Here's an admittedly tangential, but nevertheless true, David Bowie (-ish-esque-y) story.
In autumn of 1975, our band, Flood, was playing a late-Saturday-afternoon matinee at a large college club called Maxwell's in Iowa City, IA. Earlier that afternoon, a number of us had been at the Iowa State-Iowa game and witnessed Iowa win on a last-minute, classic, Statue-of-Liberty play. The stadium was a frenzy and that celebratory mood found its way to the club, fully intact. Maxwell's, a fairly large club (between 200 to 250 seats) --- with a capacious four-foot-high stage, a sunken dance floor, and a large high-wattage, Cerwin-Vega house PA (that rocked) --- was completely full by the start of our first of two matinee sets. Dancers and revelers were well lubricated and definitely interpreted the word "party" as a verb.
By the time we got to the end of the first set, our energy level was at least equal to the room's, and our volume level was probably twice that. We closed that set with Bowie's "Suffragette City," from the "Ziggy Stardust and The Spiders from Mars" LP. We were in the song's raucous ending chorus and, as I had the habit of doing back then, I was rocking back and forth with abandon. Stupidly loud met energized bombast and rarely had either one had it so good.
Then, it happened.
In autumn of 1975, our band, Flood, was playing a late-Saturday-afternoon matinee at a large college club called Maxwell's in Iowa City, IA. Earlier that afternoon, a number of us had been at the Iowa State-Iowa game and witnessed Iowa win on a last-minute, classic, Statue-of-Liberty play. The stadium was a frenzy and that celebratory mood found its way to the club, fully intact. Maxwell's, a fairly large club (between 200 to 250 seats) --- with a capacious four-foot-high stage, a sunken dance floor, and a large high-wattage, Cerwin-Vega house PA (that rocked) --- was completely full by the start of our first of two matinee sets. Dancers and revelers were well lubricated and definitely interpreted the word "party" as a verb.
By the time we got to the end of the first set, our energy level was at least equal to the room's, and our volume level was probably twice that. We closed that set with Bowie's "Suffragette City," from the "Ziggy Stardust and The Spiders from Mars" LP. We were in the song's raucous ending chorus and, as I had the habit of doing back then, I was rocking back and forth with abandon. Stupidly loud met energized bombast and rarely had either one had it so good.
Then, it happened.
In less than the blink of an eye, I lost my balance on a backward rock, then, as I rocked forward, dizzy but aware I was out of control, I kicked out with my foot to catch my now lost balance, whereupon my foot smacked firmly against a strip of 1-inch-high molding that ran along the front edge of the stage. The Laws of Physics being what they are --- constant and immutable --- my forward foot-action resulted in an equal-and-opposite body-action, and I went up and out, feet over hands, into the wild blue yonder and onto the sunken dance floor. As I fell in what I recall being a cross between flying and diving into a sea of startled dancers, my left hand stayed firmly around the neck of my bass even as my right hand tried to find something/someone to grab. My bass's head stock struck the dance floor first (snapping off a small piece of wood that I would never find), my right hand landed second, and the rest of me, faithfully still attached, landed third in what could best be described as, a crumpled heap. Had the Russian judges been there, I would have carded a solid 9.0, easy. I had not had a drop to drink, by the way.
Anyway, and amazingly all the while, the band was still blasting away, with Tommy, Steve, Don, and Paige still singing the chorus. Even as I was helped to my feet, the band was still playing, seemingly oblivious. Even as I found my place on stage and re-tuned my now-sharp A string with the tuning gear that I had just bent on landing, the band was still playing.
I managed to finish the song with the rest of the band, and our version of David Bowie's tune, one of my all-time favorites, and one of Flood's best, might never have sounded better.
It was a small price to pay for rock-and-roll. May David rest in peace. I have always believed, and will continue to believe, he would have appreciated the moment.
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