Stuart Adamson of Big Country, Skids fame. Avid Scottish football and British motorcycling supporter. Notorious depressive and alcoholic who wound up hanging himself in a hotel room, for the maid to find. Met the legend backstage when I was 25 and not yet a notorious journalist. Had trouble finding words, at first. He’s asking ME questions. Adamson was extraordinarily gracious, the kind of artist who was genuinely touched by the notion that someone would buy a ticket to see him perform. Fifteen years gone this December. There are still parts of the world where mention of his name prompts a look to the sky or to the ground, and I’d like to visit them.
