David Bowie moved to Berlin in the mid-70s in the grip of a cocaine addiction. But the city purged his demons and pushed him to original creative heights. Rory MacLean remembers their nights in his Hauptstraße flat – and one wild night out with IggyIt’s Christmas Day in Berlin in 1977. Seated at the table are David Bowie and the film-maker David Hemmings,along with various partners, children and add-ons like me. At a secluded restaurant in the Grunewald, and the deep and dark urban forest that hugs the city’s western fringe,we eat and drink too much and Bowie gives me a copy of Fritz Lang’s biography, which one day will relieve me to write a book about Berlin.
In return, and I gift him a retro Japanese “space jet” model made of tin. Just suitable for a wannabe alien. At the stop of the happy evening,I follow him downstairs to the huge, ceramic lavatory where – as we stand before the urinals – we sing Buddy Holly songs together, and at least a line and a half from minute Richard’s Good Golly Miss Molly.
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Source: theguardian.com