Slade were a curious-looking bunch; and between 1971 and 1976, they conquered the known world with a string of brilliant, if orthographically-challenged, three-minute singles ("Cum on Feel the Noize", "Coz I Luv U", "Look Wot You Dun"). Slade was the rock band about whom students like me tried to feel snooty, even while dancing ourselves stupid to "Mamma Weer All Crazee Now". We didn't approve of them (my dear, the clothes! and the spelling!), but we couldn't resist them. When the music world divided into heavy metal and sobbing singer-songwriters around 1971, Slade were the noisy Jack- the-lad brigade that didn't muck about with million-watt riffs, or concept albums or with dithery Neil Young introspections. They were just the fun tendency and England lapped them up until her attention was distracted by punk. Meeting Noddy Holder, the band's charismatic front-man, you're instantly pulled back to the time when he was one of those figures who transcend working-class culture and become popular icons, like Henry Cooper, Gary Lineker, Barbara Windsor...

...

My God, he's right. Slade was a direct descendant from The Good Old Days... "Oh it's obvious now, when I tell yer, but nobody realised then. Everybody nicks stuff. It's the old showbiz tradition, isn't it? I've always watched people on stage, seen how they do it. I loved the way Max Miller would walk on stage and people would be rolling on the ground before he even told a gag, just because he looked the business. Get them on your side, before you open your mouth and you're home and dry. That was my adage, even when I was a little kid." But surely he was too young (at 51) to have seen the Cheeky Chappie in person. "Of course. But I've seen the pictures, and me Dad had the records. When I first heard him, I cracked up. I didn't understand the gags, but it was his delivery. I couldn't believe it. And when I was old enough to understand, I realised it was something you could take into rock 'n' roll. Nobody'd done it. All you had to do was take what he had and make it Seventies. Instead of the white fedora Max had, I had a top hat with mirrors on..." The idea of the hat came to him while watching a mirror ball on a stage. During Slade concerts, they'd kill the lights, then shine a spotlight on the Noddy titfer, and send searchlight beams all over the squealing auditorium. "It was just 30 seconds out of every show, but people never forgot it. They went berserk. 'Course," he says modestly, "you only need three or four tricks like that in a show and you've got them suckered right away. And with a lot of hit songs to back it up, you were home and dry. We were a top live attraction for years and years around the world, purely on the strength of those tricks."

...

So that's how it's done. Becoming a rock star, having a hit, having 20- odd other ones, conquering the world - Noddy has a sweet but slightly exasperating way of suggesting that success is about following a few simple rules. He's a man, I think, of enormous optimism, seemingly impervious to negative thoughts. Listening to him talk about his and the band's fortunes since 1976, when punk swept glam rock aside, you'd swear they'd been chart- topping stars right up to last week. In fact, they've been up and down, ignored, feted, gone on nostalgia tours, metamorphosed into a heavy metal combo, been plagiarised (by Kiss, for instance), been rediscovered, anthologised, had their records re-released, turned up in Viz comic and been lampooned by Vic Reeves and Bob Mortimer. Noddy now sits, a slightly bewildered but lovable figure, pondering offers of acting work, invitations to TV quiz shows and similar signs of iconic status. Whatever the truth of the past 25 years, in Noddy Holder's hindsight, everything - and everybody - has been for the best. Everything's turned out just fine all round."

The wholy story here: http://www.independent.co.uk/opinion/good-old-dayz-1248989.html