Billy volunteered, adding “On that same subject, Izzy mentioned he needs to talk to you about something.”
Great, maybe somebody wants to pay me some rent around here.
“O.K., everybody stays but one more thing, and it’s important. Here’s the new rule… anybody who actually works here will find a shower somewhere each morning and put on fresh clean clothes.” At this point I was almost pleading. “Guys, we may be running the ’80s version of a ‘60s Haight-Ashbury crash pad but it doesn’t have to smell like one. For the love of God let’s all try and look like professional studio operators, hard as that may be.”
I didn’t want to single her out and embarrass her in the meeting, but my hygiene comments were meant primarily for Michelle, my ad-hoc secretary who had been wearing the same light tan stretch pants for four days straight, during which time the yellow urine stain in her crotch had grown considerably larger. Although she was a pretty, sweet and fairly smart little country girl who had come to Hollywood from Texas in search of her rock god she needed a lot of improvement work. Interestingly she was to receive it a few years later when she auditioned for, and became a Penthouse centerfold and then went on to win the title of ‘Pet of the Year.’
Hell, I had always thought of her as ‘just another one of the guys.’
A few hours after my staff rant session I found out what Izzy wanted to talk to me about. Although it wasn’t an offer of rent it was a rather creative idea to open a small boutique/gift shop somewhere in the studio on club nights where we had a large built-in customer base. Izzy showed me some leather bracelets, belts and guitar straps he had handcrafted. They were actually very nice and well made.
“We could make up T-shirts and sell all sorts of shit, Mike” His entrepreneurial sprit reminded me of my own. I thought for a moment and replied “I like the idea Izzy, we could set up display cases in the lounge by the video games, but it would be your deal all the way, I don’t have the time to fiddle fuck with it. Just pay me a percentage of what you sell, whatever you think is fair, go ahead and do it.” I told him to take whatever lumber and paint he needed for the cases from the storeroom.
“Great, thanks man, I’ll get started right now. By the way, how come you never drop into our rehearsals? After all it is your studio.”
Although I was pleased that at least somebody realized that fact I felt a little bad about his question especially as both Steven and Axl had asked me the same thing within the last few days. I was getting the impression that somehow their feelings were hurt and that was the last thing I wanted to do. The raggedy little shits had grown on me.
“I’ll be there tonight, as a matter of fact take the big studio for the hell of it, it’s open.”
That was an empty offer on my part as he had to know that studio room ‘C,’ the big one, was almost always open and collecting dust.
“Thanks Mike, I’ll tell the guys when they wake up.” Before I walked away he added “And by any chance are you going to Burger King today?”
No Izzy.
That afternoon I found a note on my desk from Steven, ‘Thanks for the big studio, we’re starting at eight, see ya then.’
Eight o’clock came and went with no sign of Hollywood Rose. As did nine and ten o’clock. Just as I was telling Billy “Fuck this, I’m going home,” in walks the band.
“Sorry we’re late man,” Izzy mumbled.
I didn’t like to be kept waiting. “Don’t any of you guys have a watch?” I snapped.
“Yeah, a couple, but they’re at the pawn shop.” I heard someone say. Who was to know that it would be not that many years later when they wouldn’t be able to use that as an excuse for untimely performances resulting in major riots and arenas trashed due to their delayed performances.
The band members, Billy and I were joined in the room by our new resident hillbilly sound tech Rick who did a surprisingly quick and efficient job of helping them arrange their gear and setting the sound levels on the large Cerwin-Vega PA system.
I had always been proud of the stage itself that we had constructed from scratch in studio C. It was at least as large as the Troubadour or the Whiskey stages and allowed our rehearsing acts (the few that we had) to experience somewhat of a live concert setting feel.
However, once Hollywood Rose stepped on that studio stage that night it became instantly obvious that it was far too small for their power. Powerful enough for a sports arena. What these guys, especially Axl, lacked in everyday presence and personality they certainly made up for in performance. They were confident. They knew their music very well and were sweating passion within it. The band was tight and raw. There was no ‘snake walk’ that night, but this mousey Axl guy commanded with his onstage persona.
I had a bad habit of comparing newer bands with older ones but I couldn’t help but envision a young and starving Mick Jagger and the Rolling Stones or Eric Burdon and the Animals playing a shitty one-hundred seat pub somewhere in London circa 1961 as it was that same raw vibe.
The songs were memorable and it’s a long-standing regret of mine that I didn’t keep a written copy of the set list that night. They were all originals, most of which went on to be included in ‘Appetite for Destruction.’ The music was not even in the same zip code as the catchy melodic anthems that Nikki had written for the Crüe and very different from Blackie’s hardcore metal riffs. It was, for lack of a better term, ‘street-metal’ with a punk influenced edge. Musically, if Mötley were a slick Mercedes sedan and W.A.S.P. were a late model Corvette, these guys were rough around-the-edges but none-the-less classic ‘57 Chevy with a Hemi motor and Glass-Packs. Still, as the slick and groomed ‘pretty boy’ image was beginning to sell records they looked and smelled like homeless vagrants. Despite popular belief, Kirk Cobain didn’t invent the grunge look. Hollywood Rose had it years before.
Sitting on the rear couch after their set was over, I was swarmed. “What do you think Mike?” They were obviously looking for my, or for that matter, anyone’s approval.
“Look guys, I honestly like what I saw and heard here tonight. It’s really solid, there’s no doubt about that, basic and raw.” I truly was impressed and asked who the main songwriters were.
“Mostly me and Slash, but we all throw in ideas,” Axl said.
“Well guys, here’s what I can do.” “As it so happens I just met a fellow who’s starting a new label and looking around for acts, get me a demo tape and I’ll make sure he gives it a listen.” I assured them that he was a legit guy, not just another Hollywood flake, “In fact he played a big part in putting Blakemore’s Rainbow together.” I added that if there was any interest on his part we could set up a live showcase at the studio for him.
“Just get me a tape as soon as possible.”
There were suddenly five extremely happy musicians in that studio and I realized that perhaps I had gotten their hopes up a bit too much, especially as they were naïve as to the jungle (no pun intended) of the music business.
“Look, there’s no way I can promise you that he’ll even like it so don’t get too excited right now.” “Every label has different tastes and ideas as to who and what they want on their roster.” I didn’t mean to begin a lecture, but I did want to give them some harsh facts of life. “Quiet Riot knocked on every record company door in town for years with no luck, even briefly changing their name to DuBrow hoping to avoid the ‘not that shopworn Quiet Riot band again’ attitude on the part of A & R agents.”
Stressing that the only logical thing they could count on in the business was the fact that there was no logic what-so-ever, I went on. “Hell, Capital even told us that if Mötley Crue would cut their hair, lighten up on the heavy guitar riffs and dress more ‘new wave’ they would consider a deal. Then three months later they signed W.A.S.P. and gave them the biggest dollar advance for any new act since they signed the Beatles.”
The music business 101 class continued. “I’m sure when ‘Metal Health’ went platinum the bars around a hell of a lot of
record company offices were filled with A & R reps drinking their guts out and kicking themselves in the ass.” I added “Probably the same thing is happening right now as ‘Out of the Cellar’ is hitting big, too.”
In retrospect it’s a safe bet that those record executive ass-kicking sessions were repeated and eclipsed when ‘Appetite for Destruction’ blazed up the charts a couple of years later.
I closed the evening’s impromptu sermon by stressing a cynical but serious true warning. “Label deal or not, this is Hollywood and there will be a slew of wanna-be rock-star managers that will approach you with all sorts of deals and promises. Every fucking stripper, waitress and record store clerk in this town right now wants to be a band manager and grab a piece of the glamour and believe me, it ain’t all that Goddamn glamorous. If anybody hustles you and they do not already have a name clientele roster and track record, tell them to go fuck themselves.” I had to add only half in jest “Especially if they happen to be a building contractor. Run and run fast guys, these are the hard cold facts, like’em or not. Just be careful.
The guys were attentive and I got the feeling that they were absorbing what I had said as they started posing some intelligent questions.
Steve asked “So how do we find a manager we can trust?”
“That’s your first mistake, thinking that you can trust anybody. The reality is that you are nothing but a product, a commodity to be bought and sold by the system and when that system is through with you, meaning it’s made as much money as it can off of you, you’re history, like a piece of stale meat, period. The only trust that exists in this business is that you can trust that everybody is gonna try and rip you off. They’re all pimps, and in fact you can probably rely on a street pimp before a record executive.”
“And while we’re on the subject of pimps, do not fucking prostitute yourselves artistically. Sly Stallone was sleeping in his car when he was offered a quarter million for the Rocky script and turned it down because the studio wouldn’t let him star in it. Who was the winner on that one? It’s all a roll of the dice guys and don’t compromise your shit.”
While the advice could probably be read as bitter and cynical, it wasn’t coming from that place at all, as I just truly didn’t want to see the band get fucked over. For that matter I didn’t want to see any band get fucked over.
“Find a lawyer. Somebody who’s young, hungry and knows the business that will invest some time in you now in exchange for any future rewards. I’ll ask around for you.”
“Anyway guys, that’s the lesson for tonight, there will be a test.”
As the seven of us passed around a bottle of Jack, I noticed Billy was sitting on the studio couch strangely quiet. As we walked out together, I asked him if something was wrong.
Coldly, he replied “What the fuck could be wrong?”
“I don’t know, are you sick or something, you feeling alright?”
“Just great” he snapped, walking away abruptly. I didn’t have time to figure out what his problem was, maybe it was ‘that time of the month. Clearly he was pissed off about something. I called it a night.
“Good morning Joey!”
Silence.
“Joey, I said good morning man, you got a hearing problem, too long in front of a SVT cabinet or something?”
A mumble…“Morning.”
‘Well this sucks, what’s with the fucking attitudes around here?’ I wondered as Michelle dragged herself into the office to start the day, hung over from a long night at the Rainbow.
“So, what’s your problem this morning? Everybody else has a wire up their ass about something and you might as well be the next one to whine.”
“I’m just hung, Mike, too many Laagers I guess.”
“Well at least one of you has an excuse. Michelle, just what the hell is up with Billy and Joey? They’re hardly speaking to me.”
I was surprised at her candor. “I wasn’t going to say anything about it but Vince, Billy, Joey, all the S.I.N. guys in fact, well, they feel betrayed by you.”
“Betrayed? What the fuck did I do? They live and rehearse here for free, I gave Vince one-half of Shamrock after-hours, I’m shopping their tape to producers, and how the hell did I betray them?
Michelle enlightened me. “It’s all about Axl, Steven and those guys. Vince, Joey and Billy think you’re paying too much attention to them, they’re kind of jealous.”
‘Well fuck me for trying to help some starving band,’ I thought silently.
“So, it’s a teacher’s pet syndrome?” I asked her while glancing at that ‘I will manage any band as long as I don’t have to deal with musicians’ plaque on my desk.
“Yeah, especially since you said you’d shop their tape around.”
For the love of God.
“Thanks for being up front with me Michelle, I’ll have a talk with them.”
Later that afternoon I saw Vince walking down the hallway. “Vince, assemble your band and get the fuck in here now!” I pointed to my office.
Once gathered, I started another rant. Having learned the hard way that the best and sometimes only method to get attention around the place was to yell, I blasted “The hissy-fits will stop immediately or you guys are out. You’re acting like a bunch of jealous little bitches and I don’t have the fucking time for it.”
“Who’s jealous?” Joey asked. “If you think we’re jealous of Axl and those guys, you’re fucking wrong, Mike. They suck.”
Vince jumped in. “But you did promise to shop our demo to your friend, now you’re taking theirs. And you’re going to find them a lawyer?’
“You promised to find me a lawyer for the RATT thing Mike” Joey whined. I suddenly felt like a parent whose children were vying for daddy’s attention.
“There are enough lawyers for everybody in L.A, don’t worry about that. And, I happen to like Hollywood Rose’s songs, there’s potential there. And yes I’m going to drop off their tape along with yours, no preference, get over it. If it makes you feel any better, nothing will probably come of it anyway.”
I was right. Rick wasn’t impressed with either tape saying “I just don’t hear anything with hit potential, sorry.” Although I had to admit that the Hollywood Rose tape was crude having been recorded on a portable two-track reel-to-reel deck at Shamrock, I felt there was more than enough substance there to at least generate some interest. I hadn’t expected much, but was still disappointed when there wasn’t more of a positive reaction. ‘What the fuck do the record companies want?’ I wondered. ‘Do they even know themselves?’ In fact, I had pondered that question for too long a time, beginning when doors were slammed shut (sometimes literally) in my face when I was shopping Mötley Crüe. It was getting old.
A year or so later it was only partly out of an ‘I told you so’ attitude that I decided to send Rick a copy of ‘Appetite for Destruction’ along with the Billboard issue certifying the LP as double platinum.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“Hey Honey, where’s that ‘singer-wanted’ ad you mentioned Friday?” “I thought I’d give’em a call today and see what it’s all about.”
Dana had the Music Connection magazine handy. I re-read the ad.
“Lead Vocalist Wanted For Straight-Ahead Rock/Rockabilly Band.”
It listed their influences as Brian Setzer and The Stray Cats.
“I thought you were looking for a metal band. This is rockabilly.”
“Mike, at this point, I’ll take what I can get, just call’em and get me audition please.”
I didn’t agree with that thinking. I still felt that the rapidly emerging metal scene had a void….A female fronted aggressive metal band with good songs that at the very least would give the male fans something fun to look at and fantasize about. The overall concept had worked for Kim Fowley with The Runaways in the ‘70s and I was convinced the concept would work in the present. I had in mind something along the lines of a metal-styled Missing Persons.
Bitch and Hellion were still
around of course, playing the club circuit but not really ‘catching any fire’ with record companies or booking agencies.
Lita Ford, at the time unsigned was just beginning to develop her solo career with some input from Nikki. Joan Jett was in hibernation. Doro Pesch and Warlock were still several years away, as of course was Vixen.
If Dana was committed to a singing career, I thought metal was the ticket.
None-the-less, I called the rockabilly band that day.
“This is Michael Flaherty, I’m responding to your ‘singer wanted’ ad in Music Connection on behalf of my client.” Although I mentioned I had been with Coffman and Coffman Productions, I made it clear I was in no way still associated with Mötley Crüe.
I asked him to tell me more about the band. He proceeded to say that it was a trio and he was the lead guitarist as well as the lead vocalist. He wanted to concentrate exclusively on guitar and turn the vocal duties over to a new singer.
“I just might have the perfect singer for you.” I purposely neglected to mention the fact that ‘my client’ was female, and asked him to drop a demo tape and lyric sheet in the mail to me and set up an audition date to which he readily agreed.
I had two more questions….”What’s the name of the band?”
“Screaming Mimi’s”
“And your name?”
“C.C. C.C DeVille.”
He was a pleasant enough guy and I hoped they would be willing to accept a female front person, but I somehow doubted it. Finding a rock band who wanted a girl up front was becoming about as difficult a task as was finding a club that would book Mötley anywhere outside of Southern California had been.
A few days later the tape and lyric sheet arrived with two songs for her audition. ‘Talk Dirty to Me,’ and ‘Look What the Cat Dragged In.’ Catchy songs and titles that I though Dana could do a good job with.
Metal, Madness & Mayhem - An Insiders Journey Through The Hollywood 80s Page 19
