by Billy Idol
My first friend was dying while I made the Kings & Queens of the Underground album. We recorded in England so I could be near to my parents and spend as much time with them as I could. Now, Mum tells me that Dad puts on the recordings I gave them of the finished record, that he listens to it in the morning sometimes, and that he likes “Save Me Now” a lot. I knew also that he’d been listening to some Generation X songs, as he shared his thoughts with me on “Wild Youth.”
In May 2014, Dad began to suffer real difficulty breathing as the cancer reached his lungs, and I returned home to help my mum before hospice care began. He was to be cared for at home, as Mum was a nurse and still is the greatest at what was once her profession. My niece Caroline is a doctor, and her fiancé, Ahmad, is a leading oncologist, so Dad had the best medical care within arm’s reach. But I came home to help Mum during the vital days before the extra help and a stairlift arrived. My arrival gave my sister a much-needed break, as, with Mum, she was bearing the brunt of it all.
I would help Dad upstairs: as he had great difficulty climbing the stairs, he would become exhausted by the effort. Doing simple things for himself became terribly difficult, like putting on his pajamas after taking off his clothes at bedtime, or brushing his teeth. One evening, I was alone with him, helping him get settled for the night, and when he was finally lying in bed and comfortable he became quite emotional and said to me, “Billy, did I upset you that I didn’t understand about you choosing music as your career?” We had had our ups and downs over the years, as all sons and fathers do, but it was all in the past now. I replied, “Dad, I was crazy to think I could do it,” and the look of relief and love that passed between us crystalized a truth: however upsetting his present state, this feeling between us at that moment was our true relationship, and had always been.
There were other moments when we saw the shining look of love in his eyes as we did our best to make him comfortable under very trying circumstances. This time spent with my dad was so precious—horrible and beautiful all at once—that in private I cried with both joy and sadness. My sister had told me this might happen when she asked me to come to the UK to help Dad, but the experience was more affecting than anything I could have imagined. My father is a great man, and I am privileged to be his son.
* * *
NOW I WONDER ABOUT THE red dimension of love I entered while gone from this world, in the moments after my motorcycle accident, and I contemplate whether it is there that we will truly meet again. Maybe that loving presence is so close at hand that we just don’t realize it unless terrible pain or exhilarating joy propel us into it—shock us into contact with the other side, as it were, while our emotional core lies bare and vulnerable. Would that be something an atheist would wish for? I would never say anything to my dad in his present state of health to make him wrestle with any such earthly questions, as he gets so easily anxious or upset, precious oxygen being denied him. Besides, the answer will be apparent to us all in due time.
As I see his life ebb away I find a disquieting horror there. I feel a tightening of the throat, a sense of panic, and I long to see him once again, whole, the young man in the Fleet Air Arm uniform, pictured in his fighter plane in the waning days of World War II, paisley scarf around his neck catching the wind. Or the man I knew as a boy, diving for clams off Long Island, hunting and fishing, living his life to the limit as he saw it. The man who told me at sixteen that if I really wanted musical instruments I should get them myself. I’m proud to say the do-it-yourself attitude I maintained through all my endeavors was instilled by my father’s words. The same man who came to the U.S. during my darkest days of isolated addiction, stepping off the plane carrying a big walking stick he did not need, resolved to save me from myself. A man who always took the moral high ground in any argument or business deal—it’s hard to defeat what is right, and if it does suffer a blow, it holds fast and comes back stronger. He taught me this. He was tough on me at times, and yes, I’ve bridled against his hopes for me, but the young buck is bound to. But I know it’s because he loved me, and in the end, a considerable part of the person I am can be attributed to him. Oh, if only I could impart a small piece of my energy to help bolster his. I can only be there for him and understand how the moral high ground he stood upon in his life was his power. He wielded that power so deftly and with such sublime intelligence that I once wondered if his dreams had truly been fulfilled. The look of love in his eyes says yes.
Still, right now, as he knows what each day means, I take comfort in my contact with the other side and hold on to this as my answer to why we must experience this love and glory that walks hand in hand with our existence, yet is invisible and omnipresent, but nonetheless real and welcoming, and is but one breath away.
TODAY, WHEN I’M NOT TOURING or working on a new project, I enjoy being “busy doin’ nothin’,” to quote the title of a Brian Wilson song I didn’t understand at first but do now. I like to roar along on my Harley, blasts of wind burning my eyes, the lead rider guiding the way to no direction known, my soul feeding, my mind expanding, my senses exploding with delight. The guy in front signals, Look out for this dirt patch, a burst of fuel and time as heaven unfolds. The road is blue, the sky yellow, the sun burning. I can’t remember the sea being quite so lovely as we ride by, drinking in the vistas.
That’s what biking does. It opens you up to see the wild in raw nature that is just an acceleration away. A massive orgasm of gas and flame ignites and powers my dragon, and, like St. George (Harrison), we face our demons down. When I was battling my own many-headed hydra, I prayed to George Harrison that, whatever he thought of me down here, he’d look out for us from up there. An afternoon long on human movement does the heart good.
I watch a pair of hawks descend to the canyon floor. They survey the valley below and then rise up on a flow of air unseen by the human eye, created by uneven heating of the earth. The thermals push and lift them higher until, standing on the rock, they see far into the distance. We climb through a winding elevation of road unknown to cars, pull over to stretch our legs, and stand like lords of all we survey.
Green and cream, she cools by the road waiting, her chrome gleaming. She wants you to know she’s traveled more than thirteen thousand miles through all manner of terrain and weather. We turn to scan the windswept promontory, a vista of emerald, for it’s a day after rainfall, and the flowing surface looks like water-carved rock. I stand with a 360-degree view of the Pacific Coast Highway, the mountains stretching away from the sea, high above, in a place I would never be if I didn’t ride a bike. Life is sweet.
My maternal grandparents, Michael and Anna O’Sullivan, who gifted me my banjo when I was three, and my Ringo Starr snare drum at seven. Courtesy of Idol family archive
Dad in his Fleet Air Arm uniform, atop his fighter plane, 1945. Courtesy of Idol family archive
Mum, in Eire, on her honeymoon. Courtesy of Idol family archive
Wedding day, through an archway of “Handy Angle” slotted shelving, 1953. Courtesy of Idol family archive
Off on their honeymoon. Courtesy of Idol family archive
American summer, three or four years old, on Long Island with my dad. Courtesy of Idol family archive
On a holiday drive to Niagara Falls and the Great Lakes, with Mum, 1959. Courtesy of Idol family archive
Long Island, after a blizzard. Courtesy of Idol family archive
Back to Dear Old Blighty, representing Goring Cub Scouts, proudly carrying our troop flag. Courtesy of Idol family archive
At Goring Church of England School, fuck knows what year. Courtesy of Idol family archive
Frightening Mum and Dad with my hair length and nicotine-stained fingers at Christmas dinner. Courtesy of Idol family archive
In Bromley with my sister, Jane, and parents, 1974. Note short-cropped Lou Reed hairdo. Courtesy of Idol family archive
Waaaaah! I wanna be the singer! With Gene October, in the band Chelsea. © Ray Stevenson
A clas
sic Bromley Contingent photo. Seated, left to right, Siouxsie Sioux, Debbie Juvenile. Standing, left to right, Simon Barker, me, Steve Severin. © Sheila Rock
Generation X, on the Roxy stage we built, in front of the black backdrop I hung, 1977. © Alain Bali
At the Marquee, Wardour Street. Yes, we had chicks in the front row, thank god. © Adrian Boot
In Paris, live at Le Gibus. © Ray Stevenson
The book that spawned the band. © Tandem Books
My dad searched all of England for a black shirt for me, but they hadn’t sold black shirts since World War II because of fascist implications. © Ray Stevenson
Backstage at the Marquee, a gig that was a huge break; most groups who played there already had records out—the power of punk! © Ray Stevenson
“You’re nicked, Sunshine.” With Tony James, Bob “Derwood” Andrews, and Mark Laff. © Ray Stevenson
Marc Bolan, at his Dandy in the Underworld launch party, Roxy Club, 1977. © Steve Emberton, Camera Press London
Gen X: Terry “Chimer” Chimes, James Stevenson, Tony James, and moi. © Adrian Boot
At the piano with Keith Moon at a charity event, 1978. © Steve Emberton, Camera Press London
Family portrait day, at my parents’ house in Bromley, 1978. Courtesy of Idol family archive
New York City, 1978, Generation X press promo tour, with my pink Elvis ’50s-style jacket. © Roberta Bayley/Redferns/Getty Images
The final night of the legendary Max’s Kansas City and the very first Billy Idol solo show, 1981. © Justina Davies
Attacking Keith Forsey at Electric Lady Studios, recording Rebel Yell, with Steve Stevens and engineer Michael Frondelli. Courtesy of Ellen Golden
The Cat Club, New York City, 1984. With Perri, Ron and Jo Wood. © Ron Galella/Ron Galella Collection/WireImage
With Perri, at an all-night rock ’n’ roll bowling club, New York City. © Ray Stevenson
Getting dirty before we get clean, the Stony-Eyed Medusa and yours truly, Dortmund, Germany, 1984. © Picture alliance/Fryderyk Gabowicz
The infamous Rolling Stone cover issue, January 31, 1985, complete with leather loincloth and my “bible belt.” © Wenner Media
Appearing on Saturday Night Live, host: Don Rickles. © NBC/NBC Universal/Getty Images
Whiplash Smile tour, with Steve Stevens, 1987. © Daniel Gluskoter
Clubbing with a very young Drew Barrymore, 1984. Courtesy of Idol family archive
Gold and platinum records galore, the Rebel Yell touring band. From left to right: Thommy Price, Steve Stevens, Bill Aucoin, me, Judi Dozier, and Steve Webster, 1984. © Bob Gruen/www.bobgruen.com
At Florida’s mysterious Coral Castle, in the “moon for a rocking chair,” from an unreleased “Sweet Sixteen” video shoot, 1987. © R.J. Capak / Universal Music Group
“Boots and Scarves,” minus the scarf, Los Angeles. © Johnny Rozsa
With Sam Kinison, David Bowie, and Madonna, 1987. Courtesy of Everett Collection
With Les Paul, holding my signed Les Paul Junior—extremely coked out (me, not Les). Courtesy of Idol family archive
At home, writing songs on my beloved Taylor acoustic—a gift from Steve Stevens, complete with mother-of- pearl Whiplash Smile logo inlay, and inscribed “To My Idol.” Courtesy of Idol family archive
Charmed Life tour, with the aid of a walking stick, at Bercy in Paris, 1990. © Alain Benainous/Gamma-Rapho/Getty Images
With Will at the Batman Returns premiere, June 1992. Note Will’s Batman shoes. © BEImages/RexUSA
With Bonnie and Will; the apple didn’t fall far from this tree. Courtesy of Idol family archive
As “Cat,” in the movie The Doors—I insisted on having the longest hair on set. © Tristar Pictures
Bonnie Blue’s First Communion. This photo is what heaven looks like for my mum. Courtesy of Idol family archive
Locarno, Switzerland, at the Moon and Stars Festival. © Charles Jischke
Peace & Love Festival, Borlänge, Sweden. © Charles Jischke
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
FIRST AND FOREMOST, I’D LIKE to thank my parents, Joan and Bill Broad. My father passed away on August 7th, 2014, 9:45 p.m. BST, 1:45 p.m. L.A. time.
When my dad entered hospice, though my first instinct was to rush back to his side and support my mum, Dad wanted me to continue working even when he was in the final stages of cancer. He believed once you had made a commitment, you had to see it through: the courage of his convictions never stood down. Mum would ring and tell me he was listening to early mixes of songs from Kings & Queens of the Underground, which I’d sent along once they were in good enough shape to share. She said they comforted him.
One day my mum put on the mixes, and it was to the sounds of “Ghosts in My Guitar” that he relaxed and fell asleep. My incredible father, my friend: I will forever remember you as one of those ghosts in my guitar.
For decades of unwavering service and friendship, Tony Dimitriades and Brigid Waters. For cheering me on through thick and thin with this book, Laurence Freedman.
For past services, Bill Aucoin (RIP). Pure matesmanship and incredible musical partners, Keith Forsey and Steve Stevens. To my loves, Perri Lister, Bonnie Blue, Willem Wolfe. For my little sister, Jane Cheese, and family. For my confederates, Brian Tichy, Trevor Horn, Greg Kurstin, Billy Morrison. Fellow “chalatwin” and Prime Mover in Generation X, Tony James; also Derwood and Mark Laff. Matesman and bass man no. 97 “Yammamatao” says Hi to “Sagamahachi” no. 98 Stephen McGrath. Rude Dude and mate John Diaz (fuck off). Mates and musicians, Terry Chimes and Steve Jones. For press and love, Sharon Chevin. Styling and love, Gwen Mullen, Mitzi Spallas, and Lindsay Morris.
Invaluable in editing and discussion phases of this book, David Falk. To Jessica Roth, Brian Belfiglio, Susan Moldow, Meredith Vilarello, Lauren Friedlander, Laura Flavin, Elaine Wilson, Cherlynne Li, Polly Watson, Sarah Wright, and everyone on my Touchstone/Simon & Schuster Team BFI for their support and creativity. For her foresight and early belief, Stacy Creamer. For valuable contribution in the early days of this book, Roy Trakin, John Albert, and Steve Dennis. To my literary agent, Laura Bonner, and William Morris Endeavor. To web sage Jim Bullotta, a true cyberpunk.
For their unstinting service, press agents Ellen Golden, Howard Bloom, Mitch Schneider, and Marcee Rondan. For booking and promotion, John Marx, Barry Dickins, and Prue Almond. My lawyer, David Altschul. Road kings and mates, love and respect to Rex King, Karel Hamm, Mark “Rangi” Williamson, and Matt “Toast” Young. For art and friendship, Amanda and Shepard Fairey. To all my road crew mates through the years, there are too many of you to mention. To Evan Bright and Tiffany Goble at East End Management.
And to you out there, you and your priceless help, for good or evil as we work through this nutty gift we’ve been given, I thank you for making my life so fucking great, even when it’s not easy. That’s life—sometimes it’s bittersweet, like “Sweet Sixteen,” sometimes dark and moody, like “Eyes Without a Face,” or shouting and triumphant like “Rebel Yell.” It’s true, I’ve been down a sick and twisted path strewn with darkness but also glowing with life and love, striving to do what I could with the tools I’ve been given. My life, this life, is so fucking great. You and I together have made it so.
This book was written through my perspective and I quite understand that others may remember things differently, but I hope they look beyond that and see it as a postcard from the past. If it can provide a reader who wonders about those days a glimpse from one who participated, then I hope you will see the greater good. This book is intended as a testament to a life lived on its own terms.
© VILIAM HRUBOVCAK
Born William Michael Albert Broad, BILLY IDOL is a multiplatinum recording artist and two-time Grammy nominee. Known for successfully merging his signature punk attitude with an appealing blend of pop hooks, dance beats, and gritty metallic crunch, Idol created some of rock’s most indelible anthems, including “Rebel Yell,” “White Wedding,” and “Cradle
of Love.” Idol’s latest release, his first studio album in nearly a decade, is titled Kings & Queens of the Underground. He lives in Los Angeles.
www.billyidol.net
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