‘Moon the Loon.’ That’s the nickname. The bloke who drove a Rolls-Royce into a swimming pool. Who liked blowing up toilets and trashing hotel rooms. Moon’s life and death is one of pop music’s great cautionary tales. It’s textbook stuff. A man who becomes so grotesque that people forget what a genius he was. Before the drink and drugs and darkness reduce him to a husk. Is the golden age of rock really so golden, when its gods die so young?
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