New Musical Express – 10 March 1973
“So there I was on the planet Saturn, dancing naked with my body painted, and this weird craft loaded with strange degenerates landed near me and the next thing I knew I was on stage at Glastonbury.”
If you’ve seen Hawkwind, you’ve seen Stacia. Even if you haven’t seen Hawkwind, you may have seen Stacia. She’s the happy Amazonian figure who boogies in strange garb as the Sonic Assassins do their various numbers on your head, and on a couple of occasions she’s made the party go by whipping off her threads and shaking her impressive physique all over the surrounding scenery.
Sweetheart to millions, the focal point of countless severely ridiculous fantasies…who is Stacia? Well, she’s around six feet tall, possessed of flowing brown hair, massive boobs, a friendly disposition and a sweet nature. She’s a dancer, not a stripper (as many have erroneously assumed) and she does it ’cause she digs it, and ’cause she digs Hawkwind. So how cum a nice girl from Dorset (Dorset on Saturn, that is) starts taking her clothes off at receptions and parties?
Take that first and most legendary manifestation, at WEA’s delightfully extravagant Alice Cooper reception at Chessington Zoo last summer, where the heroine of this particular modern-day fable effortlessly upstaged the hired stripper. Or at the NME’s now infamous Christmas party at London’s Speakeasy club, where, when the hired stripper failed to materialise on time, ol’ Stacia got on and got it off. It appears there was no complex strategy behind these ventures. On each occasion, it appears, she was brutally led into it by unkind souls.
“At the Alice thing, I was just there with a bunch of people, and this stripper came out and she was so straight that we thought something should be done for the freaks. So all the people I was with started saying ‘Go on Stacia, get out there and show ’em’, so I just went and did it.”
All in the interests of freaquality, thus. And as the Space Ritual advances on its inexorable path, Stacia will be there, our very own cosmic dancer, flexing her ways across the icy trailways of the human consciousness, loving to dance.
Kim Fowley hears of her, and places an invitation to join him in sexual congress upon the pages of “I.T.” [International Times] NME awards her a Golden Bra, and she said that she really wanted once to hang on the wall…a gold lame bra with NME on it in blue glitter, p’raps.
But whatever, Stacia has opened up new areas in rock presentation. Stop laughing, she has. While the deranged masterminds of Hawkwind are bent over their mystic engines of destruction, it’s Stacia who provides a visual focus of interest for the band. Who’ll be next to take a dancer on the road.
So rock on, Stacia. You’re a definite contribution to the furtherance of civilisation. How many people can have that said of them?
-Charles Shaar Murray
A Plastic Fragment Hawkwind Press Cutting