18 and Life on Skid Row

by Sebastian Bach

  “We had no choice. We did what we had to do.”

  He went on to describe the horrific scene. How he had to summon all the doctors on the floor at the very moment I was marching down the hallway of the hospital. On my way down the hall. To families. Mothers. Daughters. Children. If I were to have made my way into the waiting room, I would have scared the hell out of everyone present. And possibly done who knows what else, in my anesthetized state of mind-sleepwalk. I would imagine that staring at a man who is asleep, yet awake, with no nose, walking towards you would be enough to frighten anyone. Let alone traumatize a small child.

  “We got four guys to slam you up against the wall. Got the biggest syringe, with the strongest narcs we had on hand. Jammed it deep into your upper thigh, as hard as we could go. It was the only way we could slow you down. We gave you enough meds to knock out an elephant. Which was exactly what you were acting like at that moment.”

  Was he talking to me?

  The nurse then went on to explain that the only time they personally had seen activity such as this was with older, homeless people from the real skid row. In places such as downtown Newark, New Jersey. Coming off crack cocaine, the anesthetic, in rare cases, is not enough to put down the patient, and actually, in isolated instances, can stimulate the serotonin levels in the brain. Resulting in a state of complete psychosis. Perhaps the years of hard partying on the road, with Mötley Crüe, Pantera, Guns N’ Roses, Aerosmith, and Bon Jovi, had made my brain more tolerant of hospital meds than most. The doctor reiterated that I was acting as if I was under attack.

  With all that was going on in my life, being kicked out of Skid Row, my father being diagnosed with leukemia and bone marrow cancer, the uncertainty of a future as a solo artist with a family to support, it’s not surprising that my subconscious felt as if I were under attack. What was surprising was my subconscious lashing out at professionals who were only there to help me. To this day, I have zero recollection of this ever happening.

  Note to self: try to not elbow bike gang leaders in the face anymore.

  Chalk it up as another lesson learned.

  Way to go, rock ’n’ roll!

  1993

  The story of Broadway for me really goes back to the moment when my father was diagnosed with leukemia. If that wasn’t rotten enough, a further diagnosis of bone marrow cancer was given at the same time. Either of those prognoses is devastating, my father having the unfortunate distinction of contracting both.

  Dad called me on the phone himself to tell me the news. Upon realizing the severity of his situation, I experienced a deep, visceral sadness that I had never felt before. My anger towards my father, and family’s divorce, seemed so very trite. There really is nothing to be angry at anymore when facing a beloved one’s mortality. It really felt like a piece of myself was dying along with him. He had taught me so much in this world. Not only to dream, but to make dreams come true. And, along with discipline, have some fun in the process.

  Everybody goes through it. There is no denying that losing a parent is one of the shittiest, god-awful moments in any person’s life.

  Dad’s best friend, Dennis “The Twist” Tourbin, called me.

  “Hey Bass. How are you doing? How are you holding up?”

  “Well . . . it’s my dad . . .” I managed to choke the words out of my throat before bursting into even more tears.

  What does any of this have to do with my appearance on Broadway? Well, someday, years in the future, as David Bierk approached his final days, I would be asked to star in my first Broadway show. As the tortured Dr. Jekyll and the monstrous Mr. Hyde. The plot of the play? Henry Jekyll tries to save his dying father. Gets fucked up, and goes crazy in the process.

  Not exactly a stretch.

  13

  FROM SKID ROW TO SAVILE

  ROW: BACH ON BROADWAY

  2000

  New York City

  Theatre District

  I received the call at home in New Jersey. I thought they had the wrong number.

  “Uh, hey dude. I don’t know if you’d be interested in this. Jekyll & Hyde on Broadway is looking for a new lead. I know it’s hard to fathom . . . but I honestly think you’d be perfect for the role.”

  Were they talking to me?

  Honestly, never in a million years could I have envisioned my career taking this turn. When Jason Flom called me, I listened to his reasoning.

  I was intrigued.

  “Sebastian. Just listen to me. The way you sing ‘I Remember You.’ Your clean voice. That’s Dr. Jekyll. And then, your pipes on full roar. ‘Monkey Business.’ Mr. Hyde. Perfect! Would you like to go see the play and check it out for yourself?”

  To be honest, after Jason’s phone call, I had a feeling like this could be a new lease on life. I was being given a second chance. At something new. That was something that really excited me. But there was only one problem.

  No one knew if I could pull this off.

  Of course I would go check out the show. I had been playing clubs across the country in my solo band. I don’t care what anybody says, not an optimum situation. You do what you have to do. A chance to be a leading man on Broadway? Instead of playing bars? Restaurants? Where the patrons are just as interested in getting ketchup for their french fries as they are in listening to the band?

  I went to check out the show.

  Jack Wagner, of General Hospital fame, was the leading man. I entered the Plymouth Theatre in New York City, enjoying even the venue itself. A beautiful, ornate building with a feeling of history and style that was breathtaking to me the first time I sat down. A shock to the system after playing bars for the last while I had been on the road. I loved the play. It was a packed house. A spring night. On Broadway.

  There is nothing like it, in all of entertainment. I loved the costuming of the show. The Victorian clothing. Dark lighting. The set itself was so dramatic and cool to me. I absolutely loved the music of the play. The ballad “This Is the Moment” is one of my favorite songs of all time. The song “Confrontation,” in the second act of the play, is a piece of music that is incredible to me. Dr. Jekyll singing against his evil alter ego, Mr. Hyde, line by line, remains to this day one of my favorite songs I’ve ever had the pleasure to sing. “The Way Back.” “Alive.” So much great music. But it was the actual plot of the play that had me riveted to my seat. I couldn’t believe the story that was unfolding in front of my eyes and ears. Dr. Jekyll, a scientist, learns that his father is dying. He decides to try and save his father in any way he can. His only option is to invent a drug, on his own, that may or may not cure his dying father. The Board of Governors, who officiate over such matters, will not let Dr. Jekyll experiment with his drug on any humans. He is forced to administer the nascent medicine to himself. The experiment goes awry, and turns the unassuming Dr. Henry Jekyll into the menacing Mr. Edward Hyde.

  Sounds like a typical night on the road in Des Moines, Iowa, playin’ in a rock ’n’ roll band.

  The Theater division of Atlantic Records was the recording label for Jekyll & Hyde: The Musical. Frank Wildhorn, the composer, went to Jason Flom, the man who signed me when I was nineteen years old with Skid Row, over in the rock ’n’ roll department at Atlantic. Jekyll & Hyde had been running on Broadway for four years, and it was time for the inevitable “stunt casting,” as it’s called, when a “celebrity” takes the place of a “legit” Broadway performer. Jack Wagner was the first Hollywood star to take over the role. After Jack’s time was up, Frank went to Jason with one specific request in mind.

  “Jason. I need a rock star. On Broadway. To be Dr. Jekyll. And Mr. Hyde.”

  “I think I got the guy.”

  There really was no precedent for this. Fact is, I was the very first heavy metal/hard rock/whatever you want to call me, mainstream hard rock ’n’ roll singer ever to be on Broadway.

  It’s an accomplishment that no one can ever take away from me.

  Rock had flirted with Broadway in the past. Jesus C
hrist Superstar (a role I would play two years later) was the first time a heavy metal musician would be involved in a Broadway show. Ian Gillan, from Deep Purple, originated the role as Jesus on the original score recording. This was a recording project only; Gillan never performed as Jesus live.

  The role of Henry Jekyll was coveted by many singers. I, along with many others, auditioned for the part. Incredibly, my hero Paul Stanley of KISS was my main competition. He tried out for the play around the same time that I did.

  Ironically, Paul got to play the role of Phantom of the Opera in Toronto, my hometown. And I was chosen to play the lead in Jekyll & Hyde in New York, his hometown. He was decidedly nonplussed at the news.

  “Dude! You’re gonna play Jekyll and Hyde? On Broadway?? Are you serious? I heard Paul is PISSED!!”

  Mark Weiss, my photographer friend, gave me the scoop. Paul had tried out for Jekyll & Hyde. He had told Frank Wildhorn he would do the play. Then Frank tried me out.

  “I saw him the other day! He was like, ‘Sebastian is doing Jekyll & Hyde? What the fuck? I told Frank I would do it!!!’ ”

  I asked the powers that be at the play why I had been chosen. They told me that it was my Mr. Hyde that sealed the deal. They felt that I had two distinct personalities approaching the role. That my Dr. Jekyll and my Mr. Hyde were two completely different characters. None of the other actors who they considered had a Mr. Hyde as menacing or convincing as mine was on the stage.

  Maybe this crazy side of me would pay off in a truly unexpected way. I received very positive reviews for my first role on Broadway. Accolades were posted in the local news, exclaiming that I was a great actor on stage. Only thing was, in the case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, I really wasn’t acting all that much.

  “Dad! You’re not going to believe this! I am Jekyll and Hyde!!!!”

  “I know,” Dad harrumphed.

  “No! You don’t understand! I’m going to be Jekyll and Hyde! On Broadway!!!!!!!!!”

  Silence on the other end of the line.

  Not too many people get a second chance. A second career. I have dedicated my whole life to rock ’n’ roll. I had always had it in the back of my mind that it could foreseeably be possible to be successful in a rock ’n’ roll band. But nobody, including myself, could have ever foreseen what was happening: Bach on Broadway. I liked the sound of that. Then reality set in.

  There was no fucking way.

  I couldn’t do this!!! When I received the script, from Lachlan Buchanan, I was aghast at what I saw. The very first page was filled with dialogue . . . all from my character.

  And . . . it was in Ye Olde English.

  Within each of us

  there are two separate natures

  two distinct personalities

  The librettist, Leslie Bricusse, had written words that were so very parallel to my own life. It felt like the part had been written for me to play . . . at this exact time in my life, nearing the end of my father’s life. Of course, the actor playing Dr. Jekyll’s father, on stage, was named David. As was my own father.

  Dad would sit in the front row of the Plymouth Theatre, with me only feet away from him, on the Broadway stage, attempting to save his life. We would open the show.

  I’ll never desert you

  I promise you this

  till the day that I die

  I fidget about in my makeshift laboratory. My assistant, Mr. Utterson, played by the amazing George Merritt, helps me in the operating room. My own father, David, dying in the front row, watching the actor David, playing my father a couple of feet away. This was not acting. This was reacting. Live on the Broadway stage. For the whole world to see.

  Bringing the story to life, and making it believable, was one of the most challenging, satisfying, and rewarding experiences I have ever had. When I auditioned for the role, bandleader Jason Howland sat down at the piano to run through some of the score. In the keys they were written. The Broadway vocal range of most shows is much lower, or midrange, in comparison to rock ’n’ roll. Especially the heavy metal style that I am known for. Legit Broadway, on the other hand, is about natural projection—with only supplementary microphones, taped to the actor’s cheekbone, singing to a live band in the orchestra pit, the challenge is to project the voice, all the way to the back row of the theater. My own voice projects the best in the high tenor range of songs such as “I Remember You.” I was very relieved, and excited, when Jason uttered the following words.

  “Hey Sebastian. That was a pretty good job. Sounded awesome. But hey, I have an idea. Let’s try that song up here.”

  He transposed the song up the piano. Took the melody up three keys, to be exact. Much like that day with Mr. Snell back in 1976, trying out for the church choir in Peterborough, we smiled at each other as we got higher and higher up the keyboard. To where my voice sounded like it was soaring.

  We tried it again.

  When we got to the end of the song “This Is the Moment,” the ubiquitous key change that seems almost a prerequisite of any Broadway score, I held on for dear life and went for it. The verse was quite high up in my register, pretty much at the top of my high tenor voice before I start to go up into my screaming range. But I knew I could pull it off. I took a big deep breath and belted out the words.

  Damn all the odds!

  Held the last word of the tune for all I was worth. Gave it all I had. Looked at Jason after the last note was sounded. We both burst into laughter. This was going to kick some major booty. And we both knew it.

  What nobody knew was the simple question of whether or not I could act. I had done some acting. Played The Inspector in Tom Stoppard’s After Magritte at PCVS high school in Peterborough. But a leading man on Broadway? Surely there was no way this could actually be happening. But it was. So now it was time for a crash course in acting. Which was exactly what Robin Phillips took me on.

  People ask me, what is the difference of being on the rock ’n’ roll stage as opposed to the Broadway stage? For me, there were two specific challenges that were unexpected and formidable to overcome. Number one, in rock ’n’ roll there is no such thing as the fourth wall. When I hit stage and rock, my objective is to make eye contact with every single person in the hall at least once during the evening. All the way to the back. This is part of what being a good front man in a band is all about. Welcoming everybody to your show. Making them feel a part of the experience.

  Broadway is the exact opposite of this. Since we are telling a story, none of our own personalities as cast members can get in the way of the storytelling. To make eye contact with an audience member, in theater, is strictly verboten. It took me many hours of practice to learn to not look at the crowd, to not reference anyone in the audience at all. My great friend, stage manager David Hyslop, would reprimand me on a regular basis for giving a little smirk at the end of “This Is the Moment,” when I would sing my ass off, and knock ’em dead out in the crowd. He would imitate me. It was next to impossible for me to remain in character at the end of that song on certain nights. The vibes in the room were simply magical. I could not hide how much fun I was having on occasion.

  My second biggest challenge was all to do with sheer energy. For over a decade, I had been psyching myself into delivering 100 percent the very second I hit stage. An explosion of excitement, and fun, both sonically and visually. My rock ’n’ role models, as far as frontmen went, were David Lee Roth and Iggy Pop, guys that would leave every inch of blood and sweat on the stage. For me to be believable as Dr. Henry Jekyll, I could show zero energy. Even to be seen sweating too much would be to not pull off the role. Henry Jekyll was calm, cool, collected. From the moment I hit stage until “First Transformation,” the middle of Act One where I turn into Edward Hyde, I had to be a doctor. To perform with no energy, to restrain my movement and mood, was one of the hardest things for me to physically and mentally learn how to do.

  I would do scenes in front of the packed house where Dr. Jekyll would be required to stand complete
ly still on the stage. The energy coursing through my veins had nowhere to go. I would develop a facial twitch or my leg would shake uncontrollably. For me to stand completely still on the stage was something my body and mind had simply never, ever done before. It’s second nature, a muscle memory thing, for me to explode when the lights go down at 8:00 each night.

  This all came to a head in one particularly intense rehearsal one day. We were running the Board of Governors scene, where Dr. Jekyll pleads his case to experiment with his drug on a human subject. I was to deliver Dr. Jekyll’s soliloquy standing at the podium, with my hands on each side. Referencing my scientific notes and medical doctrines as I addressed the Board. I was to NOT move my hands during the whole speech. To move my hands would be distracting from the dialogue. But my hands had a mind of their own. I could simply not stop fidgeting on the stage. I had no idea what to do with all the energy I felt inside of me.

  Robin Phillips, the director, had a unique way of teaching me how to be still.

  We rehearsed the scene on the Plymouth Theatre stage, in the afternoon, with the full cast and crew present. I was wearing a Captain America shirt. I was so nervous, I had sweated the whole shirt completely out.

  “Sebastian! Quit moving your hands.”

  Robin, incensed, directed me from the orchestra seats in front of the stage.

  “Let’s try it again!!”

  There were so many words for me to memorize. Seventeen songs that I sang during each performance. My mind was concentrating on delivering Olde English without missing a syllable. You only got one shot. This wasn’t a recording studio. This was not a rock concert. I couldn’t hold the microphone out and ask the crowd to sing if I didn’t feel like it.

  No matter how hard I tried, I could not stop my hands from moving. I couldn’t stop sweating. I delivered the lines as best I could, while continuing to fidget. Making Robin Phillips madder by the second.