Vicki and I arrived at Club Ovation precisely at 10:30PM, just as Judas Priest was taking the stage. The club was packed and the band delivered the kind of high energy performance that one would expect from Judas Priest. Afterword, Vicki and I were escorted by a couple of the club’s beefy security guards to the backstage meet-and-greet area.
Drummer Scott Travis was the first band member who Vicki and I encountered upon entering the hospitality room. Literally standing close to seven-feet-tall, Travis resembles a cross between an NBA star and a rock and roll version of Lurch from the 1960s comedy TV series, The Addams Family. In passing, I complimented Travis on his incredible performance that evening to which he replied with a scowl,“Yeah, whatever.”
In contrast to Travis’s negative vibe, the other members of his band proved to be quite charming. Bassist Ian Hill appeared to thoroughly enjoy the post-concert festivities and seemed happy to be hanging out with his fans and he gladly signed autographs and posed for pictures.
I cut my backstage conversation short with guitarist K.K. Downing when I noticed Vicki chatting with Travis. Remembering his less than pleasant attitude a few minutes earlier, I thought I’d walk over and check on her. I should have known that she didn’t need my help.
“I’ve loved you guys since I was a teenager,” Vicki confessed to Travis, nearly breaking her neck to make eye contact with the giant.
“You probably don’t even know my name,” Travis sarcastically replied, apparently mistaking Vicki for a garden variety, blond bimbo groupie.
“You’re Scott Travis,” she fired back. “I’ve been coming to see Judas Priest shows since 1986. I ought to know your name.”
“Honey, I wasn’t even in this band in 1986,” he replied, seemingly looking for any excuse to be argumentative
“I didn’t say you were,” she shot back with rapid-fire reflexes. “I said that’s how long I’ve been coming to see the band.”
Anyone who loves to quarrel loves sin.
Proverbs 17:19 (NLT)
Simply put, Ian Hill was a swell chap!
Vicki and Scott Travis. (Don’t let the smiles fool you.)
After listening to about a minute of this ridiculous exchange, I realized that this guy had no idea with whom he was dealing. Vicki was a diehard, longtime Judas Priest fan and she likely knew as much about the band’s history as Travis did. By the time she began schooling him on some of their more obscure earlier material, I surmised that it was an ideal time to pull her away and go say “Hi” to guitarist Glenn Tipton.
As we were preparing to leave for the evening, I mentioned to (then) frontman Tim “Ripper” Owens that I was interested in setting up a phoner with him for a feature story in the following month’s issue of Brevard Live. Although I had hoped for an interview that night, it was obvious that this backstage scene wasn’t the best environment for conducting such business. Owens seemed quite interested in doing an interview later in the week and he went into his dressing room to get a pen so that we could exchange contact information. This made for one last opportunity in which Travis could demonstrate his particular brand of “people skills” and he succeeded with grand style.
One thing I’ve learned during my professional music biz endeavors is that when it comes to dealing with rock stars, it’s important to understand where do and do not belong. At that moment I knew that I definitely DID NOT belong in Owens’s dressing room. So I stood in the doorway while he dug through his travel bag, searching for a pen. As we were getting ready to exchange phone numbers, Travis came up and grabbed me from behind.
Apparently feeling that I was violating Owens’s personal space, Travis loudly offered some choice expletives as he physically dragged me by the throat from the dressing room doorway. Angry and somewhat embarrassed by the incident, I figured it was best that Vicki and I make our exit right then. Over the years I’d been accused of having my own anger management issues, so the situation would have likely gotten uglier had we hung around any longer. Besides, I stood all of five-foot-six. What was I going to do, slay this “Goliath” in a “David-like” fashion by punching him in the ankles?
Avoiding a fight is a mark of honor;
only fools insist on quarreling.
Proverbs 20:3 (NLT)
When I first met Gene Simmons in 1983 I approached him as a giddy fan. Nearly twenty years later, my encounter with Scott Travis was as an industry professional. However, both experiences met with similar results. It took decades, but I was finally beginning to realize that my glorious perception of rock stars was all pie in the sky.
The Big Score
I was determined to make something big happen in the early 2000s. Now in my forties, I didn’t feel that going back to school and rewriting my playbook was a terribly viable option. So I took my various industry-related “eggs” and put them into as many “baskets” as possible. One way or another I was convinced that I could “make some rain.” My DJ business was successful, but playing Jay-Z records in clubs and leading the masses through the “Chicken Dance” at wedding receptions were less than fulfilling propositions. And although a bounty of writing opportunities were now coming my way, that was hardly paying the bills. I needed a big score.
Since my first plunge into the rock and roll world back in junior high during the ‘70s, management seemed to be my forte. Even during the heyday of Dead Serios, I was recognized more for my drive, marketing skills and business savvy than for having any significant musical talent. Although I had dabbled in representing other artists over the years, I always was consumed more with my own projects and consequently those endeavors all fizzled out rather quickly. However, that was about to change in 2004.
One night, I was DJ-ing at a little club called Murdocks, in Cocoa Village, Florida, when a stunning-looking, nineteen-year-old waitress named Katty approached me with her demo CD. Given my current notoriety as a music critic, I recently had become inundated with demos from countless unsigned artists. To be honest, I had little interest in hearing Katty’s music, but I was attracted to her energy, big blond hair and other alluring physical attributes. Consequently, in my depraved mind, I reasoned that if I listened to her song (which I was certain would suck) and at least faked some interest, I just might land her in the sack. However, to my utter amazement, her little, one-song, two and a half minute, ‘80s synth-pop demo was just about the most exciting thing I’d ever heard. “I’m gonna make you a star,” I vowed on the spot to the young, wide-eyed newbie.
I went home that night and began devising an immediate plan of action. This involved putting her band together, scheduling a photo shoot and recording sessions, generating press, booking shows and calling up every industry contact I had in hopes of selling my newfound pop princess.
I first reached out to C.K. Lendt, an adjunct professor of marketing at NYU and former business manager for the band, Kiss. C.K. and I had developed a professional relationship over the years and as an acknowledged big gun with a stellar reputation, I trusted his judgment. In early 2005, he traveled from New York to attend one of Katty’s early shows in Florida. Simply put, he was impressed.
Before I knew it, C.K. and I had created a business partnership and we signed Katty to an exclusive management contract.
Next, I contacted Bobby Dall, bassist for the platinum-selling band, Poison. Bobby and I lived in the same town and through mutual acquaintances we had established a friendship in the late ‘80s. I recognized early on that he was the brains behind his band’s mammoth success. As a result, I valued his opinion. Although he hadn’t been impressed with any of my previous projects, Bobby definitely “got” Katty. He soon began mentoring the young singer/songwriter – helping to develop her material and ultimately producing one of her demos.
With her captivating, Madonna-like persona, high energy stage presence and hook-laden pop tunes, everyone who got an early taste of Katty was completely knocked out. And I knew that it was just a matter time before I finally landed that big score.
I still be
lieve that Katty was destined for stardom.
(Photo: Kevin Roberts)
While C.K. dealt with business matters such as courting major record labels from his home base in New York, I attended to Katty’s personal day-to-day affairs from my home in Florida. And we went to great lengths to ensure that our client was presented and represented as a national caliber artist. Recognizing that perception is reality, I retired my collection of black rock concert T-shirts and replaced them with an array of business suits – and yes, I even bought a briefcase. If Katty was to be perceived as a big-time contender, then as part of her management team, I had to look the part as well.
C.K. and I spent the next year or so and thousands of dollars developing and marketing Katty. And by the time she turned twenty-one in early 2006, she was performing in clubs and at major festivals throughout Florida – opening for such up-and-coming national acts as Silvertide and Family Force 5.
Along the way, Katty and I became close and we enjoyed both an amazing personal and professional relationship.
Unfortunately, people can become greedy the first moment a whiff of pie is detected. So greedy in fact, that a big score can be decimated before the pie is sliced, or before there even is a pie. And by the time C.K. and I had fully developed Katty as an artist and were ready to pitch her to major record labels, trouble was already looming. A couple of the trusted industry pros whom I hired to advise us became so paranoid that they would be left out of the serving line when the pie was sliced, that they began privately advising our client on career decisions based on how it best served their interests.
After years of developing a personal relationship with Bobby Dall, I was hired to tour with Poison as Bobby’s personal assistant in the summer of 2006 – a dream come true to be sure. When I returned home from the road in the fall, Katty notified C.K. and I that despite our eleven-page management contract, she was going to pursue other career options.
For wherever there is jealousy
and selfish ambition, there you will
find disorder and evil of every kind.
James 3:16 (NLT)
The truly heartbreaking and frustrating aspect of that experience, aside from the small fortune that C.K. and I lost in the venture, is that Katty personified the sound and style of artists such as Katy Perry and Ke$ha, years before those current pop divas arrived on the scene. And I still believe that if just a bit more faith and patience had been exercised, Katty would have been the big score. Fortunately, she and I managed to maintain our personal friendship, despite our professional break-up. Today, at twenty-six, Katty still performs throughout Central Florida in various cover bands.
Hit Me Baby One More Time
It doesn’t take an Einstein to know that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. But it took a while for me to get that memo. Despite the obvious lesson I should have learned from the Katty debacle, I opted to move forward in the field of artist management.
Deana Lane was an eighteen-year-old singer/songwriter who I met in Tennessee while on tour with Poison in 2006. Shortly after returning home from the road, I encouraged Deana to relocate to Florida so we could properly begin developing her career – an invitation she gleefully accepted. Although she had zero experience and her initial songs were dreadful, I was impressed by her enthusiasm and apparent drive for success. But her material developed quickly and it didn’t take long for me to recognize that she truly was a diamond in the rough. Unlike Katty’s polished pop sound, Deana’s music was raw and edgy and her lyrics portrayed a sharp sense of black humor – sort of like a southern-fried, female version of Alice Cooper.
C.K. Lendt advised me against using the bandaged wrists “gimmick” in Deana’s 2008 photo shoot. I had to confess to him that it was no gimmick.
(Photo: Kevin Roberts)
To me, Deana’s most endearing attribute was her willingness to do anything to make it. During a 2007 photo shoot, she appeared in one shot, snorting chopped-up lines of powdered candy that spelled out her name, cocaine-style, from a mirror on the studio floor. Even Bobby Dall said that we went too far with that one! In 2008, I booked Deana to perform at an East Coast music awards ceremony. It was a fairly upscale event in which all of the female performers and presenters looked very elegant, with their spray-on tans, black slinky dresses and golden hair highlights – everyone, that is, except my client. Deana walked onstage wearing a tattered $2 dress we bought from Good Will that she cleverly had stained with heaven only knows what. Her hair was tied up in ratty pigtails and her make-up was smeared from ear-to-ear. In short, she looked like a deranged mental patient who had just crawled out of a dumpster – and I couldn’t have been more proud. In fact, Deana made such a powerful impression that night, the promoter of the event called the next day to chastise me for putting such a hideous spectacle on the awards show stage.
And that perfectly summed up my dilemma. Katty was cute and bubbly. Her music was infectious and salable. Conversely, Deana’s vibe was dark and abrasive. Oh sure, I “got” her, but I just couldn’t find others in the industry besides Bobby Dall and C.C. DeVille who shared my enthusiasm. In late 2008, after two years of total dedication and another huge financial investment on my part, Deana opted to return home to Tennessee, also to pursue other career options.
Unfortunately, our subsequent personal relationship hasn’t fared as well as my relationship with Katty, which is sad because it’s tough to live with someone for nearly two years without becoming close. We worked diligently together on her music and marketing, 24/7. We made several long distance trips to visit her family and I even brought her to L.A. for her first taste of big city life. And while Deana turned me on to some incredible, early David Bowie music, I introduced her to the genius of Debbie Gibson. It was good stuff – I thought. But hey, if I had lived with me during that period, I wouldn’t talk to me anymore either! And I wish her the best in her future endeavors.
I now maintain a strong “Just Say No” stance regarding my personal involvement with any bands or solo artists. In fact, when my own son came to me for help with his band in 2009, I orchestrated and financed one professional photo shoot, set up a one-song recording session and booked a (proper) initial gig or two in order to ensure that they were launched in the right direction. I then passionately advised him to quit.
My son Jesse (far left) with his band, The Ellers.
(Photo: Kevin Roberts)
A Family Affair
In 2009, I once again felt as if I was about to experience a dream opportunity. I met Chris Dillon in 2006 while I was on the road with Poison and he was on tour with Butch Walker, and over the years we’d become good pals. As an acknowledged touring veteran and close personal friend of frontman Michael Sweet, Chris had just signed on to manage the upcoming Stryper tour. And realizing how gaga I still was over the ‘80s Christian rock combo, he offered me a position handling merch on the tour. Given my often less than pleasant Poison road experiences, I vowed never to go on tour again. However, this was a Stryper tour! The money being offered to me was less than I’d be making as a nightclub DJ, but on the road, personal living expenses are a fraction of what they are in the real world, so I reasoned that financially, I could afford to take the gig.
The tour kicked off in September. The band already had a merch guy signed on to cover the first leg of the tour and I would connect with them on October 4 in Chicago for the second leg. During that time I was in frequent communication with the band’s management company regarding my personal tax and passport info, and making payroll arrangements. Chris also kept in touch with me through emails, phone calls and video clips.
I was goofing around with Chris on the phone shortly after the tour began, and I jokingly asked him if Michael Sweet was likely to go crazy on me, Poison-style, while on the road. “Dude, this is a Stryper tour,” Chris calmly, yet enthusiastically, reminded me. “This is a ‘family’ and it’s gonna be the best experience of your life.”
To say the least, I was psyched to be going on tour with my longtime Christian rock heroes. I’d immediately put in for a four-week leave of absence from Siggy’s and my bags were packed, sitting by my front door for more than a week prior to my scheduled departure.
One morning, just a couple of days before I was to hit the road, I received a call from Chris. He was upbeat and excited about me coming out, and he wanted to let me know that the band’s travel agent had just emailed me all of my flight info. Then, to my chagrin, I received another, less enthusiastic call from Chris later in the day.
“Dude, I’m at the airport, headed home,” he informed me – clearly bummed out.
“What?” I exclaimed in total disbelief. “Did you get fired?” I immediately asked.
“No,” he quickly replied. “I’m leaving the tour for medical reasons – Michael Sweet makes me sick!”
Hold the phone! I thought this was going to be a “family” affair. I thought it was going to be “the best experience of my life.” Now, at the last the minute, my contact, my buddy was off the tour. What was I going to do? I’d already put in for a leave of absence at my regular gig – I couldn’t afford to lose this tour!
But the dilemma wasn’t for me to resolve. The next day I was contacted by the band’s management office and informed that given the circumstances (i.e. being Chris Dillon’s buddy), my services would not be required on the tour. And that was that. Just a simple, half-hearted apology, followed by the obligatory, “Good luck” – and NO offer of any type of monetary compensation.
Fortunately for me, the owners of Siggy’s were delighted to hear that I wouldn’t be leaving for another tour after all, and I didn’t wind up losing any work. But what if my situation had been different? What if I actually was a fulltime touring guy? What if I’d turned down offers from Foreigner or Toby Keith in order to go out with Stryper? I’d have been in real financial dire straits, that’s what! But that clearly was of little concern to their organization.
C’MON! – My Story of Rock, Ruin and Revelation Page 11
