Hollywood: Rock Of Ages

by Chris Solberg

  The beer had arrived and we were going to hang out in front of CBGB’s until it opened. After all, we had nowhere else to go. We located the police

  officer that had been giving Lizzie and Vince a tough time crossing the street. He was hiding behind the liquor store. We kept a close eye on him while we drank beer in our parked vans. He eventually disappeared or we forgot about him, I don’t quite remember. The beer kicked in as we were having our own party right out in front of CBGB’s Night Club. The homeless population in this area rivals any big city for the number one slot. As we hung out and partied, a few homeless guys approached us and asked for money. Lizzie was pretty quick at his answers and made a deal with the homeless community to work for the band. We would provide them with brand new Ultra Pop tee-shirts and a few beers if they hit the streets and solicited the bands items. I thought Lizzie was stupid, but these homeless guys really wanted to work and be apart of something. Lizzie made them feel very special and said if they did a really good job selling the Ultra Pop posters and tee-shirts, he would also get them into the club for the show as special guests of the band. We continued to party and Lizzie continued to do business with the homeless community. I don’t remember the exact dollar amount that was made from band shirts and poster sales, but it was a pretty good haul for sitting on our asses, doing nothing, and drinking beer.

  It was now around 10:00 P.M. and we had been having a great time drinking with the bums on the street while they sold our band products. CBGB’s had been open for the past 3 hours and we had ten homeless “friends” of the band. It was time to go into the club so we could play our show. We approached the front door and we were told that we could have 10 guests on the V.I.P. list and two road crew. Perfect! That was the exact number of homeless people we had befriended outside the club over the past nine hours. The list was the strangest one I had ever seen. All of the homeless guys went by nicknames. Even the club kinda frowned at the list when we provided it to them with names like “Spider-Mann” “Boo Bubby” “Hands On” “Ghost Eyes”, etc. What could the club do? We were allowed the ten guests, so we were going to use them. Once everyone was in the club, I had never been so shocked before in my life. Most of the homeless guys we got into the club had more money than us! They were pulling wads of 20 dollar bills out of their pants and offering to buy us drinks at the bar. It was really wild. This was when I realized that homeless people make a pretty good living doing nothing, begging for change. I am not kidding, they each had hundreds of dollars and were extremely generous to the band. I don’t think that strangers had ever treated them like humans, so they seemed gracious that we offered to get them into the club as our band friends on the V.I.P. list. They were running around like they were kings of the club. It was pretty cool.

  As we were setting up to go on stage, we had to navigate all of our equipment through a sea of sweaty people watching the show. CBGB was set up really strange, it was a long tunnel and at the end of the tunnel is where the little stage was. When I first set my eyes on this place, I was skeptical, and now that I had seen the inside of this dark, dingy, stale place the rock community called “the place to play” I was a little let down. The bars were located at the front of the club and all the people just stood anywhere they could. I don’t recall seeing a single seat in the entire club. The walls of the club were just like the outside, full of old fliers, graffiti and various items stuck to the walls. The place was so trashed inside, that in a way, it was cool to see. I don’t think I would put this place in the top ten, or for that matter, the top 20 places to play, but it was quite an experience. We had a packed house and we played a pretty decent show. This was no Limelight, but we made the best of what we had.

  After the show, dozens of people came up to us and told us how great we were. It was really strange how they greeted us, almost like robots. I guess everyone was trying to be so cool, they did not want to show any excitement. We did sign several autographs and met some of the oddest people in the music industry. I was standing next to the exit of the club when I was approached by a person I would have never expected to see at a place like this. It was Paul Schaeffer, the band leader from the “David Letterman Show” Paul approached me with a stone cold look on his face, and he had an entourage of at least eight people with him. He held his hand out to shake and said, “You guys are not too bad. I enjoyed the show and the music. I’ll keep an eye out for your album.” Quite a compliment coming from a person of his music background and stardom. I would have thought the guy would be too stuck on himself to pay any other musician a compliment. I guess he proved me wrong. Paul was quickly taken away by his bodyguards and he disappeared to the other side of the club, only to be swarmed by industry kiss-ass wannabes.

  The show was over, so we loaded everything into the vans. Lizzie was still hanging with one of the bums that we had let into the club earlier that evening. Lizzie approached me and said, “Cupcake, you need to come with me, I need to run down the street for something.” This is where I should have seen the RED FLAG warning. Nope. Stupid me. I did not even ask one question regarding where we were going or why. The bum (Spider-Mann) was a local in the area and he was going to take us down the street (for what I would later learn was drugs). Here I was, young and dumb following a street bum named Spider-Mann and Lizzie down some dark street in the outskirts of New York City to get what? I should have asked. Stupid, stupid, stupid! It was around one in the morning, we were approximately 1/2 mile from CBGB’s and I had no idea what was going on. By this time, I started to asked questions. We turned onto another street that was even darker then the previous one. I was starting to get really nervous when I saw garbage cans on fire and people were standing around them gathered as if it was a normal evening at a campfire. I thought that shit was only in movies! We walked for another five minutes and entered a neighborhood that was loaded with strange homeless people loitering, yelling inaudible words toward us. The entire time I was walking so close to Lizzie that we probably looked like gay boys running wild in the night. I was mumbling under my breath, telling Lizzie that I wanted to get the hell out of there and I meant it. I was really pissed off at Lizzie. Spider-Mann kept reassuring me that he knew everyone in the area and we would be safe as long as we kept with him. The eyes of every person followed us as we continued to march down the street. Every head turned and their stares would burn, but we said nothing and continued on.

  There was an eerie silence in this part of town. I could hear every footstep we made as the sounds of our boots echoed off the cold brick walls that surrounded us. The streets were wet from a quick summer rain and the garbage can fires reflected off the wet black asphalt. I could hear a television droning somewhere off in the distance, and the wind would arbitrarily blow, but only for a quick moment... just enough to rustle loose newspapers and leaves in the streets. I got a chill up my spine when the wind blew. This sucked! I don’t scare easily, but in this instance, I was scared to

  death. I really thought this would be the last time anyone would see me alive. I started to panic. I was trying so hard not to show any fear, but I know that all the locals felt the fear that was bursting from within me.

  Spider-Mann brought us up to an old run-down Victorian style home that was dimly lit by a few hanging light bulbs from the ceiling of the house. I stepped on the front porch and thought I was going to fall through the porch. The wood was badly weathered and parts were rotted all the way through to the frame of the house. A dark green, filthy cobweb filled couch adorned the front of the home. I had a difficult time seeing inside the poorly lit home that had numerous people wandering around inside. Spider-Mann told Lizzie and I to wait outside while he spoke with some friends inside the pad. I was perfectly fine with not entering that creepy home. Approximately ten minutes passed, which seemed like an entire lifetime, when Lizzie decided to peek into the home and see what was taking Spider-Mann so long. I begged Lizzie not to enter, but of course he did anyway. I should have followed but I elected to stay put, right where
I was told to wait. I started to wonder how I got myself into such a bad place. As I stood there waiting for one of the two jerks that left me standing on the porch, I was approached by two men from the street. Both men looked and dressed very similar. They both wore jet black clothing, industrial type boots and baggy Dickie style work pants. Neither person looked as if they had shaved for a few days and a shower had not been used on either of them for a good solid week. One of the two guys uttered in a thick New York accent; “What are you doing here?” I froze with fear. I had no idea what to say to these guys. I knew if I said the wrong thing, I would probably be screwed and end up chopped into pieces by these crazy dudes, and then disposed of in some alley dumpster. That’s where my story would end, in some god-forsaken New York dumpster. They asked me several times who I was and what I was doing outside their home. Before I could answer, one of the men told me to empty my pockets onto the porch railing. I told both of the men that I did not have anything in my pockets. Both of the strangers became very angry with me, and stared right through me as if they could see into the core of my soul. They were both very agitated. One of the guys without any warning, snapped at me and said, “Don’t fuck with us man!” The guy yelling had spit particles flying from his lips, and he constantly drooled onto the front of his shirt, as he mumbled inaudible words under his breath. I patted the outside of my pants and told them that I had nothing in my pockets and they could check my pockets if they did not believe me. At that moment, I realized that I was basically being robbed while Lizzie and Spider-Mann goofed off inside the house. I wanted to yell for help, but for some reason I did not think that would do me any good. It felt like a bad dream because my throat closed up and I could hardly speak. Just as I was ready to keel over from a panic attack, Lizzie and Spider-Mann both appeared from the house next door. Relief... the two strange guys that were attempting to rob me, disappeared into the house. Lizzie came happily out of the home next door and asked what I was doing over on some strangers porch. This was like an episode of Twilight Zone. I was confused. How did I end up here? How did Lizzie and Spider-Mann end up at the home next door, when I saw them enter the home that I was directly in front of? I know I did not go anywhere, I did not move from where Lizzie and Spider-Mann left me. I am not sure if I was losing my mind or if Lizzie was screwing with me. At that point, I did not care. I was just happy to see a familiar face and get the hell out of there.

  We made our way back to the club, and the walk seemed to last only a few minutes. I do not recall any of the walk back, except for the short time it took for us to be back at our vehicles. I was traumatized for the evening. Once CBGB’s was in sight, I relaxed and asked Lizzie if he was screwing around with me when he came out of the home next door. Lizzie maintained his story and insisted that I must have wandered over to the other home while he was inside doing only God knows what. To this day I am not sure what happened, I know I was not on any drugs, and beer does not make you hallucinate like that. Whatever happened to me was extremely strange and quite the life changing event. I think I grew up just a little that evening and from that point on I don’t think I was ever quite the same person.

  The Dean Incident - Vinnie Vegas

  Living in Hollywood was the most fun time in my life and that was one of the biggest motivators for writing this book. But in all that fun, there was one incident that was unexpectedly dangerous and could have made this book impossible to write. Indeed the consequences could have been grave and our happy adventure might have turned tragic in one night. There was no warning of the impending drama. But the gravity of the situation was heavy, and every now and then, I reflect on how differently things could have played out.

  Hollywood in the 80’s was full of fun and frivolity, but one night things went really dark and I will remember it vividly for the rest of my life. One night at El Cerrito, we had an unexpected visitor. When Cupkake and I started Point Blank in San Diego, the first drummer we auditioned was a guy named Dean. He showed up to our apartment unexpectedly one Thursday night and scared us. We had practiced with him for a couple of months in San Diego before we had to let him go. Dean was a great drummer, but he had an attitude that made him impossible to work with. He was in his early thirties at the time and was a real estate agent in San Diego. Looks-wise, Dean stood out because as a real estate agent, he kept his hair cut short and had a cheesy porn star mustache as well. The trouble was that he wanted to take over the band from the get go, and take charge of the entire operation. He had a lot of money, drove a black BMW and he liked to flaunt his affluence whenever possible. Let’s face it, the guy was obnoxious and arrogant, but we needed a drummer bad, so we let him in.

  Soon afterward, Dean announced that our songs were “mere skeletons” and we would need to spend at least a year to perfect them so we’d better not plan on playing any gigs soon. This did not go over well with us at all. It disrupted our plan of hitting the stage immediately, and striking while the iron was still hot. Dean had an odd way of talking that was both menacing and intimidating. Whenever he spoke, he would suck in a deep breath between clenched teeth in a hiss, pause for a second, then deliver his oratory bullshit. This of course made imitating him a laugh riot.

  Hissss...

  “Gentlemen, we have but mere skeletons here, and we’re not going to book any gigs until we get it right.”

  Hisssssss, and Vinnie...hisssss,

  “I don’t want to hear any crap out of you.”

  Well of course Dean didn’t last long, but his image stayed with us forever. The final indignity was when he decided to throw a house party and we showed up and threw all his toilet paper around the house. Later, Cupkake all of 18 years old, personally told him he was out and I believe he held on to that grudge for a long time.

  So the buzzer rings and Dean is at the gate. Like a jilted girlfriend who just can’t stay away, Dean had showed up at Point Blank’s first gig probably hoping that we’d all fall flat on our face. But the show was a huge success, and he had to admit it to me in a fashion only Dean could do. He told me that beyond his expectations, we did a great job, the whole time squeezing my shoulder in a Vulcan death grip. And this was the first time we’d seen him since that night. Something was wrong from the get-go, this I could tell.

  Now, this was ten years before Columbine, but Dean had shown up in the same “Trenchcoat Mafia” outfit that those two guys had worn. Dean walked into our apartment carrying a large briefcase which he plopped down on the table and opened up. It was one of those briefcases filled with grey foam cut out in the outlines of various guns. Inside the case was an Uzi, two handguns and a derringer pistol. Now Dean wasn’t talking about shooting anybody, as a matter of fact, he was talking casually about something benign that to this day, I don’t remember. He then, got the Uzi out of the case and inserted the clip and began pointing it around the room as he spoke.

  In hindsight, we should have called 911 immediately but we were caught off guard. Not to mention that this was the days before cell-phones, and our only phone was right in front of him. It would have been impossible to make that call without him noticing. I remember time going by very slowly at that point, and I was trying to figure out what to do. It became clear to me that Dean was on meth by his incoherent rambling and he seemed to be directing all his statements at Cupkake. Now Dean also had a girl with him who was spun out of her mind, which led me to put two and two together about the meth. Luckily, she was speaking a mile a minute about absolutely nothing and distracted Dean every now and then. It seemed like he was trying to build up to a point, but tweeky Tina would run into the kitchen and start a doing bizarre tap-dancing routine which would break his train of thought. I thought for sure that by the end of this night, and indeed maybe 10 minutes from now, Cupkake would be dead and I got really scared.