It's February 3, 1972, and very few visitors to the Lanchester Arts Festival in the Locarno Ballroom, Coventry, England, know that the guy in front of them on stage once thought about becoming a comedian in his youth. And if they knew, they'd cheer all the more, after every single line of the song. The man at the microphone rolls his eyes, grins, and acts like he can't hold back a drop of water: "This here song it ain't so sad, the cutest little song you ever had." Indeed, sir, the whole thing sounds more like shake rhyme and nursery rhyme than sophisticated rock art. But hasn't rock'n'roll always been a nursery rhyme? And weren't dirty innuendos part of the business model of spontaneous musical entertainment from the beginning, oh, long before rock'n'roll? The singer knows this: "Those of you who won't sing, you must be playin' with your own ding-a-ling!"
By 1971, the myths of the Sixties had faded, and a young, innovative rock scene was conquering the mainstream. It was an unprecedented creative spectacle: The musical balance sheet of 1971 contains more grandiose albums, unforgettable songs and promising newcomers than ever before or since. And: Rock music never had more of a future than at this unique moment in its history. How did it come about? And what were the consequences? A tour through a musical year that was as wonderful as it was wondrous
