No Encore!
Page 1
A POST HILL PRESS BOOK
No Encore!:
Musicians Reveal Their Weirdest, Wildest, Most Embarrassing Gigs
© 2019 by Drew Fortune
All Rights Reserved
ISBN: 978-1-64293-084-9
ISBN (eBook): 978-1-64293-085-6
Interior design and composition by Greg Johnson, Textbook Perfect
Author photo by Shane Cudahy
This is a work of nonfiction. All people, locations, events, and situations are portrayed to the best of each contributor’s memory.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system,
or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author and publisher.
Post Hill Press
New York • Nashville
posthillpress.com
Published in the United States of America
For Mom and Dad
“It is not the critic who counts, nor the man who points how the strong man stumbled or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena; whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly…who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, and spends himself in a worthy cause; who, at best, knows the triumph of high achievement; and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.”
—Theodore Roosevelt, 1910
“All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.”
—Tolstoy
“The Boston gig has been cancelled. I wouldn’t worry about it though. It’s not a big college town.”
—This Is Spinal Tap
Contents
Introduction
1: Alice Cooper
2: Lou Barlow (Dinosaur Jr./Sebadoh)
3: Dean Ween (Ween)
4: Blothar (formerly Beefcake the Mighty: GWAR lead singer)
5: Talib Kweli
6: Dave Navarro (Jane’s Addiction/Red Hot Chili Peppers)
7: Shirley Manson (Garbage)
8: The Act of Performance: A short essay by Andrew W.K.
9: Zakk Wylde (Ozzy Osbourne/Black Label Society)
10: Debbie Gibson
11: James Williamson (The Stooges)
12: John Bell (Widespread Panic)
13: Jane Wiedlin (the Go-Go’s)
14: Darryl McDaniels (Run-D.M.C.)
15: Dee Snider (Twisted Sister)
16: Zac Carper (FIDLAR)
17: Jared Swilley (Black Lips)
18: Nathan Williams (Wavves)
19: Terry Ellis (En Vogue)
20: Mark Mothersbaugh (DEVO)
21: Paul Oakenfold (DJ)
22: Peter Frampton
23: Wayne Kramer (MC5)
24: King Khan (King Khan and the Shrines, The King Khan & BBQ Show, Louder Than Death, The Almighty Defend-ers, Tandoori Knights)
25: Dave King (Flogging Molly)
26: Mike Shinoda (Linkin Park)
27: Jennifer Herrema (Royal Trux)
28: Big Daddy Kane
29: Ian Anderson (Jethro Tull)
30: Tunde Adebimpe (TV on the Radio)
31: Al Jourgensen (Ministry)
32: Robin Wilson (Gin Blossoms)
33: Joel Gion (The Brian Jonestown Massacre)
34: Courtney Taylor-Taylor (The Dandy Warhols)
35: Sean Yseult (White Zombie)
36: Sammy Hagar (Van Halen)
37: Paul Hartnoll (Orbital)
38: Mark Foster (Foster the People)
39: Genesis P-Orridge (Throbbing Gristle/Psychic TV)
40: David Yow (Jesus Lizard)
41: Dave Pirner (Soul Asylum)
42: Stephan Jenkins (Third Eye Blind)
43: Buzz Osborne (Melvins)
44: Chopmaster J (Digital Underground)
45: Kenny Loggins
46: Brent Smith (Shinedown)
47: Gary LeVox (Rascal Flatts)
48: Stewart Copeland (The Police)
49: Dan Aykroyd (Blues Brothers)
50: Robert Pollard (Guided By Voices)
51: MOBY
52: Wyclef Jean
53: Brandon Boyd (Incubus)
54: Merle Allin (GG Allin and the Murder Junkies)
55: Jon Wurster (Superchunk/Bob Mould Band)
56: Nick Hexum (311)
57: Louis Pérez (Los Lobos)
58: Don Brewer (Grand Funk Railroad)
59: Lita Ford
60: Josh Freese
61: Violent J/Shaggy 2 Dope (Insane Clown Posse)
Acknowledgments
About the Author
INTRODUCTION
In 1997, I flew to Fort Worth, Texas, from Chicago to see my first real concert. It was the Rolling Stones on their Bridges to Babylon Tour—a bloated juggernaut featuring “up-and-comers,” including the Dave Matthews Band, the Smashing Pumpkins, and something called Matchbox 20. I was only fifteen but was in a hardcore Stones/Bob Dylan phase. I thought myself a true gourmand, while my peers were swept up in Backstreet Boys and Hanson mania. The show was at the Texas Motor Speedway, an outdoor Mecca of beer and octane, on a hot November day.
After the Smashing Pumpkins limped offstage, berated by liquored-up Texans who were in no mood for openers, Matchbox 20 confidently took the stage. This was before the band’s debut Yourself Or Someone Like You went on to sell over fifteen million copies and before “3AM” became an MTV staple. They were sitting ducks. I don’t remember a thing about the Stones’ performance, but I do remember the hatred inflicted upon front man Rob Thomas and company. Cheap beer rained down on my head as overheated Stones fans threw cups, candy, hot dogs, and boxes of popcorn toward the stage, screaming all manner of obscenities at the fledgling band. This next part I swear is true, even through the fog of memory. Rob Thomas stopped the show, gripped the mic, and yelled, “Fuck you! We’re gonna be the biggest fucking band in the world!” In 2000, “Bent” hit number one, and Thomas had his revenge. I’m not sure if “Smooth” was an attempt to inflict further torture on the world that had wronged him, but since he declined to participate in this book, I’ll never know.
I became a concert junkie that day and spent the better part of my twenties traveling the country seeing shows. Coming of age in the festival era, and with the advent of social media, the disaster concerts, and behind-the-scenes debauchery, continues to have a perverse stranglehold on us. I started this project with the idea of calling it Rain or Shine, with the artists recalling their best and worst concerts. Early on, I realized that musicians had no trouble recalling their worst moments and recounted them with a mixture of honor and humor, like a grizzled war vet on open mic night. The best concerts all kind of blurred together: “Well, my family was there, so it was really special.” Or, “I had just gotten engaged, so I was really happy that night.” It was sweet, but not the reason you watched Mötley Crüe’s Behind the Music twenty times.
I reached out to my friend Mickey Melchiondo, aka Dean Ween, in 2014, about sharing nightmare gigs for the now revamped project, No Encore! He wrote his own chapter, which went mildly viral after he posted it on his blog, and I realized I was on to something. From there, I reached out to the craziest artists I could think of from across the globe for phoners, aiming to make this book as NC-17 as possible. A few artists wrote their own chapters, which has been noted in the text. I also courted artists whose stories I felt like I had never heard, who always fascinated me, or who never made splashy headlines. I wanted to showcase true lifers and those that have overcome addiction, poverty, flameout, and soldiered on. My goal has always been to make this book a celebration of perseverance, the burning desire that keeps artists com
ing back after experiences that would cause others to hang up their microphones or guitars for a life in music publicity, or, God forbid, music journalism.
So, let’s kick out the jams, blow some speakers, and party like we’re seventeen again. I love you all.
—Drew
1
ALICE COOPER
Let’s face it: This book wouldn’t exist without Alice Cooper. The Godfather of shock, Cooper built on the bare bones scare tactics of Screamin’ Jay Hawkins and upped the ante with on-stage decapitation, baby doll mutilation, one unlucky chicken, and a python with IBS.
This book is basically about every one of my shows. My show has never been anything but outrageous and crazy. In my fifty years of doing this, with as many theatrics as we have, there’s definitely been Spinal Tap moments. I’ve always been setting myself up for those moments. Props just don’t work all the time. One time, I had a twenty-foot cannon that would shoot an Alice dummy across the stage into a net. In rehearsal, it worked great. The idea was they would put me in the cannon, and I would get out the back without the crowd seeing it, and the dummy would get shot out the cannon. I think this was at Three Rivers Stadium in Pittsburgh, and the cannon went off on cue. The dummy, however, didn’t get shot out, and it just hung there over the edge of the cannon. The audience didn’t know if it was a joke, and we decided to play it as a joke. I pulled the dummy out and kicked it. Not my finest moment, but those are the things that can happen.
I guarantee nobody can beat this story. This was in the late ’80s, and we were at the House of Blues in Los Angeles. This was on the Alice Cooper Carnival Tour, and I had all the roadies dressed up as psychotic, demented clowns. The Sex Pistols were in the audience, KISS came down for the show, and it was packed. It came time to bring the snake on stage, and I know what kind of reaction the snake gets. This time, everyone was laughing. I was trying to figure it out because no one ever laughs at this point in the show. I suddenly realized that the snake was crapping all over the side of my clothes, and it was the most vile smell you can imagine.
The thing eats dead rats, and it smelled like death. There were piles of snake crap all over the stage. If you can imagine the size of crap that comes from a Great Dane or a small horse, that’s what it’s like. I’m telling you, there was piles of the stuff. The clowns came out to clean it up, and it was so vile that they started retching and throwing up on the piles of crap. So, now I had a snake that was still crapping all over me, piles of crap on the stage, and a bunch of psychotic clowns were puking into it, making this horrible sludge. We somehow finished the show, and Johnny Rotten came up to me and said, “That was the greatest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. That was the best theater I’ve ever seen.” Embarrassed, I said, “Yes, we do this every night. I know just where to touch the snake to make him crap.” I had to burn my stage costume. I could not get the smell out of it.
The funny thing was that it still worked theatrically. This was before the internet, so I think most of the audience just believed it truly was part of the show. You can’t just get vomiting clowns on stage as a regular part of the show. Maybe you can, but that night still stands out for me. That was the only time I ever had a malfunction with the snake. We knew how to handle it. We knew that when it’s hungry, the eyes glaze over. They let you know that it’s time to feed. The bigger the snake, the longer time it goes between meals. A twelve-foot snake only eats about once a month. We’d give him two or three rats a month, and there was never any danger of it constricting on me.
Snakes are also deaf, so the sound of the show doesn’t make them anxious. They’re also mostly blind, so the tongue is their smelling apparatus, and it seeks heat. The stage is hot, they feel the vibration of the drums and bass, which doesn’t bother them, and they’re very happy on stage with that heat. The only thing they react to is adrenaline, which is the same with dogs. If you walk into a yard and a dog starts barking, you don’t realize that they’re smelling adrenaline. Snakes and dogs smell it, and it immediately puts them on guard. Since I was comfortable with the snake, it wasn’t nervous. But if someone picked it up and was scared out of their mind, that would be a different story.
We used to do the “hanging” stunt, with the gallows, and it worked without fail for years. The stunt was that a piano wire came down the back of the rope that the audience doesn’t see. I would wear a vest, that connected under my legs, under my stage clothes. That vest absorbed the shock. There was a little tiny loop, so that when they put the rope around my neck, the executioner would thread the piano wire through the loop. The wire was an inch shorter than the rope, so that when it dropped, the rope never really touched my neck. It looked great and like I was really being strangled, but the piano wire stopped it. It worked every night for two years, and we were in London doing a rehearsal. After 200 shows, the piano wire finally snapped, and the rope hit my neck. We all have a survival button in our heads, and my button told me to snap my head back. When I did that, the rope slipped over my chin, rather than leaving me hanging. I hit the floor hard and knocked myself out. The next night, I had piano wire that was three times stronger. The show had to go on.
The stage guillotine is a forty-pound blade that misses my head by six inches every night, and it’s razor sharp. Everyone thinks that it’s made of Styrofoam or rubber. The only way that you can make the stunt look really good is to make sure that it’s as close to my head as possible. Every year, I keep telling the guys to make it closer. Don’t try this at home. It’s something you have to learn how to do. That’s when Doctor Adrenaline kicks in, and that’s the secret to my longevity. I need that adrenaline to keep me going. One time I put a sword through my leg. That really would have hurt had it not happened on stage. I knew it went through a muscle, but the adrenaline had kicked in. As soon as the show was over and the adrenaline wore off, I could not stand up. I just poured a bottle of whiskey over the wound because they wanted to give me a tetanus shot, and I wasn’t about to go for that at all. I figured it was what James Bond would have done.
Three things are guaranteed, and I tell this to everyone that joins the Alice show. “I guarantee you’ll get paid. I guarantee you’ll see the world. I guarantee you’ll get stitches.”
2
LOU BARLOW
(Dinosaur Jr./Sebadoh)
As a founding member of Dinosaur Jr., Lou Barlow made three records with the band before a steady rift with guitarist/vocalist J Mascis turned toxic. Barlow’s band Sebadoh, a plaintive, down-tempo project that churned just below the mainstream surface, was deemed ready for the big time in 1994. Remember kids: speed kills.
I have lots of really bad shows, where I freaked out, was too drunk, or stormed off the stage after a couple songs. The most catastrophic show was just after Sebadoh had done the Bakesale record. We were kinda popular in England and were slated to play the Reading Festival. We had a pretty good time slot too, sometime around early evening, and we were playing one of the main stages. The record label set up a bunch of stuff for us to do during the day, and one of them was a signing tent. We sat in a little tent on folding chairs, along with the band Pavement. It was a really long line of kids waiting to have their records or whatever signed, and I started drinking. I was drinking huge cans of Stella Artois and probably worked my way through three or four cans, which is a lot with those British tall-boys. We knew Pavement, so we were just laughing and having a good time. Afterwards, I stood up and immediately thought, “Oh…I’m drunk. Shit.”
We were set to play in about an hour and a half, and I was stumbling around. I wasn’t falling down, but I definitely knew I wasn’t close to being at my best, and this was easily going to be the biggest show we’d ever played. There could have been close to 10,000 people at the show. I’m not positive, but it was definitely the biggest. In England, people really pay attention to up-and-coming bands. We were being touted as the new big thing. “Here’s your time to shine, Sebadoh! You got the great time slot at the NME Tent. Don’t fuck it up!” I was walki
ng around, getting very nervous, and I ran into this guy from one of the festival bands. I’m not going to say his name, but he was a really nice guy. I told him I was feeling a little woozy, and he said, “I got just the thing man.”
He suggested we do some speed and that it would straighten me out into a sober-ish realm where I could play decently. I had never done speed. Up to that point, I was strictly a beer and pot guy. I had done coke maybe once or twice, and I had no idea how I would react to speed. We ducked into a tent with his bandmates, who were all super friendly people. He chopped me up, what I now realize, was way too much speed. It was a fuckin’ line bigger than my pinky. He gives me this big, fat line, hands me a straw, and says casually, “Here ya go!” I snorted it and thought, “OK! Thanks!” It was a really weird time, as it was shortly after Kurt Cobain died. Sebadoh had been scheduled to tour with Nirvana before Kurt died, and there was this pall hanging over the whole festival. Hole was playing, and Courtney was just on the loose on the festival grounds. Evan Dando was there, and it was prime, mid-nineties, dark, druggy days.
So, I had done way too much speed, but didn’t know it yet. I walked on stage, we started the set, and I realized I couldn’t even fucking play. My body constricted to the point where I could barely form chords. Sebadoh was a pretty elemental band. It was really simple stuff, and at our best, we just weren’t going to deliver on that stage, with a huge crowd. We just weren’t a dynamic, technical band at that point. We were this homespun thing, and we had brought along a good friend of ours to drum, but he wasn’t really a drummer per se. I was acutely aware of the limitations of the band, because in those festival situations, I would always check out other bands, thinking, “Oh shit, we’re still really rinky-dink.” At least instrumentally, compared to a lot of what was happening at the time. We lacked that heavy, post-grunge thing, or the intricate Britpop of a band like Blur.