CHRIS PENKET H (Swingin Thing): Our worst show ever was in Orange County. Everyone left because it was so horrible. I was so drunkthatIcamerunning outonstageatthebeginningoftheshow, felloff the stage intothe pit andbustedupmyguitar.Andthis was justtheintrototheset!
I gave my busted up guitar to my tech. He gave me another guitar, but it was tuned to the wrong tuning because it was for another song that was tuned different. So I start trying to play, it wasalloutoftune,thenHenry’s bass ampwent out andit was just horrible.Iremember some chick walked up to us after the show and said,“Oh my god!You guys are amazing!” and we were like,“You’re fuckingstupid.”
SUN NY PHILLIPS (Swingin Thing): The worst Swingin Thing showwas our 2nd showat TheWhisky fortheNoBozoJam.During the 2nd song, everyone got lost at the same time and we fucked up that songsobad.It was embarrassingas hellbecause we hadtostop the song and start over again. My little sister had come in from Michigan for the first time to see me play and she had to witness that trainwreck.
The best show w as in Venezuela. We played in front of about 7000 people.Theplacewasgoingcrazy andtheyhadn’t evenheard usbefore.Therewerepyrotechnicsonthestageand it was atotalpro show,it was awesome.
MANDIE( TheGlamourPunks):Myworstshowmemoryisfrom the Red Light District. We sounded so horrendously bad. After the first song I jumped off stage, walked right out the front door and went home. I’d have to say the best Glamour Punks show was the first big show we did with Dizzy, and we had Punk Rock Dave in a cage.Ibelieve it was at TheRoxy.
DAVEZINK( BlackboardJungle):WewereplayingThePalacein Hollywood and went on after some band that wore overalls and had balesofhayonthestage.Thebalesofhayweremoistand had water in them. As they dragged them off the stage after their set, it left this huge wet trailbehindthat noone cleanedup.Sowhenwe came outforourfirstsong,“PaintYoua Picture”,Iwentrunningonto the stage in Beatle boots with my Telecaster, and I started hydroplaning onthatstupid watertrail. Iwentrightintooneofthemonitorsand landed head first into a sea of people. Luckily,myheadneverhitthe ground.
JOEL PATTERSON ( Blackboard Jungle): One of the best shows I remember playing was around the time of the L.A. Riots. I think we wereplayingatTheRoxy.Itwaspacked,anditwasthefirsttimeI noticedpeoplesingingalongtothesongs.Thecrowdhadanamazing vibeand suchgreat energy.Onthe flipside,we hadashowinVirginia wherewehadfivepeopleintheaudienceincluding thesound guy.
SKITZ (The Glamour Punks): All of our shows were fun. I don’t havea favorite.Theworstshowwasdefinitelythe last one we played attheTroubadour.Itsuckedlovinga bandsomuch butknowingitjust couldn’t workwiththe waythings were goinginternally.
As Sasha and I approached the Rainbow Bar & Grill, a guy wearing a black suede cowboy hat and dirty leather trench coat stopped us. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail of long skinny braids and he was carrying an armful of multicolored long stem roses.
“Hello ladies. I’d like to invite you to our show next Saturday night at The Roxy,” he said as he handed each of us a rose with a tag attached.
We smiled as we each took a rose and he walked off. I read the tag to find it was a mini flyer for his band, Trash Cowboys. What a great way to plug a show I thought.
When we passed The Roxy, I noticed a man walking in the street, playfully fingering a blow up doll with one hand and carrying a stack of flyers in the other. He shoved a few flyers into the hands of some girls that were about to pass him. The girls smiled and took the fliers, then threw them on the ground as soon as they passed him.
“I don't even want to know what band he's trying to promote,” I said to Sasha.
He targeted us immediately, or should I say Sasha’s boobs that were practically spilling out of her top. He tucked the blow up doll under his arm, pulled out a few flyers and handed them to us. The flyer read, “Toss That Doll”.
“Hey girls, what are you doing next Friday night?” he asked.
“Going to a slumber party. We gotta go!” I said dragging Sasha away.
We furthered our way down The Strip and noticed a group of bikers parked near Frankie and Johnny’s pizza. They weren’t bothering anyone. They just seemed to be hanging out on their bikes amongst themselves, but they seemed pretty out of place considering what was going on around them.
We continued walking past the bikers when I heard someone yell, "Wow what a great ass!” I felt a hard pinch on my butt and turned around to find a guys face near my rump. He had spiked out black hair just past his ears and small beady eyes. He stuffed a flyer in my hand for a band called The Fraidy Cats and tore off down Sunset Blvd. I would later find out my attackers name was Taj.
“Did he really just bite my ass?” I asked.
“I'll say he did,” Sasha said as she cracked up.
A few moments later, still standing in shock over my bite and run, a guy with long platinum blond hair walked up to Sasha. He was wearing a white shirt with fuchsia colored biker pants and a hat to match. It was just never ending. Her boobs were like a magnet.
He introduced himself as Mick and said he was the singer of a band called Ana Black. He handed us flyers and invited us to come see his show at The Whisky, blah blah. It was the same sales pitch from every guy to see his band play.
“Hey that’s a pretty rose,” he said as he looked at my rose.
I inhaled the bud and said, “Thanks, I think so too.”
“May I?”
“May you what?” I asked cautiously.
He leaned over slowly as if he were about to smell my rose, then quickly wrapped his mouth completely over the bud and bit it off clean.
“Thank you,” he said with petals falling out of his mouth, and casually walked off.
My head was spinning from all these crazy characters and we still hadn’t completed one lap down Sunset Blvd yet. I noticed a car dealership just past Frankie and Johnny’s with a little 2-foot wall that people were sitting on. Needing a breather, we decided to walk over and sit down.
We chatted a little bit, but I was more preoccupied with people watching. A musician would walk up to some girls, give them a flyer, talk about his show and walk off. The girls would either keep the flyer or throw it right to the ground as soon as the guy would walk away. It was the same cycle over and over again.
After people watching for a few minutes, I noticed another guy with long platinum blond hair and a black leather jacket staring at me. I looked away and focused back on my conversation with Sasha. When I glanced back to him a few moments later, he was still looking at me.
He was kind of cute, but I found his staring a bit annoying. It was borderline creepy. It wasn't just a glance; it was more like he was challenging me to a staring contest. Sure enough a few moments later, he made his way in my direction. I was still carrying the stem from my freshly pillaged rose and squeezed it tightly, just in case my ass or any other part of my body needed defending.
“Is your band playing this weekend too?” I said before giving him a chance to speak.
“Is that your name?” he asked.
“I guess that was bitchy of me,” I said relenting. “Sorry. I'm Marisa.”
“Sheldon. It's nice to meet you,” he said kissing the back of my hand. “And we're playing next Saturday at Gazzarri’s since you wanted to know.”
Sheldon was 19 and the drummer of a band called Dancer. We had been chatting for a few minutes when a fair skinned guy with long black hair and a slight belly walked up beside Sheldon. He was sporting a black leather jacket as well and said he was Sheldon’s guitar player, Nima.
“Nice to meet you ladies, but we need to head to Gazzarri’s,” Nima said.
We said our goodbyes and Sheldon told me to come to his show the following weekend. He wrote his number on the back of a Dancer flyer, handed it to me, and then walked off with Nima. As they walked away, I noticed the name “Dancer” was silkscreened on the back of each of their jackets in sky blue and bright pink. What a horrible name for a band I thought.
Sasha and I made a few more laps up and down The Strip, chatting with
random people. About three hours later, we left with our hands full of flyers and the latest issue of Rock City News in our hands.
On the way home, we talked of all the crazy people we encountered that night and how much fun we had. I seemed to be having a lot of fun nights without Ronan. It was a constant reminder that I had to stop dragging my ass on breaking up with him. I needed to face him once and for all to tell him it was over.
The following weekend, Sasha and I went to The Strip again. Only this time it was my idea to go and we dragged Dagmar along with us. Friday night we simply went to hang out and stroll around, but on Saturday we planned on going to Sheldon’s show at Gazzarri’s.
I managed to dodge Ronan’s calls Saturday afternoon, but I made the mistake of answering my phone later that evening, as I was getting ready to go out. He was still on my case to get together, but I was already running late to get the girls and certainly in no position (or mood) to have a long conversation with Ronan about our relationship. I told him I was having dinner and would call him back in a few minutes. Then I grabbed my purse and walked out the door.
When I arrived at Gazzarri’s with the girls, the door guy refused to let Sasha in because he didn’t believe she was 23, which she totally was according to her fake ID. It was the first time she ever had trouble using that ID. She had the face and body of a Penthouse centerfold for Christ sake. Even I had a hard time believing she was only 16. But the door guy wasn’t giving in to Sasha, so Dagmar and I didn’t bother trying to get in either. After all, we still had the endless street party on The Sunset Strip to keep us preoccupied for the night, so we did just that.
About an hour later, we were chatting with a few people in front of The Roxy when I noticed Axl Rose walk through the parking lot of the Rainbow. He was wearing a black and red flannel shirt with a simple pair of jeans. During this time, Guns N’ Roses were in their prime, and rumor had it they were working on a double album, which later became the Use Your Illusion albums.
I continued to watch Axl as he made his way through the crowded parking lot. He was sipping on a can of Cherry Coke and walking right towards me. I wondered if it really was him because he was walking alone and nobody seemed to recognize him as he walked right by them. By the time he reached the sidewalk, Dagmar and I turned on our heels and decided to follow him.
We started to lose him as he darted across Sunset Blvd, so I yelled out his name in the hopes of slowing him down. He came to a stop in front of Ten Masa Sushi.
“Hi Axl, I’m Marisa. Can we take a picture with you?” I said slightly out of breath.
“Sure,” he said unenthusiastically.
I grabbed a random person who happened to be standing
nearby and asked if they could take the picture. I hoped for a hug, maybe even an arm over the shoulder from Axl, but I got nothing. He didn’t move an inch. He just stood there sipping on his soda while Dagmar and I posed around him as if he were a mannequin. There wasn’t a bit of warmth in his demeanor. I really wanted to ask what was happening with Guns N’ Roses, but based on the cold reception he was giving me, I felt it was best if I just get the picture and let him be on his way.
“Thanks so much!” I said smiling, hoping that my happy face would warm him up a little.
“Sure,” he said in a monotone voice and walked away.
When I got home a few hours later, I found a note from my mom saying that Ronan had called twice right after I left. I really had a lot of fun that night and didn't want it to be ruined by a guaranteed fight with Ronan. I decided I would wait till the morning to call him back and that would only be to FINALLY break up with him.
When I called Ronan the following afternoon, it only took about a minute or two before he went into his normal berating behavior. He said I was an inconsiderate bitch for not calling him back the night before and for blowing him off over the last few weeks. He also heard I was hanging out on The Strip and said I was probably out fucking every musician in Hollywood. He told me I was a whore, I was stupid, yeah yeah yeah.
As I listened to Ronan hammer away at my self-esteem, I realized I had not one drop of affection left for him. Everything my friends had been telling me since the beginning of our relationship was suddenly crystal clear to me. Ronan was a total douchebag and nothing more than an insecure, controlling asshole that would never add anything positive to my life. I didn't want to hear his voice, see his face, or have contact with anything that even remotely reminded me of him. His destructive words didn't hurt me anymore they annoyed me. Why was I even taking that shit from him when I could be having fun on The Strip? Hell, the guys there were way cuter anyway.
“If I'm such a horrible person, why are you with me then?” I asked.
“Maybe I shouldn't be,” he said as if to test me. Normally when we’d get to that point in the argument
where he’d threaten to leave me, I’d usually cower and start apologizing. “Then don’t be with me you worthless pile of shit!” I yelled.
I hung up on Ronan, fell back on my bed and let out a big smile. It was the first time I had genuinely smiled in months and it felt like someone had suddenly lifted a huge weight off my shoulders. I turned on the radio and danced around the room as I happily gathered old letters, cards, and pictures of Ronan and threw them into the trash.
A few days later, still enjoying my newfound freedom, Arwen, Ariah, and I weaseled our way into the graduation ceremony for the class of 1990. When the festivities concluded, we flooded onto the field along with other friends and family, hugging and congratulating the seniors we knew. I noticed Brandon across the way, and we stared at each other for a few seconds. He gave me a little smile, and I smiled back. That one little smirk of his flashed me back to Janson, Muscatel, and our years together at Rosemead High. Seeing him stand there in his cap and gown made me realize we weren’t kids anymore. Where did the time go? Would I ever see him again? I’d been in school my whole life and had never known anything else. What the hell was I going to do next year when I graduated high school?
As we stood there staring at each other, I could tell by the look in his eyes that he missed me, and I certainly missed him too. He was my first childhood crush. More importantly, he had become one of my closest friends, or so I thought. With my new sense of empowerment after dumping Ronan, I wanted to surround myself with strong, positive people and Brandon obviously wasn’t one of them. I didn’t regret calling him a pussy that day in guitar class because I wanted a friend who would not only stick up for me, but stick up for themselves as well. I knew I couldn’t force myself to be in his life anymore, so I wished him well in my heart and knew I had to move forward.
Their graduation song, “Never Say Goodbye” by Bon Jovi started to blare out over the PA system, and my gaze with Brandon was broken when Grace walked up to him to give him a hug. Even to this day, every time I hear that song I still think of him on his graduation day looking so handsome in his cap and gown.
6
BOILING BUNNIES
Afew weeks after the class of 1990 graduated, I started summer school. I couldn’t believe it was to be my last summer in high school, forever. If I passed all my summer school classes, my senior year would consist of an easy breezy schedule of only five classes, three of which were optional electives. With such a light academic schedule, I didn’t have to worry about my studies getting in the way of my socializing. To make matters even better, Dagmar moved out of her mom’s house and went to live with her grandmother, who had a condo on La Cienega just south of Sunset. Her grandmother set her up in her own private bedroom with two twins beds, and it was the perfect playground for our weekends on The Strip. Not only because it shortened our commute to a mere five minutes, but spending the nights with her negated my curfew, and I didn’t have to worry about rushing home anymore. I would’ve loved to live there every weekend but residing with two loud teenage girls wasn’t exactly what her grandmother had in mind. So I only stayed as often as I was asked, which was roughly every other weekend.
Shortly after starting summer school, Jude, Dagmar, and I decided to take a ditch day. We ended up going to a dive motel down the street from school where a bunch of kids had been partying the night before. It was about 11:00am when we walked into the unlocked motel room. The curtains were closed, the lights were out, and everyone in the room, about seven or eight people, were all passed out. A few people were in bed and a few were on the floor. Jude stepped on a pile of blankets that let out a big “Ouch!” and realized our buddy Frankie was underneath. As Jude and Dagmar tried to wake everyone up, I decided to mooch the room phone and call Sheldon.
Sheldon had been asking to hang out with me for the last few weeks, but I’d been avoiding him until I could officially give Ronan the boot. Now that I was newly single, I decided to give him a call and see if he wanted to hang out. He said he did and would pick me up in about an hour.
A fellow senior named Tommy was the first to get up and started waking everyone else up to drink more. He was a total Jekyl and Hyde when it came to his drinking. When sober he was a total sweetheart, but once he got drunk, he turned into a loud, obnoxious asshole. Tommy was a full out hesher with dirty blond hair and a wide smashed face. He always reminded me of those angry mushroom people that chase Mario and Luigi in the old school Super Mario Bros game.
Tommy started pounding beers and began throwing the empty beer bottles at the wall. I told him to stop before someone called the cops, but he said he wouldn’t stop until everyone woke up, which happened rather quickly. I wasn’t about to visit the back of a patrol car again because of his drunk ass, so I figured the best thing to do would be to wait for Sheldon in the parking lot. I was about to walk out when Sheldon appeared and knocked on the frame of the open motel door. Tommy looked over at Sheldon. Not recognizing him as someone he knew, he told him to fuck off.
“Go fuck yourself Tommy, he’s with me,” I said. I grabbed my things and walked out the door with Sheldon. We hopped into Sheldon’s beat up ‘72 Chevelle, and he
Rock and Roll High School: Growing Up in Hollywood During the Decade of Decadence Page 9
