Raise All Kinds Of Candy To The Stars

More so than “Born To Be Wild,” “Fire” marks the dividing line, where pop turns into rock, where psychedelia mutates into progressive, between fun for all the family and parents keep the hell out. Number one in Britain when I was four years old, it scared the shit out of me at the time. Even in a year which could already have been classified as pop in extremis – Dave Dee’s whip on “Legend Of Xanadu,” Jagger’s sympathetic Devil make-up on “Jumping Jack Flash” – Arthur Brown’s flaming colander crown and a Top Of The Pops performance of the song which appeared to show the band burning in forests of flame gave me genuine nightmares; not to mention the moment in the long-gone Vale Café in Tollcross when I accidentally pressed the wrong button on the jukebox and “I AM THE GOD OF HELLFIRE!” roared out. Now I already had cause enough to have nightmares in 1968, for reasons with which I shan’t bore you here. It wasn’t that pleasant a year, even from my juvenile perspective. But the