So, my mother doesn’t share stories from her youth too often, but there are three very infamous tales from when she was my age about David Bowie. You see, my mother used to be obsessed with Mr. Bowie. If you were to take my fanatical worship of Peter Mulvey, combine it with the awe in which i regard Tori Amos, and then send that all through my nearly frightening dedication to the cast of Friends, you might get to somewhere near how my mother felt about David Bowie.
Her one claim to fame is that she met Bowie in the Sigma Sound studio while he was recording Young Americans here in Philadelphia. At first this story was simple… her friend knew the percussionist, so they got into the studio and then Bowie came out and motioned vaguely in their direction. Over the years i managed to eek some more details from her, like the fact that Bowie was discussion a saxophone passage with David Sanborn (who played on the record). Then i learned (from VH1, which never lies) that David Bowie was on so much cocaine when he recorded in Philly that some of it is actually a blur to him now. I made sure to rub this in my mom’s face at every opportunity, but she’s trumped my coked-up-Bowie with a brand new detail divulged this weekend. Apparently, she got into the studio not because her friend knew the percussionist, but because the percussionist stepped outside for a smoke and asked if anyone had any rolling papers. Of course, my mother’s friend did have them, and somehow they got them into the studio, where her paper-possessing friend proceeded to vainly attempt to make conversation with a surely glazed-over Bowie.
Isn’t she a fun gal? I’m starting to have suspicions about why she doesn’t recall the experience too well…