Basically, the government had decided everyone should go to the school closest to where they lived. One negative effect of this decision was that my school, the County High, was now flooded with local oiks, some of whom just wanted to make as much trouble for the “grammar school” boys—those ponces!—as they could. I quickly became a skilled negotiator, friendly to the morons but staying as true as possible to my own tribe, particularly the cultured young ladies in their tight blue skirts. My closest neighborhood friend went by the rather unusual name of David Twist. He was my age (we had been born together, as it were, on neighboring beds at the same hospital), and his mom was one of my mom’s few friends. David had failed his exam, so he was at Woodrush too, which was where he got to know Nick. Even though Nick was two years younger, David divined that Nick and I would get along, so he made the introduction.

In 1973, David Bowie was king, and deservedly so. He had pulled off a remarkable string of successes. The release of his masterpiece, The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars, was just the beginning. He also wrote “All the Young Dudes” for Mott the Hoople, one of his favorite bands, who had split up but regrouped when they heard the song. He produced Transformer for Lou Reed and helped to give Lou his first-ever Top 30 hit, and then, most amazingly of all, he muscled his way into Iggy and the Stooges, adding additional production work and mixing their new-metal colossus, Raw Power. In June 1973, DB was on a massive tour of the United Kingdom, at the end of which he announced his retirement from the stage of London’s Hammersmith Odeon. It was a ploy, of course, as we would all learn in time (it was Ziggy retiring, not David), but I remember hearing it on the 8:30 news, sitting on the backseat of the school bus. It was as if the queen was abdicating her throne, which in a way, I suppose is what it was.

But Nick and I shared some secret knowledge about all this. While the Dame was taking the bows and plaudits, the real power behind the throne was lurking stage left, in peroxide and platforms: Bowie’s lead guitarist, Mick Ronson.

Every girl at school was a fan of Bowie’s that year, so for us, being a Bowie fan was too obvious. We shared a fascination with the subtle and silent Ronson instead, and that served to bind our friendship. The jewels were of Bowie’s making, no doubt, but it was Mick who crafted the settings and made sure those stones were shown in the best possible light. In the serious music journals of recent years, there have been many stories about what Mick brought to the Bowie canon, as if, after years of investigative research and laser scanning, the experts had discovered that it was actually Michelangelo’s assistant, Luigi, who did all of the really good shit on the Sistine Chapel ceiling, while the boss was out to lunch.

Nick had already been to a couple of concerts—yes, this boy was advanced for his age—Gary Glitter and Slade, if memory serves. But I was yet to pop that cherry. So, in the spring of ’74, the two of us lined up outside Birmingham Town Hall on Saturday morning and got a pair of seats to see Ronson’s first solo tour that coming April. We got our tickets, in Row J, for one pound thirty-five each, about two dollars. It was the first time my parents allowed me into the city at night.

Their approval was conditional on Nick’s mom, Sylvia, agreeing to drive us in and pick us up afterward. No need for the night bus.

No one arriving at the Town Hall that night had to pay for a program. We were all given beautiful folders with photos, badges, a biography, a full-color poster, and a flexi disc. Nick and I would play and laugh over that flexi disc for hours, as dear Mick, in his deep Yorkshire brogue, would marvel about love: “Luv . . . luv . . . when you’re in luv . . . it’s . . . it’s the best thing in the WE-ERLD.”

What do I remember most about the concert? Not so much what was happening onstage but off, a foreshadowing, maybe, of the experience I would have in the Brighton Dome just a few years later. The violence of it all; seats getting smashed, all this pushing and shoving, girls screaming, standing on top of each other.