I hope the Bay City Rollers become huge number one American biggest teeny sellers of all time, because it'll make everyone in England so cross. The spirit of '76 is mean, the sound of '76 is a carping disharmony, the movement of '76 is keeping up with Mr. Jones. Something is happening, we don't know what it is, but we do know what we don't like: Bruce Springsteen — "competent pastiche of West Side Story," Patti Smith — "pretentious bitch, Rimbaud,.. .fuckl," the Rollers — "puerile, badly dressed."

They're the most hated pop group I can remember. No amused affection for the looniness of Roller fans, rather a contempt for their tawdriness and cheap trousers and blank white cheeks. The British pop industry has been hyping teenagers efficiently enough for twenty odd years, ever since it discovered what brylcreem and an echo chamber did for both ersatz Elvis and real Fabian, and the Bay City Rollers campaign strategy wasn't exactly new. But no one laughs anymore. I can't think of anything much funnier than the Rollers, without a musical doubt the feeblest group ever, capping 1975 with a US number one, but other people lie on the floor and bang their heels up and down and listen to the new Joni Mitchell album.