Emergency distress signal: Help. We are running out of off-the-wall geniuses and-or who-what-wherekiller bands. Over.

Yeah, sure - so are you. With your George Harrison tours and your John Lennons in residence, not to mention all that dough. (I asked you not to mention all that dough. - Elton John.)

America can function, rock-wise at least, through periods of drought, deprivation, and Disco Tex with the greatest of ease, simply by eating up all the music Britain constantly exports in her direction - and it’s precisely this consciousness of its position as a small private factory producing hand-made rock ‘n’ roll artifacts for foreign consumption that’s responsible for the notso-sudden dearth of New Wonders from this not-so-United Kingdom.

I mean, to be perfectly brutal, dears, where are the true ’70s acts? Practically all the Big Names Of Now in Britain were around for some considerable time in the ’60s and merely got bigger. Gary Glitter? A freak of pop nature. Mike Oldfield? Nothing to do with anything much beyond himself. Slade? Give you that. But gi&nts, I want giants.

About the only bonafide from-nowhere-a-star move made by a rockin’ Briton in the ’70s was that of Bryan Ferry, in or out of his similarly historyless backing-group, Roxy Music.

Doubtless, naturlich, you can dream up half-a-dozen British acts in this decade of whom you’d heard Big-0 before they touched down in L.A. to support T. Rex on their latest sell-out tour (T.Hee), but they all look strangely familiar to us here back on the launchingpad. An atmosphere of second-hand, production-line nihilism is settling over these isles fastly.

The 12 best-selling singles units in Britain for last year were (in descending order): The Bay City Rollers, Alvin Stardust, Mud, The Wombles, Gary Glitter, Slade, Paper Lace, Barry White, The Stylistics, Leo Sayer, The Rubettes, and David Essex. Drongoes all. But chiefly - artificially created.

Android Rock.

Not a real human being amongst them.

And the top ten albums movers? Going down again: Wings (Band On The Run), The Carpenters (The Singles: 1969-1973), Mike Oldfield (Tubular Bells), Pink Floyd (Dark Side Of The Moon, still selling - and it was ’73’s top shot), Elton John (Goodbye Yellow Brick Road), Perry Como (And I Love You So), Rick Wakeman (Journey To The Centre Of The Earth), Diana Ross and Marvin Gaye (Diana and Marvin), Bryan Ferry (Another Time, Another Place), and Sparks (Kimono My House).

Any thread of sense there? I’d say not.

Well, then - what about the British Rock Critic’s Big Hope For ‘74? What was it again? Oh yeah - Pub Rock. Back-to-the-roots, integrity, and mostly “Jailhouse Rock” for the nostalgics who hold the heritage of this country’s rhythm-music in their writing-hands.

The last ditch for this beleagured movement has to be Dr Feelgood. And their album . . . well, it’s all a bit embarrassing, really. The only saving grace British pub-rockers had over New York punk-rockers was that they weren’t fags. Big deal.

Analysis of situation in rock development in Britain: rock is at its most vital when inspiration and a strictly limited amount of musical expertise collide in a bunch o( rebellious kids. Now, since (a) Britain has no rebellious kids at the moment (and not due for a new supply till 1984 probably), and (b) the kids it has got have been brought up on flash-rock and professionalism, the only thing left is inspiration - and that needs something to feed on.

We have no musically liberated youngsters any more. They all know what they’re doing. They all want to play like John McLaughlin. No-one could even think of picking up a guitar and composing this year’s “You Really Got Me” or “I Can’t Explain.”

Our innocence is lost - bought cheap by progress (“Progressive rock,” pshaw!) and the United States of America.

Which brings us up your garden path.

Now America’s got the (b) problem embedded deep in the foundations -but the country’s too big for it to prevail everywhere at the same level. There must be a few statesful of musical morons waiting to start a new revolution somewhere in there.

Have you looked recently?

As for the (a) of the matter - well, that’s Black music for you, isn’t it? Voluntary Ghettos For Growing White Proto-Rockers! Again, the country’s too big to make a general rule.

But what you have got that we haven’t is an indigenous tradition or two. De Blooze. C&W. Jazz, even. I can’t see flash-rock catching on there. (You must be joking with your Song Of The South shlock. Any fool can see that that scene’s just one more in-growing toenail. Admit it, palookas.)

But you can, come what may, always raise up a Little Feat at the drop of an advance, even if you - oddly enough -don’t seem to have the Beach BoysLovin’ Spoonful blah blah originalmusic-group shmear around any more.

So it’s up to you, America. It’s Your Turn. Make us laugh.

Britain can’t cut it anymore.