“WHENEVER I see something written about David Bowie, I want to write more. Whenever I hear one of his songs I want to play more–and whenever I am reminded of his death, I want to remember more of his life. Because in that time and on this Earth, Bowie made a difference. He is the story of my life; he is about growing up and working with people whose records I had bought as a kid. He is about some wonderful memories and he is about some very special moments.
My earliest recollections date back to February 1969 in my old hometown of Manchester in the north of England. I was a teenager and took a train into the city with my girlfriend to go to The Magic Village, one of the coolest places for bands to play and a regular haunt for us kids to congregate. That day, we arrived a little earlier than usual and, as she had run out of cigarettes, I offered to pop down the street and buy her a pack. While she stood around waiting, this guy came over; they started talking and he invited her inside for a drink. She smiled, “No thanks, I’m with someone.”
The following day, we found out his name: David Bowie. He was due to appear with Tyrannosaurus Rex and had turned up at The Magic Village the night before with just his acoustic guitar. That evening, he played an intimate gig to 30 people at the bar… and I was not one of them. We were hungry and had gone down the road for a kebab; it started to rain, so we decided to take the train home. I may have missed out on that magical evening, but took some solace in knowing that she had turned down Bowie’s advances for me.”
- USA TODAY – January, 2018 | Read the full piece on Questia