I could make it all worthwhile as a rock ‘n’ roll star…
Author Peter Haywood (That’s him posing as Ziggy above) has been in touch with details of his self-published book, Catch A Falling Star. Here’s a brief synopsis:
The novel is set in Melbourne in the early 1980?s, and tells the tale of a Bowie-obsessed young man named Nicholas (Nicky Nova) Walpole, who moves into a run-down share house in Lygon Street with a bunch of musician friends, forms a band, and dreams of following in his hero’s footsteps by becoming a world famous rock ?n? roll star. But is the band as hell-bent on fame and fortune as their singer?
Here’s a few excerpts from Catch A Falling Star…
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Then when I turned twelve, my head was spun around seven ways to Sunday by David Bowie when Ziggy Stardust first burst onto the scene. It?s often been said that Bowie didn?t have fans so much as acolytes and that was definitely the case with me. At that age, I think I only understood on a subliminal level that here was an artist who spoke directly to my concerns by going against the prevailing phony rock?n?roll conceit of the time that stardom was un-cool and nothing to aspire to.
He didn?t sing about overthrowing the government. His politics were only about personal liberation through self re-invention, inspiring a generation not to “get off on that revolution stuff” because “it?s just a drag, too many snags.” Furthermore, he looked bizarre and otherworldly, which immediately struck a chord (an E major I think) with kids like me who had always felt alienated and strange. All I knew was that I craved stardom, fame, adulation, and acceptance.
When Bowie had last toured Australia in 1978, I was a wide-eyed seventeen year old at my very first concert, and I remember spotting them all. There was a smattering of Ziggy and Aladdin clones, their mascara and hair dye running in the driving rain of that damp November night at the MCG. A cluster of emaciated suburban soul boys, looking as if they?d just fallen to earth, and landed on Moonee Ponds, and Ferntree Gully.
A fair contingent had opted for the French waiter look of the Thin White Duke period. Their hair was slicked back, strangled into place with copious amounts of gel, and painted traffic cone orange. And naturally, an obligatory packet of Gitanes protruded ever so slightly from their waistcoat pockets (I myself had briefly opted for this particular brand of cigarette, at least until the potent little filter-less marvels began to play merry hell with my throat.)
Others still had chosen the then-current jaunty sailor look, complete with nautical cap, and five-pleated trousers. These voluminous pants never seemed to hang off their hips with the same sense of style, and grace as they did from the walking clotheshorse named Bowie. Instead, they seemed to sag and crumple beneath already expanding waistlines, as gravity tugged them inevitably towards the ground.
?But whichever look was adopted by us committed copycats, the one unifying factor was that we were all outsider kids, suburban misfits and freaks. Outcasts from our peers at school and work alike, we found solace in dressing up in natty threads, and role-playing.
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Thanx for that Peter. Catch A Falling Star is available online at