I’ve been quiet again, but with better reason this time. I’ve had my groupie gals staying for the week, and have been immersed in rock talk for most of that time. Charley had the most incredible book of photos by the legendary Mick Rock, including several of Mr Bryan Ferry which nearly had me on the floor in swoonfulness….
He seems to be popping up all over the place [and in conversations] far more frequently at the moment, or I’m just noticing it more, and it’s all leading me to realise that I have one hell of a serious crush on him.
I mean, what’s not to crush on?
I’m afraid I’m a sucker for the [dark] floppy hair and blue eyes combination. Add to that the sophisticated (even at the height of glam rock) dress sense, the slightly odd dancing, the fact that he appears to have been born middle-aged [and has therefore never aged], and then there’s that voice. The voice of God, as someone put it. Oh yeah….
He really is a sort of God. He’s always exceedingly cool, without ever chasing such a thing. Far too much effort I’m sure, he leaves that kind of thing to Mr Bowie. And I love that quote about how Roxy Music wanted to redecorate hotel rooms rather than trash them. No wonder my beloved Durans worship the BryanGod so wholeheartedly.
And at 63, I definitely still would. I’ve even got an Antony Price dress hanging up in my wardrobe for such an occasion. I’m not actually sure it should ever leave my closet for anything less than Bryan Ferry.