Slash

by Slash

  I was totally not impressed with this guy. I told him so and that I had to go and that was that. So where was I?

  WE TOOK A FEW WEEKS’ BREAK AFTER that incident in St. Louis, and put the final touches on the Illusion albums. We celebrated with a few shows at the L.A. Forum, which was a highlight of the band’s career. When I thought of the Forum, I thought of Bowie, Zeppelin, Aerosmith, and AC/DC; it is an iconic place. In terms of local bragging rights, it was like playing the Long Beach Arena—but better. I don’t know how the other guys felt about it, but as the limo came down that ramp all I could think about was seeing Rod Stewart there with my mom; all of those stories were going through my mind. The gigs were all sold out and they were amazing. The last one we did there was three and a half hours—in the history of the band, it was the longest one we ever played. That show was July 29, 1991, the very day that the records were finished being mixed. As Axl said from the stage, “The motherfucker is done!”

  While the records were packaged for release, we went on to do the other shows with Skid Row opening—you can imagine the degree of debauchery Matt, Duff, Sebastian Bach, and I got into. Sebastian was totally enthusiastic and totally green; we’d done it all before but we did it all again with Sebastian. That leg of the tour through the States to Europe was debauched and sick and took hedonism to a new level. It was way too much fun because Skid Row was blowing up at that point and was as young and hungry as we’d been with Mötley.

  It’s too bad that Sebastian doesn’t like Duff and Matt and me much anymore: we tried him out when we were looking for a singer for what would become Velvet Revolver but it just didn’t work out. The combination sounded like what I’d call Skid Roses. I must say I’m surprised to hear that Sebastian has been bad-mouthing the rest of us lately.

  In any case, when we went to Europe with Skid Row, everything went along very well, business as usual, until we got to Mannheim, Germany, on August 21, 1991. We had Nine Inch Nails on the bill as well for that date, and we went on late—late even for us—then, pretty early in the set, something happened and Axl walked off for what reason I have no idea. He wasn’t getting heckled as far as I could see, no one hit him with a bottle or anything, but he wasn’t having it. The stage at that venue was literally about a mile away from the production office and dressing room, so a van was there to shuttle us back and forth. When Axl left the stage, he went to the van and headed off to the dressing room.

  The rest of us came offstage and were standing around, waiting to find out if Axl was coming back or if his van had taken off to the hotel. In terms of how he felt and dealt with Axl, Matt Sorum was like Steven—he just didn’t understand why Axl couldn’t just play his part.

  I remember standing there with Duff while Matt was fuming. He’d been in the band long enough that his “new guy” reserve had been earned and dismissed.

  “Fuck that guy,” he said. “I’m gonna go straighten him out.”

  Matt felt that Duff and Izzy and I had played it too delicate with Axl for too long. Like Steve, he just wanted to get in his face and belt the guy because that would probably have worked with most people. I appreciated the sentiment but it seemed like the wrong answer to a volatile situation. All I wanted was to finish the show.

  By this point we’d discovered that Axl’s van had not left for the dressing room; he was sitting in it but he refused to come out and return to the stage. Both Duff and I had already gone down there to try to talk him into it, to no avail. So Matt went down to Axl’s van to rally him, but as he got down there, he ran into Axl, who had emerged to head back to the stage. Matt was so fired up, though, that he got in Axl’s face regardless, to the degree that it almost got physical.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Matt yelled. “Get back onstage!”

  I ran up and got between them, because it wasn’t a good situation. Axl can get completely psycho when he decides to fight and Matt weighs twice as much as I do—and he plays drums—so it wasn’t exactly a good place for me to be. Axl went back to his van, and it didn’t look like he was coming out again. The clock was ticking.

  The promoters saw the drama going on and closed the gates around the venue so that we couldn’t leave. They’d heard what had happened in St. Louis, and it’s a good thing they did; if they hadn’t, I’m positive that the thirty-eight thousand fans there would have rioted, we would have been held liable and arrested, and people might have died. The local police were already there in riot gear, ready to deal with a full-on situation. It was a scary, tense scene, and a very near miss.

  We got Axl back onstage once he realized he had no choice, and the rest of the show went as planned. All I could remember thinking as I walked offstage after the encore was Fuck, that was close. Well, too close, as it turned out: by the next morning, Izzy sent a message through Alan informing us that he was quitting the band. He would finish the last few dates on the current leg of the tour, but after that he was done.

  Seeing that potential for disaster was too much for Izzy, and the truth is, we all should have followed suit. With that many fans out there rabid to see the band perform, I couldn’t see any reason why we should let this crap derail us, let alone potentially put people in danger. I’m obsessive-compulsive and dedicated when it comes to my profession, so I couldn’t let it go.

  Izzy completed the tour, and I tried to talk him out of leaving a few times, but at the same time I couldn’t blame him at all.

  “Hey, man, I know it’s been hard, but I think we can turn it around,” I remember telling him. “The shows are really great, man. The audiences are great, we’re playing stadiums…”

  “I know,” he said. “But, man, I can’t…I just can’t do it anymore.” The way he looked at me at that moment said it all.

  Izzy sent out a statement to everyone, and the next day Alan flew out to meet with him. He took Izzy’s side and came to us and told us that Izzy wasn’t going to rethink the decision. I don’t think Izzy even discussed it with Axl.

  Once that was decided, once it was set in stone that the second of the founding five members of Guns N’ Roses was out of the band, we finished the European tour. Izzy’s final show was before seventy-two thousand people at Wembley Stadium, in London, a venue we sold out faster than any artist in its history. But it’s more worth mentioning that as far as I remember, after Izzy informed us that he was leaving, not one of the remaining European shows started late.

  AFTER WEMBLEY, WE GOT BACK TO L.A. and shot the video for “Don’t Cry,” in which Dizzy Reed is wearing a “Where’s Izzy?” T-shirt. Then we took a break, though my break was occupied by finding us a replacement guitarist so that we could get back out on the road. It was every bit of the ordeal that finding a new drummer had been. Axl was convinced that we should hire Dave Navarro, which I didn’t think was a good idea at all. I think it was a question of style: whoever was going to filly Izzy’s spot needed to play like Izzy, who was a skilled rhythm player that added a unique, subtle texture. Dave Navarro is an amazing guitar player; he’s someone better suited for my spot, not Izzy’s. I don’t think Dave wanted to make the commitment, anyway. Besides, at the time he had a heroin problem and obviously that was a major issue.

  Axl had a few long conversations with Dave about joining the band, and he wasn’t going to be discouraged, so finally I surrendered and tried to arrange a rehearsal with Dave. We agreed on a time for him to come down to Mates and then he never showed up. He did that three times.

  I called Axl after I’d been stood up that third time. “Man, this guy Dave has issues,” I said. “I am not into this.”

  “Okay, okay,” he said. “I’ll talk to him.”

  Axl convinced me that Dave was really committed and that he’d show up when I called him again. I did call him again, and as I expected, he didn’t show up again. That was it, I was furious; that was the last that I was willing to entertain the prospect of Dave Navarro.

  I had been thinking about the one guitar player that I’d seen who reminded me of Izz
y: he was in a band called Candy that had opened up for Hollywood Rose back at Madame Wong’s West before I was ever even in a band with Axl. His name was Gilby Clarke, and as far as I could recall he was the only guy that I knew with an Izzy-like feel, which wasn’t easy to come by.

  I got in touch with Gilby and he wanted the gig more than anything. He learned sixty songs in two weeks; he came in for an audition and just nailed it. A couple of weeks later, we rehearsed him with the whole band and we put a set together, and like that, we were back in fighting shape.

  It was a strange moment. Izzy’s departure happened so quietly, with no fanfare, and no media awareness. It was such a major change within the band, but to the outside world it was a nonevent. Probably because it was overshadowed by the fact that the records came out right before we got back on the road.

  On September 17, 1991, Use Your Illusion II debuted at number one while Use Your Illusion I debuted at number two. We’d broken a record: no other artist of any kind had pulled that off since the Beatles. We were getting all of this major, positive, super news while all of this negative drama was going on simultaneously. By then I’d gotten so used to life being such a rocky road that I dealt with it, and didn’t think twice about the possibility that it might not be normal.

  ONCE GILBY WAS IN AND WE WERE back on tour, we added Soundgarden to the bill for the next leg, which began in December 1991 in Worcester, Massachusetts. They were a favorite band of ours and it was cool to have them, but we didn’t have a good rapport with them at all. We had no common vibe with any of the grunge bands, actually, because we were such a big name; we were the Led Zeppelin of the time, so coming from their more underground, indie point of view, they thought of us as “fat, lazy, and self-indulgent.” We’d take them on tour and they wouldn’t talk to us. It was hypocritical because they didn’t really want to be there, but then again, unless I’m mistaken, they didn’t say no to the gig. All things considered, Duff and I got along with Chris Cornell and Kim Thayil really well, and I understood their wanting to steer clear of the circus all around them.

  We had a much more antagonistic situation on our hands with our other support band, Faith No More, once their front man, Mike Patton, started talking shit about us onstage. We let it go once, twice, but after that, that was it. We had to have a talk with him. Axl came in with me, as did their guitarist Jim Martin, because Jim was as fed up with Mike as we were.

  “Listen, man,” I said. “If you don’t like it here, just fucking leave. It can’t be like this. Either let’s do this thing and make it great, or forget it, go home.”

  They ended up finishing the tour and that was the last outburst we heard from Mike during their set.

  We did three nights at Madison Square Garden (December 9, 10, 13, 1991), the same arena where Led Zeppelin filmed The Song Remains the Same. One of those nights we met one of Axl’s heroes, Billy Joel. It isn’t obvious until you think about it, but Axl loves all of the great songwriters: the Eagles, Elton John, Billy Joel—he knows his shit. I didn’t know anything about Billy Joel aside from the fact that my best friend’s mom played his breakout album, The Stranger, nonstop back in 1978. But it was great to meet Billy that night because he’s such an icon and also because he was very, very drunk—I had no idea that he was such a fuckup, and I loved it. Duff and I could certainly relate to him, and Axl was really fucking happy. Billy was led into the dressing room, where we had all of our booze, and he rummaged around the bar area, making all this noise.

  “Where’s the Johnnie Walker Black Label?” he said, out loud, as much to himself as to us. “There’s no Johnnie Walker Black.” Needless to say, we sent someone out and they came back with a bottle for Billy in no time.

  FEBRUARY 1, 1992, WAS OUR LAST SHOW with Soundgarden, at Compton Terrace, Arizona, and we decided to commemorate it with a little prank. We got ourselves a few inflatable sex dolls and Matt and Duff and I took our clothes off and went onstage with them. Come to think of it, I was the only one of us completely naked. In any case, Soundgarden was touring the Badmotorfinger album, and they came from a place where there was no fun to be had while rocking, so they were mortified. They looked around and there we were screwing blowup dolls all around them; I was drunk and I fell. I got separated from my doll, and at that point I was totally naked—it was a scene.

  Slash the prankster, naked, embracing a blowup doll during Soundgarden’s show.

  WE PLAYED THREE SHOWS AT THE TOKYO Dome in Japan (February 19, 20, 22, 1992), which was something; in fact, I played five shows in a row in the Tokyo Dome—two with Michael Jackson and three with Guns N’ Roses. I experienced the biggest contrast you can imagine between those two audiences; I can’t think of a more surreal switch than playing one night for Michael Jackson, who was flying around the stage and had kids and toys backstage, to playing with Guns and everything that came with that world two nights later—all in the very same building. To top it off, I spent the day I had off between the two shows at Tokyo Disney.

  I flew over early to play with Michael; I had recorded with him back in L.A. between the time that we finished the Illusion records and their release. It was while we were home between legs of the tour. I was staying at the Hyatt on Sunset at the time when I got the call from our office.

  “Hey, Slasher, Michael Jackson is trying to get in touch with you,” Alan said. “He wants you on his record.”

  “Oh, wow,” I said. “Okay.”

  The next call that came through was Michael.

  “Hello?” I said.

  “Hello? Slash?” he said in his typically nervous, timid voice.

  Off we went from there. I was flattered and I was intimidated, but it came off great. We did two songs: the first one, the cooler one, was called “Give in to Me,” which was kind of like a new take on his song “Dirty Diana.” When I went in to record it at the Record Plant Michael was there with Brooke Shields, who he was dating at the time. It was trippy: the studio was as dimly lit and as dark as Guns liked to have it when we recorded.

  “Hi,” Michael said. “This is Brooke.”

  “Hi, nice to meet you,” I said. I think I put my hand out for a shake.

  “I really want to thank you so much for being on my album,” he said. “I really can’t wait to hear what you come up with.”

  And then they split—they went off to dinner or something. I recorded my solo and that was it. A few days later I came back and recorded the introduction to “Black and White.” They wanted something on the front end, which didn’t even make it into the album version of the song. You can hear my part if you watch the video: it’s what Macaulay Culkin is playing on guitar before the song starts. That was strange; to say the least, it wasn’t quite what I had in mind for that solo.

  I think Michael Jackson liked me because of the animated element of my persona. I think he saw me as a caricature. But that’s just me. I still don’t know if he knows that about me.

  I could feel it in my loins that she was having a look.

  AS OUR ALBUMS CONTINUED TO CHART worldwide, we toured Mexico in April, and like our South American fans the Mexican crowds were very dedicated. Then we did the Freddie Mercury tribute in London which was amazing—he was another of Axl’s heroes, so although it was a short set, we gave it our all: we did “Paradise City” and “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door.” Later on I went up and played “Tie Your Mother Down” with Brian May and Roger Taylor of Queen, and Axl sang as well. At the end of the concert we all did “We Are the Champions.” It was a monumental gig, but the most memorable part of the evening was when I took my pants off in front of Liz Taylor: I was in the green room changing and she opened the door, her entourage in tow, and caught me in a T-shirt with no pants on at all. She didn’t have a look of embarrassment in the least; she was absolutely devilish—I could feel it in my loins that she was having a look.

  IN MAY OF 1992, WE ANNOUNCED THAT we would coheadline a summer tour with Metallica starting July 7—there could not have been a bigger rock-and-rol
l bill at the time. It was too cool: they had just released The Black Album and we were riding high with Use Your Illusion I and II. We then headed off to start our headlining arena tour of Europe in Dublin, Ireland, in May 1992.

  In my personal life, my girlfriend, Renee, and I broke up during the American leg because someone in our entourage told her how unfaithful I was being on tour. Cheating was the one thing I’d promised I’d never do. It was a weakness on my part that came out of a need to have as much of a good time between shows as possible, which, along with heavy boozing, was my way of self-medicating to get through all of the turbulent emotional activity, the yin-yang psycho-emotional ups and downs. Booze and girls—that was how I dealt. For the most part in our professional career I hadn’t taken full advantage of the exorbitant amount of women that were available to me, so now that I felt unsettled about what we were doing, I took advantage of all of it.

  Unfortunately, as is usually the case, it all came out in the wash. We were in Chicago when I got a message on my answering service from Renee’s stepbrother, who was a good buddy of mine. I was with a girl at the time, an actress—a real one—that I’d seen in a movie. We were in my hotel room when I called him up.

  “Hey, man, it’s Slash,” I said. “What’s going on?”

  “Dude,” he said, deadly serious. “I don’t know what you’ve got going on out there on tour, and that’s your business. But I think you should call Renee because she’s flipping out about something. She won’t tell me what’s wrong, but she sounds really pissed.”

  I called Renee and she told me off very colorfully. Then in no uncertain terms she threatened me, letting me know that she had an uncle in Chicago—not knowing that I was actually in Chicago—who was connected and who would happily “take care of me” if she asked him to.