserved celebrity. A cathartic exercise in getting the recognition one deserves. The rise and fall arch depicts the heady highs of sex drugs and rock and roll, and the inflated egos of those who par-take in it. It is often used allegorically to show the corruptive power of fame, and as a warning to audiences to not get too big for their boots.
However, Slade in Flame seems to depart from both of these narrative structures in several interesting ways. The boys of Slade take on the role of the fictitious band, Flame, as we follow their journey from working class lads to glam-rock pop stars. The film begins on the typical rags to riches trajectory, working class boys with a love of music, breaking into the mainstream, but the film slowly takes a more sinister, cynical turn. The opening scenes could be mistaken for a Tony Richardson film: the boys out of place at a posh wedding-do, establishing shots of endless back-to-back council houses and a factory furnace, from which the logo Slade in Flame emerges. Slade begin the film in rival bands with Dave Hill, Don Powell, and Jim Lea as supporting members for a failing Elvis impersonator, and Noddy Holder, in ghoulish attire, as the lead singer for a local goth band. Eventually the two bands come together, after a car chase lands them all in a prison cell, whereupon they put aside their differences and decide to form the eponymous, Flame.
The band ditch their old sleazy manager and quickly accept a record deal from an impressively suited and booted record executive. As can be expected, the band became an instant success, with their new management team embroiling them in all kinds of wacky PR stunts, including putting out fires and even a staged attempted shooting. As their success grows, the boys don’t seem to be enjoying the spoils of their new-found fame. Arguments break out between them and they find themselves missing the lives they had before. This sets the stage for the real villain of the film, The Industry. Despite escaping the clutches of their local mobster pub promoter, the band find themselves in an even bigger web of mismanagement. As the night of their biggest ever gig arrives, the band take to the stage in flamboyant style, decked out in luminous glowing costumes, like rippling candle flames. But after what should be their greatest success, they decide to call it quits, not because of ego, drugs, or internal fractions, but from the exhaustion of exploitation.
It’s a strange take for a film of this nature, but one that elevates it from its genre. The story at first seems to take on a rags to riches device, as the boys become overnight rockstars and are forced to quickly adjust to celebrity life. But their lack of enjoyment in their own success, takes the wind out of the narrative sails. Nor is it a tale of their rise and fall, with Flame effectively removing themselves from the seductive arms of the music industry by quitting all together before the proverbial fall can take place. One thing Slade in Flame wants to make clear is that from the bottom to the top of the music industry there are crooks, conmen and thieves. It’s a rather anti-capitalist message from the band who are now most famous for bringing us Merry Xmas Everybody (Imagine an Oasis film that sees Noel and Liam front a workers revolution). But somehow it really works. Despite its fictitious narrative, the plot gives the boys a chance to show their natural humour and charisma. Although not filmed in Wolverhampton itself, the kind of faces and places of the industrial Midlands can still be seen throughout. This background gives us a deeper understanding of the kind of exploitation Flame experiences. What initially seems like the dream for any young working class musician, slowly becomes a nightmare. Manipulation, the pressure to change and conform, and even blackmail and harassment, shows the audience the reality of rock stardom. It’s a sad, and almost jarring, note to end the film on but one that feels fitting for Slade as a band. Slade may never have been the coolest or most ground breaking band, but they have also never claimed to be. They are what they have always been, a bunch of Wolverhampton lads having fun, making music and most importantly getting into trouble.
If you’ve been inspired to go back and listen to the Slade catelogue but don’t know where to start, then don’t fear! We have curated a best hits playlist of Slade which you can find on our spotify page here