Roxy

Last week, or is it two weeks ago already, in Dublin we talked about music, and the so far sort of disappointing big releases (REM, Depeche) this year. And he (glam bam thank you ma'am) started talking about Roxy Music, and how the reunion is 'obviously gonna be crap', but 'weren't they great and didn't you just know they were special, and did I have the first two albums?' I do. I got them not too long ago.

So tonight I'm watching the Roxy Music Top of the Pops special, and Ferry hasn't aged since Avalon, still looks fabulous, still sexy as hell with the suit and the hair, that HAIR, the weird grimaces, the inimitable voice. Not that crap, obviously.

I should be packing my bag.

But instead I'm writing this and thinking about the very first time I saw Roxy Music on television. It was the very first time I saw 'Top Pop', the Dutch equivalent of Top of the Pops. It was 1975. I was living in a children's shelter, straight out of my fairytale world into the horror of adults fighting (over me) and still grappling with the death of my mum. I was a very young 12 year old.

And then Roxy came on - a clip of a live performance of Love is the Drug. The hiss of a lit cigarette, the slam of a car door, and Ferry in his khaki uniform. A creature unlike I'd ever seen. A man.

And I knew there was something more.