VJ: The Unplugged Adventures of MTV's First Wave

by Nina Blackwood

  There’s something about bad boys that’s compelling to good girls—just ask Sandra Bullock. People still ask me, “How could you have gone out with Stiv Bator?” But he was a special guy—in his own, unique, carve-an-X-on-his-chest kind of way. Rolling Stone named us the oddest couple of the year, right behind Melissa Gilbert and Billy Idol.

  Once Stiv came to pick me up at my apartment, along with Michael Monroe from Hanoi Rocks. They had the fringed leather jackets and the cowboy boots and the feather earrings and the eight million jingly-jangly things. And the hair spray—even the punk rockers had big hair back then. The doorman, who was an old-school Irish fellow, buzzed my apartment and said, “There’s two gentlemen here to pick you up.” I came downstairs, and I could see the doorman was thinking, “You’re seriously going out with these freakos?”

  I schlepped Stiv up to Troy, where my grandparents lived. My mom had moved out of the house where I grew up, so my grandparents’ house was my safe place. We were all sitting at the mahogany table where we had so many Thanksgiving dinners. Stiv was sitting there in his leopard-print shirt and red pleather pants, but he made my grandmother laugh hysterically. My dad, formerly a navy pilot, was . . . unsure about Stiv, but once Stiv started pulling out baseball trivia, even he was charmed.

  When we were going out, it always took Stiv ages to get ready. I didn’t wear much makeup—I just worked the Pat Benatar look. But Stiv would have the hair spray and the eyeliner and the lip gloss. And then he’d have to put on his bangles and bolos and belts and boots. I’d be ready in two seconds, and he’d still be getting his vinyl pants on. It made me a little crazy, but it was funny.

  Mark:

  One time, Stiv was supposed to be interviewed at MTV, and he showed up two hours late. He came sauntering down the hallway toward the studio. And our teeny, good-girl, all-American Martha—who I couldn’t believe was going out with this guy who looked like a junkie in the first place—came bolting out of her dressing room. I don’t know how she knew he was there. It was like she had radar.

  Martha:

  Our brilliant receptionist, Carmen Walker, called back to my dressing room when Stiv finally arrived. I’d been talking all day with Nick Turner, the Lords’ drummer. He was the one in the band who had management savvy—later on, he worked for Miles Copeland—and he was freaking out too. Stiv was staying at my apartment, and not picking up the phone.

  Mark:

  Martha started laying into Stiv. “What do you think you’re doing? You can’t show up here two hours late. This is MTV—you have to be on time! Who do you think you are?”

  He just took it: “Sorry, Martha, sorry, I couldn’t help it. Sorry.”

  “That’s not the way we do it around here!”

  “Sorry, sorry.” It was one of the funniest things I ever saw. He was the quintessential punk, and the ultimate squeaky-clean girl was tearing him a new asshole. It was the best moment ever.

  Martha:

  We had worked so hard setting up that interview. Stiv told me later that he had pretty much blown it off on purpose—he didn’t want people to think he got on MTV just because he was my boyfriend. I understood that, but he should have just said no in the first place, instead of letting everyone do all that work. Stiv was a great guy, but he was also totally irresponsible. He was Axl before Axl, which was fine for a punk rock legend, but was tough on a girl from Ossining, New York.

  Stiv and I didn’t last that long. Partially that was because I lived in New York and he lived in London. He would do things like tell me he’d be in New York on Tuesday, and then not show up. There were no cell phones back then—I’d call his place in London, and if he didn’t pick up, I’d have no idea where he was. And then I’d walk into my apartment on Friday, and he’d be there, waiting for me.

  “You said you were going to be here on Tuesday—what the hell?”

  He’d plead, “But I was trying to finalize my divorce.”

  I told Stiv, “I can’t live like this. I know you think that I’m not going to break up with you, but I will.” I was thinking farther down the road: What if we had a kid and he did that when it was their school play or a PTA meeting?

  Anybody who knew Stiv will tell you he was the greatest guy. But those who were closest to him—his bandmates, his girlfriends—will also tell you it was too difficult to stay in a long-term relationship with him. Finally he showed up three hours late for something, and I told him that was the end.

  In 1990, Bator was hit by a motor vehicle in Paris. He declined medical attention and died later the same day.

  40

  I Guess I Should Have Known by the Way You Parked Your Car Sideways That It Wouldn’t Last

  The Final Days of Nina and J. J.

  Nina:

  I wanted to move out of my little apartment and into a high-rise on the Upper East Side. Danny kept saying no, telling me that I should save my money. But then there was a stabbing across the street, and somebody used my lobby as a bathroom—even though there was a doorman—so finally I insisted. At the beginning of 1986, I moved into a place on Eighty-eighth and York, overlooking the East River.

  Around that time, I went to a party at the House of Music recording studio in West Orange, New Jersey. I met this guy, Dennis, a tour manager who had just gotten off the road. He was a cool guy—we both loved rock ’n’ roll, food, and German culture. I had finally gotten out of the relationship with Quentin the schmuck, so I wasn’t looking to start up something new, but Dennis was really nice. When he called me up, I agreed to meet him at the China Club. On that first date, he noticed how quirky I was, and came up with a nickname for me that I loved: Henrietta Glockenspiel.

  Dennis was smitten with me, but I was reluctant. I sat down with Ken Clark, who was the assistant to the VJs, in the lounge at the studio, asking him what I should do. “I’m just not ready for this, K. C.,” I said.

  “Well, get ready,” he told me. “Because he really likes you.” Before I knew it, Dennis was living in the high-rise with me.

  Martha:

  That spring, we heard that MTV wasn’t going to be renewing the contracts of J. J. and Nina. I was devastated, of course—the VJs were like family to me—but not scared for myself. I knew I’d be staying at MTV forever.

  Nina:

  In 1985, the year before, I had been offered a job cohosting Solid Gold with Rick Dees, and I turned that down, because I wasn’t ready to leave. But then things started changing at MTV. Our duties were lessening, and there was no upward mobility—they didn’t want the VJs to be producers or do anything new.

  Paramount came back again, and they offered me two jobs, doing Solid Gold and Entertainment Tonight simultaneously. I had a bunch of other offers, including a syndicated radio show that I took. Three jobs seemed like plenty, so I decided it was time to graduate from MTV and go back to L.A.

  One evening, I went out to dinner with Dennis and told him what was going on, letting him know I was leaving town. It wasn’t an ultimatum, but I wanted to know if he was interested in moving west with me. On the spot, he asked me to marry him. I didn’t say yes right away. But when I thought about it, I felt like nobody would ever ask me again. The only other time somebody had proposed was in the seventh grade. I had loved John, but he had gotten married. So I decided, “Why not?”

  We picked May 19, because I wanted a wreath of lilacs in my hair, and they’re in bloom in May. I asked for one day off and didn’t tell anybody. I was being very private—I didn’t want anyone to think I was leaving MTV because I got married. We had a ceremony on Long Island with a justice of the peace, my maid of honor Ida, Dennis’s best man, and the couple that introduced us. My mom wasn’t even there—she was in the middle of some heavy-duty dental work. We had one night for our honeymoon, and then Dennis had to go out on the road with Patti LaBelle. I headed out shortly after him, to do Hands Across America in Little Rock, Arkansas. I was being a hand. Two hands, I guess.

  Mark:

  One day, Nina just showed up marrie
d. She had the shift after me, and I was doing the throw to her. She came out on the set, and I noticed she was wearing a wedding ring. And I didn’t even know she was going out with anybody. I said, “What’s this, Nina? Did you get married over the weekend? Ha ha!” She didn’t say anything, and I realized it wasn’t a joke. “What? You got married?! And you didn’t tell us?” I was so shocked that my sister didn’t tell me about this huge event in her life.

  Martha and J. J. had noticed the ring in the dressing room a few minutes before me. We all felt it was bizarre.

  Nina:

  Some designer had sent us a bunch of bathing suits. We were looking through them, and Martha spotted the ring, and said, “What’s that?”

  Martha:

  I saw that ring and felt like I was sucker-punched: “You bitch!” That sounds horrible, but I was really hurt. I didn’t understand how she could do something like that. Okay, fine, she didn’t invite us—but to not even tell us? That sucked.

  Nina:

  Martha told J. J., and he blew up. He took me in his dressing room, slammed the door, and bawled me out. “Why didn’t you tell us? We’re your family, Bean.” He used to call me Nina Bean, or just Bean. I said, “I didn’t tell anybody, except Ida. I didn’t want people to get the wrong idea about my leaving.” I just wanted to keep it private until I was leaving, but I never heard the end of it. All the other VJs were really mad at me.

  Martha:

  It rocked my world, but after I said my piece, I was over it.

  Mark:

  We had a farewell party for Nina and J. J. at some restaurant. I hired a stripper for each of them. J. J.’s was this athletic blond woman who did some high kicks and eventually stripped down to her underwear. J. J. leaned against the wall, enjoying the show. And for Nina, I hired a super-muscular black dude, who stripped down to a cup. Nina acted like a kindergarten kid: freaking out, running away from him, hiding her face.

  Nina:

  It was just gross. I ran into the bathroom—my favorite place to hide.

  Mark:

  I thought it would be funny, but it never dawned on me she would be that embarrassed. She knocked over a chair to get away from this guy—if she could have crawled into the wall, she would have.

  For his final segment, J. J. Jackson stood with his arm wrapped around a clearly distraught Martha Quinn, flanked by Alan Hunter and Mark Goodman. In front of them was a large cake in the shape of the numeral 5. J. J. said goodbye to his fellow VJs, and to the audience: “It’s five years we’ve all been together, and Nina couldn’t be here. She sent me a lovely note, saying why she couldn’t be here. But it might be the last time you see the four of us together.”

  Nina:

  I stayed in my dressing room because it was just so emotionally overwhelming.

  Martha:

  J. J. covered for Nina, but I was worried that he might be hurt that she didn’t make it out for his last segment. In retrospect, he handled the situation beautifully.

  Mark:

  He was Mr. Aplomb. Nina could be a little melodramatic, but she was always a sweetheart. She wasn’t great at articulating her emotions, so it all led to tears.

  Nina:

  Of all the VJs, J. J. was the only who really seemed to understand the extreme degree of my shyness. The others didn’t pick up on that, or if they did, they never said anything. But J. J. knew that my being in the middle of things was not comfortable for me. He described me as “painfully shy,” and he was right.

  Mark:

  No one has ever said anything to me about it, but when J. J. was let go, or when his contract wasn’t renewed, I figured they felt he didn’t fit with the channel anymore. But the guy he was when they let him go—he was that same guy when they hired him. He always had this elegance about him that was not “Hey, kids, rock ’n’ roll.” He was always connected, and the stars knew him. He was always a bit chubby and sweaty on camera. I think they just thought he was getting old.

  Martha:

  We got to say goodbye to J. J., but Nina just left without saying anything.

  Nina:

  Well, there was that farewell party, and Martha was there. But my last day turned out not to be very momentous. I had a lot of vacation time, so I didn’t have an official last day—MTV said to just go ahead and leave. Solid Gold and Entertainment Tonight were champing at the bit for me to get out to L.A.—I didn’t even have time to finish packing. After I started on those jobs, I had to come back to New York twice before all my stuff was packed for the move.

  On my last day, I passed by Downtown Julie Brown in the hallway—they had hired her as a new VJ. We met very briefly, standing next to the wardrobe room. She was moving into my dressing room—either mine or J. J.’s.

  I quickly settled back into the California life. J. J. had beaten me back to Los Angeles, but only by a few weeks. A few months after we left the channel, he and I went to the third Video Music Awards—that year, they were broadcasting the show from the Palladium in New York and the Universal Amphitheatre in L.A. We asked MTV for tickets, and they gave them to us: two seats in the Universal balcony, in the second-to-last row.

  41

  The Kid Is Hot Tonight

  Alan Hunter Coast to Coast

  Alan:

  The Amnesty International tour was a year after Live Aid; we broadcast the final show from Giants Stadium. It felt like Live Aid Light, with the Police, U2, Peter Gabriel, Jackson Browne, and Little Steven, and it seemed like these types of mega-concerts were going to be all the rage from then on. But everything that happened at that show is a bit of a fog for me, because Jan was extremely pregnant with our first child. She had decided that she didn’t want to crack Broadway; she was ready to be a mom. By the time of the Amnesty show, Jan was too pregnant to come waddling out to Giants Stadium, so I strapped a pager on my belt and spent the whole time worrying about her going into labor. I made it through, and our son, Dylan, was born three days later, on June 18, 1986. Somebody in MTV’s PR department got USA Today to write about it; I framed the article and kept it in Dylan’s bedroom: “MTV’s First VJ Baby.”

  Mark:

  Amuck in America was a thirty-day cross-country trip that had Alan and a hot model babe, Josie Bell, in a convertible, with a crew following them. They drove across the country and got in trouble everywhere. Alan was great for it, but it was a mess for him to do it—he had just had a baby, and it did not go down well with his wife. I was dying to do it, and it would have gotten me away from my wife, which is what I was looking to do as often as possible at that point. But I was the knowledge VJ and Al was the funny VJ.

  Alan:

  We were negotiating a new contract, and the bosses came to me and said, “Alan, we need you to go on the road for thirty days.”

  I said, “I can’t—my son’s just two months old.” Before, I had always been a company man—that was the first time I had ever pushed back. They kept asking, and finally I negotiated that they would fly Jan out three times to visit me.

  Bob Pittman and Tom Freston were the merry prankster executives behind this whole thing, and they put our producer buddy, Joe Davola, in charge on the road.

  Mark:

  Joe Davola was a really funny guy. He was involved in creating Remote Control, and he produced Arsenio Hall’s show. They also named a character after him on Seinfeld—“Crazy Joe Davola.”

  Alan:

  We were doing twelve segments a day. At the beginning, we put together these little comedy skits, and the word we got back was, “We don’t want the skits—just turn the camera on.” They wanted to run us ragged and see what would happen. We didn’t know it, but we were inventing the next generation of reality TV. I was happy to be out of the studio, freed from the obligations of being a talking head and interviewing bands. I just wanted to talk to regular people and be funny.

  On the third day, we went to Philadelphia, and ended up at a dance club that was having a wet T-shirt contest. I was on my knees with a pitcher of beer, spewing it
all over these girls’ T-shirts. It felt like an out-of-body experience—when the camera turned off, I was thinking, “I can’t believe I just did that.” But that was exactly what they wanted.

  It was a bare-bones operation. We couldn’t afford a big rock ’n’ roll tour bus, so we had a small RV. It was six or seven crew guys, plus Josie and me. Josie was lovely. She and I got along really well—if I hadn’t been a committed family guy, we would have hooked up, I think. We’d all haul our bags into the hotel at the end of the day, and then wake up at 8 A.M. and think about what we were going to do. The route across the country was roughly planned out, but we took a lot of detours.

  It was probably the best time ever in my career, and the hardest-ever time in my personal life. I felt like the businessman who went on the road—I sold a lot of vacuum cleaners, but my family got left behind. There were no cell phones, and we were running and gunning the whole time, so I wasn’t calling home very often. And poor Jan was watching the debauchery every day on MTV, with a three-month-old hanging onto her breast. I was finally hitting my stride at MTV, but Jan didn’t like staying at her folks’ house in Mississippi, watching me get crazy on TV.