I n 2017 Christopher Owens was at a crossroads. After a decade spent making records and touring them – initially with cult indie band Girls , then as a solo artist – he suddenly found himself without plans. His fiancee and partner of seven years suggested they could start a family.
Owens was starting to like the idea of being “the best stay at home dad” when he got on his 1982 Honda MB5 motorbike. The crash wasn’t his fault. The SUV that pulled out was making an illegal turn.
Owens heard screaming, saw blue skies and wondered what was going on. Slowly he realised he’d been knocked down – the screaming was coming from the woman who’d hit him. Although in pain, his immediate instinct was to hug her and tell her he was fine.
Owens staggered home to recuperate. “I denied the ambulance on the scene,” he says today, reliving the moment from his home in New York City. “I must have had so much adrenaline because the next day I woke up and it felt so much worse.
My legs were black and blue and I think I’d broken a bone in my foot. I should have gone to hospital but the truth is I was terrified of the money I might have to pay. I didn’t know what the bill would be like.
” Such is the precarity of life in the US for the countless musicians without health insurance. What Owens, 45, didn’t know was this was just the start of his nightmare. While he was bedbound, his fiancee ended their relationship.
Unable to walk – it was a week before he could get up again.