MATTHEW LINDSAY
Fame Fame Fame – what’s your name?’ said the flier. It was a Bowie quote for a Bowie club night, held weekly at Billy’s. Situated in the heart of Soho underneath a brothel with Rusty Egan as its house DJ, the club attracted a small but fiercely dedicated crowd, heavily made up, outrageously attired, all eager to see and be seen. Among the outcasts and the peacocks were George O’Dowd and his friend Peter Robinson (both to be transformed into Boy George and Marilyn), Siobhan Fahey (Bananarama) and a whole host of aspiring artists and designers. The night was so popular Egan brought in his flatmate, Steve Strange, as gate-keeper.
A few months later, they’d moved on to Tuesday nights at the Blitz wine bar in Covent Garden. Strange still kept guard, more a Pied Piper than your average doorman. Inside Blitz, with its war-time décor (gingham tablecloths, dusty lamp shades, Churchill posters), Bowie (and Roxy) remained at the centre of Egan’s ‘electro-diskow’, joined by the likes of Kraftwerk and Giorgio Moroder soundtracks. Yellow Magic Orchestra and The Human League featured as well as oddities he’d acquired in Berlin (Gina X’s No GDM, Telex). “It didn’t have to be danceable, it had to be right,” said Egan. Bowie’s Warszawa would be followed by Grace Jones’ La Vie En Rose with maybe a burst of Flash Gordon in between.