Glam Rock’s Tribal Call: The Song That Took Sweet from Bubblegum to Big-League Glitter
A deceptively simple, instantly catchy rock ‘n’ roll fantasy that playfully borrowed from classic American folklore while cementing the architects of Glam on the global stage.
Oh, the early 1970s. For those of us who lived through the seismic cultural shift, the sound of the airwaves was a kaleidoscope of colour, volume, and pure, unapologetic fun. Before the punk sneer and the disco beat took hold, it was the era of Glam Rock, a flamboyant, audacious movement that gave us permission to be loud, look outrageous, and forget the grey realities of the world. And right at the pulsating heart of that glitter-spangled machine was the incomparable Sweet.
Their single, “Wig-Wam Bam,” released in September 1972, didn’t just climb the charts; it was a triumphant signal flare for the movement. In the United Kingdom, where the phenomenon truly took root, this glorious racket of a song peaked at a brilliant No. 4 on the Official Singles Chart, marking their sixth consecutive UK hit. It was a massive worldwide success as well, a defining hit that roared up the charts across Europe, peaking at No. 3 in Germany and hitting No. 4 in various other territories. Unlike their earlier, more bubblegum-pop singles, this record carried an undeniable, crunching rock edge that hinted at the harder direction the band would swiftly follow. It proved the songwriting genius of the legendary duo Nicky Chinn and Mike Chapman, who were building an empire of hits for artists like Suzi Quatro and Mud. For us, the listeners, it was the sonic equivalent of donning platform boots and sequined trousers.
The true fascination, however, lies in the song’s delightfully absurd narrative, penned by Chinn and Chapman. It’s an infectious, stomping track that tells a story seemingly plucked straight from a primary school history lesson, filtered through a psychedelic, rock ‘n’ roll lens. The lyrics are a playful, tongue-in-cheek pastiche of American folklore, specifically drawing inspiration from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s epic 1855 poem, The Song of Hiawatha. The song takes the famous Native American warrior Hiawatha and his lover, Minnehaha, and throws them into a raucous, slightly suggestive pop scenario. Lines like, “Hiawatha didn’t bother too much / ‘Bout Minnie-Ha-Ha and her tender touch / ‘Till she took him to the silver stream,” clearly nod to Longfellow’s characters, while the chorus, “Wig-Wam Bam, / Gonna make you my man,” is pure, unadulterated Chinnichap pop genius, hinting at the playful, cheeky side of romance. It was silly, yes, but its vibrant energy and memorable hooks were irresistible. The tune also makes a quick, clever reference to the 1959 hit “Running Bear” by Johnny Preston, about the star-crossed lovers Running Bear and Little White Dove, effectively blending various pieces of American cultural mythology into a three-minute British glam-rock package.
Crucially, “Wig-Wam Bam” holds a significant place in the band’s own history. It was the first Sweet single where all four band members—vocalist Brian Connolly, bassist Steve Priest, guitarist Andy Scott, and drummer Mick Tucker—were actually permitted to play their own instruments. Their prior hits had largely relied on the expertise of session musicians, but the success of this single proved to the record company and their production team that the band could, and should, deliver the goods themselves, a move that would lead directly to their transition into the full-throttle hard rock of subsequent efforts like “Block Buster!” and “The Ballroom Blitz.”
Listening to it today, the song doesn’t just sound like music; it’s a time machine. It’s the sound of a generation throwing off its serious, post-sixties intellectualism for the pure, electric thrill of a loud guitar, a pounding beat, and a feather boa. It’s the sound of youth, freedom, and the brief, glorious moment when the wildest, campest attire was the only acceptable uniform for a night out. It is a genuine monument to that glorious epoch of ’70s rock, a track that, over half a century later, still begs you to turn the volume up to eleven and relive your own youth’s glittering frenzy. It didn’t need to be deep to be meaningful, and in the grand theatre of Glam, “Wig-Wam Bam” was one of the brightest lights.