Motoring down to the West Coast on the trail of The Stooges, I found them in a pink building on Sunset Boulevard in West Hollywood all of them split up in different wings. Iggy and James Williamson on one side and the rest of the band on the opposite side. James all pissed off ‘cause of Bowie's mix of Raw Power too “faggy-sounding” for him. Iggy coiled in his room or a corner of the bare living room, not liking daylight nor the light of the day, having tasted the spotlights and “glam” of the Bowie scene, heart bleeding from the shot of stardomness and reenacting it every night in the streets of L A and the motels of Santa Monica. He being “out” all day long, I was left to be scrutinized and put to the Question by James who was busy playing Mr BIG, Mr Very, Very BIG. Crossing over to the other side, I found Ron who had turned his apartment into a Nazi Kommandantur; all the props left from the last gig with Iggy. The great news was that, wi...