GROUPIE-THINK

I often get asked which female musicians inspired me to become one myself. The question presupposes that I grew up confident of my destiny and only needed a pioneering woman to light my path. In truth, what made music an all-consuming passion was out-of-control teenage hormones. My friends and I would swoon over televised performances of our chosen crushes, groaning melodramatically, “I'm so OBSESSED!” and lusting after the boys playing on the records we loved.

I recall, at age 15, being in a gaggle of autograph hunters crowded around Julian Cope, whose band—the Teardrop Explodes—I had seen a few months earlier. I got him to sign my arm, and then, following the lead of the other girls around me, dared to ask for a kiss. My 1982 diary babbled excitedly: “I got a real smacker! He put his arm around my neck and pressed his lips right against mine! Wow!” I warmed myself with the memory of this thrilling encounter for months after, but was just as struck by the presence of his wife, Dorian, who stood by patiently as he ministered to his fans. (“She’s got black spiky hair and gothy makeup!” I wrote.)