"In the Meantime" (Spacehog)

Spacehog, which got its start in NYC by way of Leeds, UK, was primed to be a massive band in the mid-90s.  They landed a major label deal with Sire/Warner right out of the gate.  They opened arena-sized shows for the likes of Aerosmith and Red Hot Chili Peppers.  They were MTV darlings.  Frontman and primary songwriter Royston Langdon even ended up wed to 90s poster child Liv Tyler (albeit for a brief time).
So how did they end up being one-hit wonders?
Simple: you can't build a career pretending that you're Ziggy Stardust-era Bowie or A Night at the Opera-era Queen and expect listeners to keep buying it.  (Literally.) 
If they had tried that trick once, they might have been able to pull it off.  But their entire 1995 debut album, Resident Alien, pretty much sounds like they cribbed every riff and maneuver from "Moonage Daydream" and/or "Death on Two Legs," and smirked the whole time doing it.  Their followup, The Chinese Album (1998), hits pretty much the same notes, only with songs that sound less like an elaborate in-joke and more self-consciously "important," which makes the cribbing even more cringe-worthy.  (I make this criticism as someone who once shelled out money for both discs and kept hoping that their songwriting abilities would catch up to their axe-swinging abilities.) 
Unfortunately, their songs are kind of like retelling an old George Carlin joke: you might recite the punchline perfectly and even get a decent laugh, but inevitably it's missing that certain something that leaves you longing for the real deal.
The only Spacehog song that took their glam rock infatuations to another plane was their lone hit, "In the Meantime."  Yes, it is still dipped in glitter and wrapped in Bowie, but it actually reaches beyond that single point of reference.  The synths and loop of a telephone ringing--courtesy of a quirky instrumental called "Telephone & Rubber Band" (1981) by Penguin Cafe Orchestra--have a Brian Eno-meets-The Cars kind of feel.  Langdon's falsetto soars to androgynous heights over his agile, funky bassline and Richard Steel's crunchy lead guitar.  The whole thing is almost anthemic.
If only they could have repeated that glam grandeur at least one more time.