Meeting David Bowie

A friend of mine recently asked me how I came to know the quintessential rock photographer Mick Rock. I sent an email of the story to him and felt like sharing it with all of you. This is for anyone out there who has made an ass out of themselves (not really!) when meeting their idols, and...for Bowie fans! Remember...WE ARE ALL HUMAN! I love to hear stories like this so I hope you do too!

The edited email excerpt is as follows:

Mick Rock is an old friend. He was working as the photographer for a band I was in called Erin Evermore. Mick is fucking awesome...very funny, dynamic...and somewhat of a superfreak! We instantly hit it off and got along magnificiantly. At the time we met, we were doing a photo/video shoot at SIR studios in NYC and David Bowie happened to be rehearsing in the room next door. So, not one to miss a golden opportunity, I practically (more like LITERALLY) BEGGED Mick to introduce me (as you probably know, Mick and David have a long history together. Mick directed all of David's early videos and has taken some quite extraodinary photos of him as well). I immediately began harassing Mick to the point of utter annoyance, which is something I rarely would do...but...what can I say...opportunity knocks, especially, when relentlessly pursued. And, most "fans" always seem to forget their manners, wits and any semblance of human dignity when meeting or interacting with such a "force majeure". Mick, seeing this affliction in me, and being the puckish man that he is, put up with my childish, pestering pleas...assuring me that he would comply with my request to meet one of my heros, when the proper moment arrived.

So, a few days of rehearsals goes by and he doesn't say anything about it, not a word, nuance, hint...NOTHING! And me, being usually polite, as well as, a little dejected/disappointed, don't ask anything about it either. I just mope and let him see me mope, like the kid in the corner with the DUNCE hat on! All the while, through the walls, halls and corridors, I can hear the strains of "Heroes", "Fame" and "Fashion" reverberating and reminding me that not only was I in the presence of greatness, but, that I could touch it...if ONLY Mick would capitulate my quiet, pathetic, desperation! Every echo of every song, was a vibrant, colorful memory for me revealed in kaleidascopic visions in my mind. A reminder of every make-out session in the back seat, every drunken high school party, every sombre, painful, violent, lovely, epiphanous, drug-addled, kicking and screaming moment of my life spent listening to Bowies music. Those songs also revealed why I became a fucking musician in the first place...and I was not about to let the perveyor of that inspiration escape me! At least not without meeting him eye-to-eye. No fucking way!

So, after banging away at a song with my band and feeling sorry for myself at the slowly diminishing prospect of meeting Bowie, Mick asks if I want to have a cig outside, and of course, I do. Not only for the pleasure of his company, but also, to subversively conjole him into submission by taking pity on me (LOL) by playing the rock n roll martyr! (Keep in mind that manipulation, is not something I do very well, also without making an ass of myself). We go outside and before I can implement my Machievalian scheme, Mick starts exagerating his voice and movements, as if he's putting on "The Magnificiant Mick Hour" to an audience of one. Right when I start to think he's been hitting the bottle or some illicit substance very hard in the last 10 minutes, I see this fashionably wiry dude with his back to me leaning against the wall smoking a cig in the undesignated "smoking area". As we walk towards him and get about a foot away, Mick wildly gesticulating on my rock star aura, charm and photogenic qualities, the dude quite startlingly turns around, does a pseudo Weimer era, out-stretched arms, "Velcome To Da Cabaret" mephisto gesture and gives me the biggest fucking chesire cat grin he can muster...and it's fucking David Bowie! It was one of the few times in my life when I was totally dumbstruck! Mick LOUDLY says in an overblown, drunken Cockney accent, "David...I'd like you to meet another silly cunt, Aaron!" (Mick likes to call people he likes cunts). "Aaron, this is another silly cunt, David!". I usually don't get flustered by meeting anyone famous...yet, I stood there like a blissfull fucking moron with the biggest, stupidest grin on MY face and couldn't find the words to say a thing that would reveal or resemble my usual repose, intelligance, charm or wit except "Duh...Hi David". All the while, Mick's looking at me with HIS shit eating grin because he knows how nervous and surprised I am, and because, I know he's quietly pleased with himself. It's obvious that David knows too, because Mick's told him what a "fan" I am, as well as, what a pain in the ass I've been for the last few days. David starts putting on the "I'm Bowie" facade for a few moments before he starts to quietly chuckle and grin even more widely at me than before...and at that moment...we all laughed...at our own humility...and of course...at my expense! It was fucking AWESOME!

David is cool because he knows how his stardom affects people on a human level, but he's not vain or an asshole about it. Like most of the people I admire, he's totally approachable, decent and generous. He approached me with amusement, humility and respect, which is rare in those circles, or any circle, for that matter. Mick...definitely...Rocks, and I'll always remember him for giving me that moment. It's so important NOT to take yourself to seriously all the time...life is to short to miss all the fun! Shit...if I could work with one artist before I die...it would have to be Bowie. On another occasion, I jokingly told Sterling Campbell (who is an aquaintence and Bowie's current drummer) that if he ever breaks an arm, gets hit by a bus or decides to become a fucking monk and move to China...to give me a call...I'll step in immediately...no worries! I know at the very least...that I could definitely handle it now!