by Drew Fortune
They flew me to New York, and I met a booking agent. They said, “Do you want to travel the world?” They had all these shows lined up. I said yes, even though I didn’t have a band yet. I asked an old friend if he wanted to play drums, and we just went—nonstop. Nine months later, we’re still on this first tour. I was completely running myself into the ground, partying every single night. There was a US run, then Europe, and I was getting drugs everywhere that I went. We finally got to Barcelona, and I found more drugs. I had a friend there that had a pill connect, and backstage they had Jäger on tap. At the beginning of the UK tour, I had gone to buy coke with a guy I knew in London. He went in with my money and came back out with a giant bag of Special K. I was like, “I don’t want K! Why did you buy all this?” He said, “He didn’t have coke, so this is what you get.” There’s no receipt or return policy when it comes to drugs, so now I had all this K.
Primavera was my biggest show at the time, and I don’t remember playing it. I was on ecstasy, K, a shitload of alcohol, and whatever pills I was given. The last thing I sort of remember was being in a hot tub at a hotel called the Princess. The dealer for the festival was sitting next to me. He was the guy who would service all of the bands and their drug needs. He had pills, and that’s the last moment I remember. There were probably 15,000 people watching me, which was probably their first look into what Wavves was, and I couldn’t even talk. I couldn’t sing and forgot everything. My drummer was pissed because I was fucking up and poured a beer on my head. I broke the mic and the mic stand. I think they just ended up cutting the set, shutting it off because it was such a mess. The audience threw shoes at me.
The next day, I cancelled the rest of the tour. I still had about four or five weeks left. That flight back home was insane. They thought about turning the plane around because I was sweating bullets and puking. I was coming down so hard. I went home and slept for about a month. When I woke up, Pitchfork and all of these publications that had been hyping me up, saying that I was a genius and a prodigy, were writing “Primavera Meltdown. Career over.” It had only been a day, but they had turned a 180, gone polar opposite on me. A month later I released a song, and everybody was back on the train again.
There was another time in Germany. Our drummer at that time was antagonizing the crowd. It was a really small room, and we were all packed in. I think we had drunk too much during the day, and our drummer had gotten really pissed about a group of kids who were heckling us. He got completely naked, stood up from behind his kit, and started calling them Nazis. We had to get out of there pretty quickly after that. A couple nights later, I fell off the stage. The show was a complete mess. We went downstairs in the club and continued to party. In Europe, a lot of the backstage areas are downstairs in these cellars. I was playing monkey bars with the pipes and ripped one from the ceiling.
This awful sludge started pouring out, and we realized it was the sewer pipe. We filled the entire backstage with raw sewage. We might have been in Austria. None of us really knew where we were. The promoter ran in and started screaming at us in some foreign language. He was staring at this massive puddle of human feces, which was getting bigger. We grabbed our stuff and just peeled out of there. Needless to say, that guy never invited us back.
What really did me in was the touring. Nobody told me, “Hey, they’re going to completely run you into the ground.” I didn’t know about setting boundaries with booking agents and labels. To them, all you are is a dollar sign.
19
TERRY ELLIS
(En Vogue)
I think we could all use a quick break from drugs and debauchery, so I present the tamest, and cutest, chapter in the book. I grew up with En Vogue as MTV/radio background score to my life, as I’m sure many of you, dear readers, did as well. Enjoy!
We weren’t the wild and crazy girls, but I do have a good story. It was 1993, and we were on tour supporting Luther Vandross. One of the first things he said to us was that we weren’t allowed to wear primary colors. That was the big one but also nothing too glittery or glitzy. We’re like, “Uh…alright Luther.” He never even gave an explanation for it. The only thing that we could come up with was that since we went on before him, it might seem like we were outshining him in the fashion department. But how could we do that? He was Luther Vandross! He was the headliner, and we were the opening act. It was our duty to follow the rules. He was very flashy and well-dressed on stage, which was kinda his thing. Luther and his backup singers looked absolutely stunning every night.
Before we hooked up with Luther, we had about two or three wardrobe changes during a show. When he laid down the rules, it changed the whole trajectory and flow of our live show. We were totally stumped as to what to wear. We had a show coming up in Houston, which was my hometown. Maxine [Jones] and I decided we were gonna break the rules because we were so drab on stage under the new orders. We all were wearing one boring, non-primary color or flashy outfit the entire set. Once we got to Houston, I said to Maxine, “You know what? We’re in my hometown, and we gotta go out looking fabulous tonight!”
Me and Maxine hit the town, with only about two hours to go before we needed to be at the venue. We get to the Galleria, which was the huge shopping mall in Houston. At first, we were playing it safe, running around looking for halfway decent, non-primary clothes. We couldn’t find anything because you can’t really get around primary colors! We were shopping for the other two girls in the group as well, so we were literally sprinting from store to store. Max and I finally got to the Gautier store, but you’re not gonna believe what happened.
We run right up to the glass doors of the store, but the doors are locked and the store looks closed. We start pounding on the doors like crazy people, and guess who hears the commotion and stares right at us? Luther Vandross and his people. He had closed the whole store down so he could shop. Max and I are standing outside the doors like deer in headlights, just peering in through the windows. We slowly started backing away because we were just gonna make a run for it.
They open the doors, and Max and I tried to play it off. “Oh, hi Luther! La-de-da, we’re just out shopping!” We walked into the store, and it’s Luther, his wardrobe guy, and another stylist. They knew exactly what we were up to, and they were getting the biggest kick out of it. Luther says, “Hi ladies! Just out shopping, huh?” We’re like, “Oh yeah, we’re just kinda looking around.” Luther says, “What are you shopping for?” He’s already nailed us, so we’re like, “Oh, nothing special. Maybe just some shoes.” Luther’s wardrobe guy says, “Better not see you in any primary colors tonight!”
We found some amazing boots for Dawn in Gautier, which had to be inspected by Luther and his team. They ended up telling us that we couldn’t get her the boots. We left and rushed to the venue. When it was showtime, we had to walk down a different hallway to get to the stage. We weren’t allowed to pass Luther’s dressing room door. As we’re walking, Luther’s wardrobe guy was waiting for us in the hallway. He was leaning against the wall, his legs were crossed, and he had one finger on his cheek. You can picture it, right?
He says, “Well ladies, you all look amazing. And look, there’s the boots!” What he didn’t know was that we had bought the boots for Dawn after we were told we couldn’t. It’s funny now, but I can assure you, it was torturous at the time. We weren’t really offended, because we were so in awe of Luther and were huge fans. We just laughed it off and walked right on by the wardrobe guy. That was a big tour for us, and we were just really happy to have been invited. Like I said, we were boring. We went right back to the hotel after the show. We never went to any parties, and we don’t drink. Not being able to buy boots was about the worst thing that happened to us!
20
MARK MOTHERSBAUGH
(DEVO)
As front man for DEVO, Mothersbaugh introduced flowerpot hats and janitorial jumpsuits to the post-punk, New Wave scene of the late ’70s and early ’80s. Too arty for the punks and too weird for lasting main
stream success, Mothersbaugh has always been an oddball in a weird, beautiful world.
I’ve got a good drug story involving Andy Warhol. This goes back to 1977, prior to DEVO’s first album recording. That whole summer we had been playing our first gigs at Max’s Kansas City and CBGB, so things were starting to heat up for the band. This woman that was an A&R rep at Columbia called me and introduced herself. Her name was Susan Bloom, and I knew who that was because that summer in New York, after the gigs, I’d just watch TV. The only thing that was on late night in those days, before cable, was UHF, which was public access. Al Goldstein, the owner of Screw magazine, had a show called the Blue Channel. It was pretty wild and weird, with porn stars and underground New York celebrities.
The host of the show was Susan Bloom, who had this really sexy Brooklyn accent, big, beautiful curls, and large, pendulous breasts. I was in my early twenties and had only lived in Akron, Ohio, so she was the epitome of beauty and celebrity. She called up, and after inquiring if I had any plans that night, asked if I’d like to double date with her, along with Andy Warhol and Michael Jackson. I agreed to it, and she picked me up at my hotel room. She changed into this amazing dress and left her clothes, so I was thinking, “This is gonna be a great night.” She immediately tried to find something for me to wear. After picking through my suitcase, she reluctantly decided the nicest thing I had was my janitor’s uniform, which DEVO always wore on stage.
She took me to Studio 54, which was my first time, and I wasn’t familiar with it at all. There was the big dance floor and another room where they served drinks. They had a little VIP section, which was like a sunken floor below a couple steps. It was roped off, and that’s where we met Andy and Michael. Warhol had also brought this young man that looked like Li’l Abner. He was this shiny, buff kid wearing OshKosh B’Gosh overalls with no shirt. Andy was rubbing the kid’s chest under the overalls, and the kid kept whispering to me, “Andy’s gonna make me a star.” Michael Jackson was very quiet the whole time. He was still black in those days and had a big Afro. He had just done The Wiz and was wearing a suede, Big Apple cap with patched, bellbottom pants, and enormous shoes. I wasn’t into the outfit, but I loved his music.
I was wearing my stupid janitor outfit and looked like the custodian that had come to clean up vomit. I was feeling really self-conscious because everyone had these flashy disco outfits. All the music sounded like Donna Summer, and I couldn’t differentiate one song from the next. Everyone in the VIP section was famous except me, and all these people keep rushing over to fawn all over Andy and Michael. They had all kinds of drugs, and cocaine vials were being passed around. The coke never made it down to me, but I wouldn’t have known what to do with it anyway. I might have eaten it off the spoon.
A joint started going around, and Michael was sitting next to me. The joint came to him, and he just held it for a few seconds, staring at it quizzically. He handed it to me, and I’m from Ohio, where we didn’t have any money. If someone had marijuana, it was a big deal. We’d go over to the house of the person with “killer weed,” and there’d be a joint the size of a toothpick. We’d all drink a bunch of wine first, so when we’d get this tiny little joint, we’d be “enlightened.” You’d take a hit, and someone would say, “Are you feeling it?” I’d be like, “I think so? Pass me some more wine.” When the joint came to me in the VIP section, I hit it like I would have that tiny joint. I started coughing like crazy, and it was clear I was a total rube.
I tried passing it to Susan, but she was talking to someone really passionately, and I didn’t want to interrupt. I took another massive hit and started coughing and drooling all over again. I tried to pass it to Michael, but he just waved me off. Susan suddenly wanted to dance. I said, “Oh, wait a minute. I don’t know how.” She tried telling me that I dance on stage, but I had to tell her that I was just making up all those moves in the moment. Gerry [Casele] and I did make our own choreography, but it was all rigid and stiff. It looked nothing like what everybody was doing on the dance floor. They all had these rubbery, liquid movements and looked great. It all looked very determined and professional, and it made me feel like an alien.
Susan grabbed my hand anyway and led me to the dance floor. I stood on the edge of the floor, and she went ahead and started doing all the disco moves with her friends. The lighting systems in those days were still really rudimentary. While this was one of the world’s preeminent clubs, it still looked kind of ramshackle. They had this thing that was a cow jumping over a moon, a huge coke spoon, and all this crazy stuff. Above the disco floor, they had strobe lights and these big, colored light bulbs that looked like the signals at the start of a drag race. There were about a dozen of those rigs in the ceiling, and they were motorized so they could turn or lower toward the dance floor in a circle. They were rotating right over the heads of the dancers.
It was as cool as it got in the world of light shows back then. The light guy was really going at it, and making the lights do crazy stuff. He was spinning them really fast, and they were only attached by a thin wire to the ceiling. It started to look like a giant, multi-colored weed whacker was spinning just above everyone’s heads, and I was starting to get very nervous. He brought them so low at one point, that I noticed people were getting whacked in the head. Blood was flying everywhere, and people were screaming. It was complete pandemonium. The song was playing way too loud, and I just stood there frozen on the edge of the dance floor. Susan was looking back at me smiling, just dancing like crazy. She was reaching out to me and wiggling her fingers, trying to coax me onto the floor.
She kept motioning for me to come out and dance, and I thought because she was in the middle of the floor, she couldn’t see all these people getting clipped with the lights. People were slipping and sliding in all the blood, doing these crazy dance moves. I screamed out to her, “Get off the floor! It’s a bloodbath!” She finally came over to me, asking what the hell I was screaming. I blurted out, “A bunch of people just got hit with those light fixtures and everyone’s bleeding!” She seemed confused, and when I looked back out at the dance floor, everything was normal again. All the blood was gone, and there were no corpses on the floor. People were just dancing to some stupid disco song. She looked at me and said, “You didn’t smoke any of that PCP, did you?” I said, “What’s PCP?” She groaned, and hurried me back to the VIP section.
She said to Andy, “I think he smoked PCP. I better get him back to his hotel room.” Andy just said, “Oh. How interesting.” She got me in a cab and back to the hotel. She pushed me into my hotel room, screaming, “Good luck! I’ll be back tomorrow for my clothes!” I just laid in the bed, completely rigid, frying. That was my first date with Michael Jackson and my only date with Andy Warhol and Susan Bloom.
21
PAUL OAKENFOLD
(DJ)
Arguably the progenitor of EDM music and culture, Oakenfold—with more than three hundred hikers—made the thirty-seven-mile hike through Nepal’s remote villages and the Himalayan Mountains for a live concert, spinning a set at the base camp of Mount Everest.
Mt. Everest was definitely the craziest gig I’ve ever done. We had been working on it for a couple of years. It was really difficult to pull off because there were so many moving parts. We needed permission to do it. The time of year, with respect to the climbers, was crucial. Of the four charities I chose to do it for, two were local charities benefitting Nepalese children in the Himalayas because of the earthquake. The other two charities were London-based, representing youth and music. I didn’t really want to talk about the project until proof of concept, because I’ve never hiked in my life. I’ve never slept in a tent. I’m a city boy. Preparing was hard for me. I trained for five months, hiking and working out. I had to learn breathing techniques because you’re so high up. I asked how the equipment would hold up at that altitude, and nobody had any idea because it had never been done before. At night, it was sixteen below. It came together, and God willing, we pulled it off. I�
�ve only been back a few days, and I’m still exhausted. I’m physically and mentally drained.
I’ve never been a smoker. I drink, but I stopped drinking and got into a solid routine. I literally had never hiked before, so I had to knuckle down and focus. We raised a lot of money for the charities, and the Sherpas are incredible people. You talk about hard work. I had a backpack, but these guys were carrying equipment and everyone’s bags, packs, tents, and food. They’re born on these hills, and they’re really nice, good people. It was a pleasure to work with them. After the earthquake, tourism severely dropped. Hopefully I proved that it’s safe to go back up, and hopefully people will go on the trek of their lives. It really is an amazing adventure, and I’m so happy that I did it. If I can do it, I honestly think anyone can do it, if they have the will and determination. It will change your life in so many good, positive ways. Why shouldn’t we all experience something like that?
I never thought that I’d be talking about that week, thirty years on, and the birth of electronic music as it’s known today. We came back from Ibiza and started the whole thing. I was just a young kid inspired by the music I heard and inspired by the environment. I didn’t want to leave it in one place. I wanted to continue to have those wonderful moments and feelings. That’s really what it was all about. The generation of today is still doing it. They’re still listening to the DJ, feeling the music and jumping up and down. It’s the same thing as when we started it. The scene has grown up though. Electronic music has grown into a billion-dollar industry. We’ve done all the hard work, and we’re here to stay. Look at the work of some of my colleagues who have big, commercial pop hits, like Calvin Harris, Diplo, Skrillex, and Avicii. They really know how to make great music, share it with people, and have become very successful.
