Outside, sure enough the car was about to leave without me. I had not noticed the ‘no parking’ sign and it took over a half-hour to persuade the truck operator to release it.
As I was walking back into Bordello, Larry was coming out, once again all excited. “Mike, that Barbara chick just asked me back to her place, see you tomorrow man.”
“What can of bullshit is this? I was going home her Larry.” Not that I really cared that much but still pissed, I approached her back at the table where she asked me if I was ready to go. “Make up your fucking mind Barbara, you want me or you want Larry, doesn’t matter, just decide!”
“Well actually…” I knew by the tone of her voice and the gleam in her eyes this was about to become yet another Hollywood moment.
“If you guys wouldn’t mind, I want you both, it’s my thing. I need two dicks in me at the same time. I really need it.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I’m not a social worker.”
As I turned and walked away, I had to shake my head and wonder if anybody just plain fucked in the Twilight Zone anymore.
COFFMAN REVISTED AND VH-1
Although I had always wondered what happened to Alan, it was a pretty fair guess that he had gone back to Northern California and the construction business, leaving Hollywood behind. As the years passed much of the bitterness had died on my part and I began to remember him more as the person I originally joined forces with than the power-mad ego-maniac that almost destroyed Mötley’s chances of success. I had come to the point where I really wouldn’t have minded sitting down with him over a drink and reminiscing about those early days.
I was asked in 1997 by Paul Miles, the owner/operator of the excellent Mötley website, Chronological Crüe (http://members.ozemail.com.au/~cruekiss/) to do an online interview. As a result of that interview I developed a long distance friendship with Paul, through whom I learned that indeed Coffman had eventually returned to Grass Valley, divorced, successfully re-started his construction business and had became a born-again Christian.
However, as the story goes there was an incident that happened within only a few weeks after being fired by the guys. Found in his backyard dancing naked around a bonfire of Mötley Crüe items, he held a bottle in one hand and a gun in the other. He was screaming something about not wanting ‘Satan’s influence’ in his home. Somehow I wasn’t surprised at that.
I had lost contact with Miles for a brief period but when I watched the VH-1 “Driven’ episode that featured Mötley’s very early days, I emailed him in Australia immediately to see if he had spotted some of the same discrepancies as I had. Although overall I considered it a very good show, there were a few gaps that were obvious to those that had been there back in the days.
Paul was excited to hear from me. “Mate, where have you been? You changed your email and we couldn’t contact you, we tried everywhere.” ‘We’ turned out to be the producers of the show who wanted me to appear. Paul was working very closely with the VH-1 producers providing research materials. He forwarded me numerous copies of emails that had been sent between he and the VH-1 staff in New York trying to locate me. It had been a case of bad timing as I had moved into a new home and neglected to give him the updated contact info.
One thing that surprised us both was that Alan himself wasn’t on the show and we were soon to find out why. He had died.
SLASH REVISTED
Even though it was early it was still a very slow night at the Rainbow, probably only another five or six tables occupied with people enjoying the great food served there. I was engrossed in the menu when I heard a voice that I hadn’t heard for years, at least in person.
“I’m sorry I don’t remember your name but I think I know you.”
Looking up, I recognized the unmistakable face and hair. It was Slash, hand extended to shake.
“Sure Slash, I’m Mike, Mike from Shamrock.”
“I thought so, but wasn’t sure.”
“Please, have a seat.” Slash sat down at the table and we started reminiscing about the early days. He reminded me of some bizarre incidents that even I had forgotten, such as the time two bikers who were being pursued by the Police rode their bikes through the front door (as well as the crowd) at high speed to avoid arrest, and another time a very drunk Chris Holmes grabbed a fire axe and proceeded to hack away at the studio’s front gate in order to leave. Slash had been standing nearby and showed Chris how to simply turn the doorknob.
It was a nice reunion and it was even nicer to be remembered by him after all the years gone by and success they had achieved.
“Well, to say you guys have done O.K. for yourselves would be an understatement Slash. You’re the biggest band in the World.”
“Yeah, I guess…” he said with a down- hearted sigh.
I was curious about that reaction, but before I had a chance to try and discretely ask what he meant by it my lady, who I was meeting there, arrived and sat down.
After a brief introduction, Slash asked his wife who was seated at another table to join us. The girls chatted while Slash and I continued talking briefly about the old days.
It wasn’t long before Mrs. Slash reminded him of a later appointment. Saying goodnight, I thanked Slash and told him I enjoyed the Shamrock memories. He looked me in the eye and said in a truly sincere voice, “You know what Michael? Those were the best days of my life.”
I’ve never figured out what he meant by that.
TOMMY REVISITED
It’s actually rare that I drop into the Rainbow these days and when I do it’s usually just to say hi and have a drink with Mario, the owner, or Michael and Tony, the long-time managers. Although it’s still ‘The ‘Bow’ and on an occasional good night it can be like walking into a time machine, overall it’s changed and matured like everything else on the Strip. Over dinner one very crowded Saturday night I looked around the restaurant and I was the only guy there with long hair. Later, adding insult to injury some drunk asked me if I was a ‘hippie.’ Showing a lot of self-restraint, I didn’t punch him.
On one recent Tuesday night I decided to stop by and say hello. Although the Roxy was packed next door, the Rainbow was quiet enough to where Michael had time to join me for a drink at a table on the patio dining area and reminisce about the old days.
I wasn’t long before I heard yet another voice from the past. “Dude?” It was Tommy. Smiling and grabbing a chair at our table, we shook hands and agreed that it had been too long. We were just getting into a conversation when the Roxy let out and apparently the word spread that the Tommy Lee was next door. As he was swamped by fans, I told him I’d just see him later when things were quieter.
DANA REVISITED
It was inevitable and surprising that it hadn’t already happened over the years. Dana and I were to cross paths one last time.
Pirate Radio had begun a weekly promotion at the Whiskey each Tuesday night featuring a live National touring act performing as well as a couple of local support bands on the bill. I had often heard about it but never actually attended until Patti, now happily residing in her new apartment invited me to be her guest. She happened to be emceeing the show on behalf of the station this particular night.
“Bring some friends if you want, I’ll guest list’em for you,” she offered. “It should be a good show too, Vinnie Apiece and Mark Bain’s new band WW III are headlining and some other band called ‘Mother’s Little Helper’ is opening, whoever they are.”
It sounded like fun to me especially as I had admired the Apiece brothers drum work for a long time but had never actually seen either of them live.
I phoned Paul whose Harley was now freshly re-painted from the L.A. Guns video episode and he eagerly agreed to meet me there.
That evening, walking up to the ticket window I was rather surprised to see who was handling the box-office duties. It was Doria, Vince’s now-ex girl friend whom I hadn’t seen in some time.
She was very sweet to me and I proceeded to apologize for th
rowing her out of Shamrock onto the street naked that one night. “Dana and I were going through a lot of shit at the time and I was mad at the World.” I’m really sorry about that Doria, it was a long time ago.”
“No problem Mike, if you and Dana have kissed and made up you and I sure as hell can.”
‘Kissed and made up?’
What was this shit? I was taken aback.
“Doria, I haven’t seen nor heard from Dana since the ‘fuck you it’s over’ scene at the apartment six year ago.”
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry Mike, I thought you knew.”
“Knew what Doria?” From the way she said that I thought Dana had died or something.
“Dana’s band is opening for Apiece tonight, Mother’s Little Helper.”
It had been a few years and although there were still some very open wounds I was quite happy with my current relationship and life overall. Dana was past history and history was always my least favorite class in high school.
“She found a band?” I sure as hell knew it wasn’t the Screaming Mimi’s or certainly Poison (who by that time had gone platinum) as I’d tried to put that deal together year’s earlier that thankfully it hadn’t worked out, at least for Poison’s sake.
I was polite. “Doria, I hope she has a great show tonight, I really mean that.” I did mean it and added “If you mention to her that I’m here, well, just tell her I said hello, I guess.”
“Are you OK Mike?” Paul asked as we stood in the darkened Whiskey showroom awaiting the band to stage between Dökken’s ‘Alone Again’ and Skid Row’s ‘I Remember You’ blasting over the house sound system.
“I don’t know man, I don’t know. Ask me again in a half hour. And why the fuck do they have to play those songs?” I probably had been OK before this soundtrack to the evening began but it couldn’t have been more morbid. I started shaking silently, trying to hide my emotion from Paul.
It wasn’t long, just a brief few minutes later and there she was on stage. Dana had finally found herself in that spotlight she had craved for years. Although she looked great it didn’t take long for me to realize why she had so much trouble finding a band to front. She couldn’t sing worth sour owl shit plus her on-stage banter was embarrassingly boring. I actually felt sorry for her as she ranted between every song about how she was pms-ing, had cramps and was in a bitchy mood.
I wanted to get the hell out of there. “One more song Paul and let’s hit the bar.”
As her menstruation dialogue bridged somehow into the next song intro, a fog machine was activated that flooded the band with theatrical smoke. Nice effect to be sure but it didn’t take long to see that the damn thing was stuck and out of control. First he band members started to cough and choke, then as the cloud descended into the audience people started running for the fire exits as the alarm bells sounded. I noticed several roadies frantically trying to get the machine shut off. Watching the scene unfold I had to laugh remembering the first movie Dana and I had ever seen together. ‘Spinal Tap.’
“Your ex is a really cute girl Mike, but she sure as hell smokes too much.”
“Yeah… you’re right Paul. Let’s go to the Rainbow.”
Seeing Apiece perform his great drum work live could wait until next time.
DOCTOR FEELGOOD
Thanks To Rent Control Laws
I was then, and still today often asked if I’ve kept in touch with any of the guys from Mötley. Sadly, by 1989 at least, the answer was no. Although I had certainly followed their rise to World-wide arena status and enjoyed their music over the years I never had attended any of their concerts, probably due to my regret that things hadn’t worked out.
I had purchased a small apartment house in West Hollywood and was concentrating on renovations and renting the vacant units. The Crüe and the music business in general were the farthest things from my mind at the time, yet I did keep a framed copy of the original Leäthür ‘Too Fast for Love’ LP on my office wall there.
One day a rather attractive girl stopped in to inquire about a vacancy. It was a nice apartment, but due to the City’s strict rent control laws I was only allowed to lease it at a monthly rate far below the true market value. I had planned to choose the tenant for that unit very carefully.
The girl, who introduced herself as Patti wanted it badly. Back in my office, she was almost pleading for me to accept her rental application when she noticed the album above my desk.
“What’s up with that?” she asked.
I gave her a brief 20 words or less answer.
“Then you’re going to the show tonight Mike?”
I had been so involved with the building project that I hadn’t even bothered to check out recent concert schedules in the local papers. “What show?”
“Mötley Crüe at the Forum tonight.” She went on… “Make you a deal, I’m a DJ with Pirate Radio (A then-popular but for some reason short lived L.A. hard rock station) and I’ve got great seats for tonight. Tell me the apartment is mine and you’ll be my guest.”
I’m not above an innocent bribe. “Sounds good to me, should be fun.”
We shook hands. “Great, I’ll pick you up at seven, Mike.”
If she turned out to be as prompt with her rent payments as she was that night for the show, (she did) I knew I had chosen the right tenant, a bit of payola or not. Seven o’clock sharp and she’s right at the door.
I asked her if she wanted me to drive. “Oh no, I’ve got a car.” She wasn’t kidding. Parked and waiting out front was a beautiful white Lincoln super-stretch limo complete with a chauffer and good champagne on ice. “Not bad Patti, but you didn’t have to go all this expense.”
“I didn’t, it’s on the station,” winking. (Maybe employee perks like that were why they went out of business, I later thought.)
To set the mood, we cranked up some classic Crüe tunes in route as the traffic on the way to the Forum was becoming increasingly brutal. I figured we were going to miss the first act Arcade, which was Steven Pearcy’s new band.
I was right. We arrived just as the house lights were going down between acts. As we were taking our third row center seats, (she wasn’t bullshitting about great seats either) a very drunk Sam Kinison wobbled on stage and mumbled an embarrassingly indiscernible intro. Sadly, this was to be one of his last public appearances.
As he stumbled out of the spotlight with the help of some stagehands, an animated laser montage illustrating the bands history began on the backdrop while Frank Zappa’s ‘I’m a Crew Slut’ played through the P.A., followed immediately by Mick’s soaring opening riff to ‘Kick Start My Heart.’ Massive explosions rocked the sold-out arena.
Nikki had finally gotten the KISS-like pyro that we had discussed years previously. It was impressive and the Crüe’s home-town crowd went wild and it was obvious the guys were in top shape on this tour.
Maybe it was a bit egotistical of me to remember that I had played a part, however small in this extravaganza but I was grinning like a parent at their kid’s college graduation ceremony. I’m not an overly emotional person but when the song slowed into ‘When we started this band all we needed, needed was a laugh, I admit I choked up. Yeah, you guys have kicked some ass. I was proud of them and there was even a brief moment where I wished Alan and I had still been together that night as teammates, nervously hanging out in the dressing room awaiting our band to return from the stage. A very brief moment at least.
A few songs into the set I realized I had been so engrossed in the show that I hadn’t even offered to buy Patti a drink. I asked her what she wanted and made my way to one of the bars on the concourse where there was a large crowd gathered in a circle. I assumed a fight was going on or someone had passed out or something of that nature. I then saw a swaying yet still standing Sam Kinison who was taking the time away from the show in progress to sign autographs, crack jokes and chat with his fans by the bar. Intoxicated or not, he was grinning from ear to ear and obviously enjoying the admiration. I thought
about that scene a few weeks later when I heard the news.
“Mikey!” There’s only one person who’s ever called me that and it couldn’t be her. Walking down the Forum steps from the bar to rejoin Patti, drinks in hand I turned and saw that indeed it was. Seven million people in Southern California, eighteen thousand of which were attending the Mötley Crüe concert this particular night and I had to run into this one. It was Shirley, ‘Bob from Images’ little alcoholic girlfriend. “Mikey, I haven’t seen you in years! Where the hell have you been?”
I was missing the show and the ice in the drinks was melting. Not wanting to get into a long conversation, especially over the volume of the concert I didn’t even bother to answer, just politely ask about Bob.
“Oh, he’s still in jail.” Now I had to take the time to ask. “Why? He was due to be released several years ago I thought.”
“Oh, he was, I went to pick him up and as he was walking out one of the prison guards said ‘goodbye you long-haired fag!’ Bob beat the shit outta him real good, put him in the hospital in fact. He got another three years for it though.”
I’m really sorry to hear about that Shirley, but I’ve got to get back to the show, sorry to cut you short.”
She had the last word. “Are you still working with the Crüe? Can you get me backstage, please?”
No and No.
I was saddened as I watched little Shirley prance up the stairs to her nosebleed seats, somehow managing to carry three long necked Budweiser’s in each hand. The eighties were only a few months from being over and sadly Bob, a great talent, had spent most of them behind bars, strumming a cheap acoustic guitar in his cell.
Metal, Madness & Mayhem - An Insiders Journey Through The Hollywood 80s Page 22
