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July 15, 2003:

What struck me most was their confidence. They were gods, they knew they were gods, they were happy being gods. Their every movement and gesture said so.

Tall boy, flowing blond curls, North of England features. "Actually, I gave up cocaine this morning," he announces, without being asked. The camera clicks, the reporter notes the quote. Tall boy walks out onto the balcony, all blue jeans and turquoise jewelry and cowboy boots. It's the Riot House, that is, the Sunset Hyatt House, Sunset Boulevard, Hollywood, California. It's 1975, and the boy's current album cover flies from the giant billboard across the street like a flag the size of a high-rise building.

"I am a golden god!" , he shouts, to the street, the cars, the billboard. Nobody contradicts him.

Fast-forward. 2003. Nowadays it's painful listening to him. His voice lost its power many years ago, a fact he tries fruitlessly to hide with electronic effects.

Age and death being the way of all things. You know this. As if knowledge could make things less painful.

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