by Billy Idol
It was a lie, but I offered it in my best clipped British accent, all apologies and charm. The manager seemed inclined to accept my explanation, subject to checking out what the other members of our party were up to. We proceeded to Steve’s room, knocked on the door, and waited. It took a while for Steve to respond, so the manager knocked again even harder. Very slowly the door opened ever so slightly, revealing Steve’s bleary eyes peering at us through a very small gap. It took a little persuasion, but when Steve grudgingly opened his door fully and allowed us to enter, no explanation was necessary for his initial reluctance to let us in. Certainly the manager did not ask for one. Instead he gave us an hour to check out of the hotel. Had he asked what Steve thought he was doing, he would have received a simple answer: he had decided to redecorate his room. Just the previous day, Steve had received a huge bag of personalized black guitar picks, and once he had decided the colors in his room were too bright, he’d taken matters into his own hands. With several tubes of superglue and a chair to help him reach the higher sections, he spent an entire night giving the room a more subdued feel by wallpapering an entire wall and half of another with his personalized picks. That was the best explanation I could get out of Steve, but I had to admit he’d impressed me with yet another flash of creativity. “Fuck my grandmother,” I gleefully replied. “That’s great, Steve!”
The next day, we began to work as a band on “White Wedding” in the studio with Keith, who played drums. We tracked to his beats, just as we had done with “Hot in the City” a few months before. Keith added his signature bom-bom bom-bom tom-tom overdubs, one of his undeniable drum hooks. For the video, we filmed nails being driven into a coffin synched to the beat of that tom-tom fill—that’s how much of a hook it was. Keith tracked the dry, eighth-note guitar to the deep-rolling bass line à la “Dancing,” and it once again knitted the track together, making the rhythm unstoppable. Steve added a lovely finishing flurry of notes to my plucked B-minor chord “flag,” showing he could be both delicate and hard rocking. His droning guitar wail answers my vocal, rhythm and lead guitar brilliantly filling out the track.
“White Wedding” turned into a huge production number when we decided to add a second synthesized version to the rock version for the dance mix. The guitars fade into a doomy keyboard pad with electro-rock rhythms to give it that Giorgio Moroder disco thing I dug. I then intoned another vocal on top of it, enjoying the spare, dark vibe and the different feel. I wanted my music to be pliable, so individual songs could work in a number of different ways. When a song is good, the number of interpretations it accommodates grows, as do the instrumental possibilities.
After we recorded “White Wedding” and the session ended, we decided to do a jump-up gig at a small joint on Sunset Boulevard where L.A. musicians hung out. We debuted “White Wedding” there to a somewhat indifferent audience, but we didn’t care. The song was a blast, and we felt great adding it to our repertoire. The joint was called the Central, which Johnny Depp would later reopen and name the Viper Room.
After getting kicked out of the Sunset Marquis, Steve and I moved across Sunset to the Chateau Marmont. I had one of those little bungalows off from the main hotel. I started drinking tequila in the dead of night since I was suffering some withdrawals from “chipping” the H, and I found it difficult to sleep. I would drink half a bottle of tequila, become comatose, and wake up a few hours later from having psychedelic nightmares.
One night I was put to sleep drunk and raving in the early evening by Brendan Bourke, who then took what remaining booze I had left. I woke up at two in the morning jonesing, knowing I couldn’t get any more booze until six. I was pissed-off drunk and raging in an alcohol-induced nightmare. Incensed, I began to smash up the room, taking out the bungalow windows with my elbows, screaming. I destroyed the TV and whatever else was in my immediate vicinity that sounded good crashing to the floor. Soon, the place was in complete shambles. I was nude and covered in blood and sweat, going nuts.
The hotel manager was alerted. She came up, took one look at the mess, and ordered me out. Brendan was called and told of my destruction, but he got them to agree to let me stay until morning. After a short while I was able to get back to sleep. I awoke a few hours later on the floor, still naked, as daylight streamed into the room. I rolled a joint and started to smoke it in front of the broken TV with shards of glass all around me, the door hanging off its hinges and the windows shattered. The smell had to be discernible to anyone passing by, and wouldn’t you know it, pretty soon I heard some urgent-sounding voices outside. Curious, I went to the window to take a look: my curiosity was rewarded when I saw some cops moving down the pathway leading to my room. They seemed to be looking for something. I quickly extinguished the joint and looked around frantically for any illicit substances I might hide or destroy. I was sure that they would soon be knocking at my door. “Billy, you’ve gone too far this time,” I said to myself as I waited for the knock that would inevitably lead to something bad. But nothing happened, and yet I could still hear them. I decided to take matters into my own hands and open the door, ready to go quietly rather than make a scene and make matters worse for myself. I opened the door and went outside, but the cops had moved on from my bungalow and were searching farther away toward another bungalow. They showed no interest in me as I stood there fully nude, just outside my door, staring at them. They continued to comb the ground, looking for . . . what? It wasn’t until later that I learned that John Belushi had OD’d in another bungalow the previous night. After that, the hotel manager had forgotten all about me, and after sending her a bouquet and promising no more destruction, I moved to another bungalow.
* * *
IT WASN’T JUST DRUGS THAT were messing with my brain and causing me to act irrationally. I longed for Perri, and the thought of her being in New York while I was alone once more, three thousand miles away from her, was driving me crazy. Combine that with the pressure of recording my first solo album, and it was all really difficult to deal with.
Despite the fact we had “White Wedding” as a song we could hang the album on, I still felt a little unsure of how it would be received. I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders, and I was feeling insecure, which led to some irrational behavior. I should have trusted my initial instincts about Keith and Steve Stevens, as I believed in both of them. The effects of withdrawal were probably preventing me from seeing things more clearly. After all, this was only the second album Keith and I had made together, and it was the first with the triumvirate of me, Keith, and Steve Stevens. We were beginning to embrace a more power-pop rock-dance direction, evolving away from Generation X’s punk-rock approach. This was new for me. In a rock world populated by REO Speedwagon and Journey, did any of what I was doing make commercial sense?
The lyrics of this album would celebrate Perri and our love affair, which was now going global since we were no longer just living in London. I wanted my lyrics to reflect my personal experience over the last year since the final Gen X album. One thing I was certain of was that my lyrics were unlike Tony James’s. Whether that was good or bad, I wasn’t quite sure. They weren’t about guns, fictional rock ’n’ roll gangs, or science fiction. They were about me, struggling with a new life in a strange country, trying to forge some kind of future. They were also created simultaneously with a melody, which meant I was concentrating on the words, and “singing good” phonetically. I was more economical, trying to make sure each word and sentence was more meaningful. At least that was my intent. I was learning my craft and trying to grow lyrically.
Making the Billy Idol album wasn’t all darkness. Despite my insecurities and missing Perri, much of it was a lot of fun, especially seeing Steve Stevens work his guitar and effects, dragging those tortured sounds from deep within his amp and speaker. After two weeks in the studio we had recorded almost all the songs we had written in New York. Everyone in the band really did his utmost to create the best backing tracks possible. Not all the songs were dance
-rock numbers. “Hole in the Wall” and “Dead on Arrival” were straight-ahead rock songs infused with attitude, but Keith Forsey’s sensibilities meant the production had a feel unlike the ’70s rock most people were listening to on U.S. radio. We were not making predictable stadium rock but tight, four-minute, groove-based dance-pop tracks that just happened to feature great rock guitar. We would never have achieved the desired effect on “White Wedding” without Keith playing drums. I love his tight beat-keeping and will always be proud of what we achieved together on that song. The rest of the group departed for New York, leaving Steve and me to finish the album with Keith. Steve worked on guitar overdubs while I sang the final vocals.
At this point, everybody could see that, if I were to complete my vocals in a timely, non-fucked-up way, the best thing would be for Perri to come out to L.A. Once she arrived, the final vocals went well. I pulled myself together and stopped overdoing the tequila at night, relaxed, and enjoyed singing. It was magic to have Perri with me.
We did a dance mix version of “White Wedding” by joining the rock and electro versions together, and when Keith thought we had it right, we took a cassette to this giant L.A. disco to debut it and get people’s reaction. They went mad, dancing to the song with wild abandon.
Hearing the tracks, the record label thought we needed one more song, so Keith and I came up with “Love Calling.” Keith laid down a heavy tom-tom beat that we tracked to Steve Stevens’s bass as well as guitar. We added some faux African backing vocals, wood blocks, and heavy percussion, finishing it with a sax solo. It was cool experimenting with different instruments, since, up until this point in my musical career, I had never tried anything other than the usual guitar/bass/drums/keyboards setup. We also did a dubbed-up dance remix, which was a lot of fun.
We had been trying to come up with something fresh by searching for a sound that was a mélange of all the best rock/blues/folk/punk/funk ideas rolled into one. We tried to come up with something fresh. We wanted to access all of music’s various styles at the same time, mixing them up to create a unique new brand, Billy Idol Music. We hadn’t perfected it yet, but with the sound and feel of this peculiar little record that would go on to sell more than a million copies, we were on our way.
* * *
JUST BEFORE LEAVING L.A., I ran across a book about a comic superheroine named Octobriana, believed to have been created in Russia in the late ’60s by a group of dissidents to protest the Soviet authorities’ hard-line stance and the lack of freedom under the regime. The heroine of this graphic novel was a female James Bond–type freedom fighter/spy who embodied the ideals of the October Revolution, betrayed by the Soviet government.
Octobriana was like a Russian cartoon Statue of Liberty who came to life to battle the forces of Stalinism with a red star on her forehead. She was kind of like a Mongolian version of Wonder Woman with huge tits and a skimpy outfit.
I thought the character would look great as a tattoo but I was lacking the courage, so I downed a load of booze and a quaalude and went to Sunset Strip Tattoo and showed the artist there, Kevin Brady, the picture. He traced it onto some see-through paper, made an outline on my left arm, and began to stick needles in me. I fell asleep occasionally while he worked, but I woke up every now and then to say, “Not too Mongolian,” before returning to my snooze. When he began to write his tag in Chinese figures, Kevin really dug in, and that was the one bit of the tattoo where I felt some pain. When he was finished, I was pleased. I thought the tattoo came out really well. Of course, news of my ink scared everybody back in New York, but I liked Kevin’s work, and still do to this day.
Not too many people in New Wave rock bands had tattoos back then. This was 1982, before Guns N’ Roses and the later-’80s bands, who really got tatted up. I don’t know what possessed me, but I liked it and thought it went with my look. In fact, my Octobriana would become quite famous later that summer.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I WANT MY MTV: VIDEO THRILLS THE RADIO STAR
Midtown Manhattan
IN THE SPRING OF 1982, MTV had been on-air for over half a year, but it had yet to make an impact because many cable systems weren’t yet carrying it, even in New York, where it was born.
Bill Aucoin had told me about this new network, and we decided to make a video for the first single from my debut LP, “Hot in the City.” It was very crude, and I don’t believe we ever ended up submitting it. It had me walking on some Tron-like computer grid.
The single came out and did quite well, getting to number 23 on the Billboard Hot 100. Chrysalis didn’t put my picture on the sleeve, as punk had been shunned by most radio stations and was not selling. This way, Chrysalis thought we might get a fair shake from radio, and they happened to be right. I also did a callout of a hundred American cities, so that each market could personalize the song in the space on the record where I shout, “New York.”
With the chart activity, I did another Solid Gold performance, this time with my new band. In addition to Steve Stevens, there was Gregg Gerson on drums, Phil Feit on bass, and Judi Dozier on keyboards. Having a woman on keyboards was part of our fresh edge, a combination of sexes at the dawn of this new era in music. Beginning in April, and through the summer, we played shows across the Northeast to introduce the new music and band members.
On the night of August 4, we played two separate gigs in New York, first at the Ritz and then later at the Peppermint Lounge. The Ritz was a prestigious venue for us, one of the Manhattan rock clubs where you had to go down well in order to proceed on to bigger and better bookings. I don’t know how many bands would’ve dared to play two venues in a single night, but it was fun, and the reaction was encouraging.
We then flew to the West Coast, beginning in Palo Alto at the Keystone on August 9, Bill Graham’s Stone in San Francisco on the 10th, and then to L.A. for two consecutive nights at the Whisky and the Roxy the following night. I was a bit dope-sick during this leg and had some wine before the Roxy gig to feel better, but it didn’t help! The L.A. Times’ Robert Hilburn reviewed the show: the caption under the photo of me read simply, HUBRIS. Bob was just a little more than a dozen years early in his prediction of what would bring about my fall, but I was already walking a fine line between success and disaster.
After that, the band and I headed to Europe, where we first played London, and then traveled to Germany for a gig followed by a TV show appearance, for which we spent the day in a freezing castle for an old-school video shoot for “Hot in the City.” The shoot was so long and arduous that I understood from that point on the value of having a preproduced video when promoting a record.
We returned to the UK to shoot a video for “White Wedding” for MTV, which was now beginning to become more meaningful in the States. We reached out to director Russell Mulcahy for a concept, but after a few promising preliminary discussions, where he suggested blowing up a kitchen, we decided to look elsewhere. So, we turned to David Mallet. I knew David from the live Generation X Marquee shoot he’d filmed in 1977. He had directed the Kenny Everett Video Show, a favorite of mine, and I had previously met him when Perri did a Def Leppard video with him. Knowing how great Perri was, he hired her to suggest choreography ideas for the shoot.
David and I put our heads together and came up with a concept. It was a very simple but effective idea involving churches, a gothic wedding, and a motorbike smashing through the face of Jesus. The set was a mocked-up graveyard with loads of crosses. I suspect the video had something to do with a fantasy about the heroin I was doing in private, but the song itself was really about not being tied down by society’s conventions.
At the time, I had begun to wear many rosaries and other items around my neck to create a self-made image that I had culled from my walks among the Catholic shops while I was in New York the previous year. I had a leather vest made in bright red that could be turned inside out for an interchangeable black look, to which I affixed a sheriff’s badge. I wore black jeans with a black rubberized patt
ern along with some long Vivienne Westwood socks that came above my boots and went over the lower part of my leg beneath the knee. I wore nothing underneath the vest, exposing my chest, covered in crosses, rosaries, and ornaments.
We bleached my hair the night before the shoot, and then I hooked up with some of my UK mates, whom I had not seen for a year and a half. Somehow, despite the late night/early morning partying, I still managed to turn up early to shoot the gravedigger scene outside a deserted church, arriving by motorcycle. Then we shot the part where I unwrapped myself from the shroud I might have been buried in as though I was coming back to life while singing the first verse. It was Idol resurrected—undead, but still rocking.
David then began securing the mock coffin lid by knocking in the nails in time to Keith Forsey’s tom-tom beat. We had Mark May play a male nurse, and Perri played the bride. Mark mopped Perri’s brow as she lay on a stretcher. I bloodied her finger by affixing a barbed-wire wedding ring, and her kitchen exploded as she pirouetted like a prima ballerina. In this video world, domestic bliss was not guaranteed. Perri also recruited her friends Dominique and Alison from Hot Gossip/Spinooch to choreograph dance moves that involved slapping their butts at the front of an altar in time to the claps on the record. We had a stunt rider playing me to crash through a huge stained-glass window with Jesus’ face on it, entering the church to exact some kind of revenge. It was anarchy, and a spit in the face of convention. We shot the entire video in one very long day.
