A Gloriously Nostalgic Rock and Roll Chase That Captures the Feverish, Relentless Pursuit of a Fading Dream of Youth.
For those of us who came of age during the tumultuous, glitter-drenched early seventies, Roy Wood and his flamboyant troupe, Wizzard, represented a glorious explosion of color, sound, and sheer, joyous anarchy. Following the departure from his previous venture, the Electric Light Orchestra, Wood dove headfirst into a theatrical, Spector-esque wall of sound, and the results were often chart gold. However, by 1974, the band’s second proper album, the wonderful concept piece Introducing Eddy and the Falcons, marked a stylistic pivot—a heartfelt, impeccably produced homage to the 1950s rock and roll that first fueled Wood’s own musical spark. The album itself, a cohesive, playful narrative about a fictitious early 60s British band, was a respectable hit, peaking at No. 19 on the UK Albums Chart.
Buried deep within this nostalgic journey, on the B-side of the non-album single “Are You Ready to Rock” (which reached No. 8 on the UK Singles Chart), lies a magnificent, albeit often overlooked, gem: “Marathon Man.” As a B-side, the track itself was never intended to chart independently, making it one of those treasured deep cuts that only the dedicated fans of the era know intimately. Yet, for those who found it, it was a high-octane, frenetic burst of pure energy.
The story of “Marathon Man” is deceptively simple, yet it throbs with the frantic desperation that defined a certain type of 1970s character. The lyrics, written not by Wood but by the talented duo of Keith Smart and Mike Tyler, depict a breathless, relentless chase. The narrator is pursuing someone—a girl, an opportunity, or perhaps just the tail end of a perfect night—and they simply cannot, will not, stop. “I’m the marathon man, and I gotta run hard, gotta run fast,” the driving vocal insists. It’s a song about pushing beyond human limits, fueled by a nervous, almost manic energy. Musically, Wizzard delivers a ferocious, over-the-top performance, featuring the bombastic, layered production that Roy Wood made his trademark. The twin saxophones and piano pound with a frantic intensity, creating a sonic landscape that evokes a late-night highway chase with sirens blaring, a feeling of being eternally on the run from a reality you just can’t face.
The deeper meaning of “Marathon Man,” particularly in the context of the Introducing Eddy and the Falcons album, is a poignant one of relentless striving. In 1974, at the height of Glam Rock’s absurdity, this track stripped away the make-up and the glitter to tap into a more fundamental human drama: the Sisyphean struggle of the artist, or indeed, any man or woman striving for a goal that seems permanently out of reach. The ‘marathon’ isn’t just a physical race; it’s the relentless pursuit of artistic perfection, or commercial success, or even just fleeting happiness. It speaks to the older reader who has spent decades running that course—a feeling of pushing just a little harder, convincing oneself that the next corner holds the key to the finishing line. The manic joy in the instrumentation is a brilliant, desperate mask for the weariness beneath. It’s the sound of someone who knows the dream is fading, but is determined to collapse from exhaustion before they ever admit defeat. “Marathon Man” is a two-minute, fifteen-second testament to sheer, glorious, British rock and roll stubbornness—a magnificent, dramatic sprint that still leaves you breathless decades later.