Tattoos & Tequila: To Hell and Back with One of Rock's Most Notorious Frontmen

by Vince Neil

  When I was drinking, I never thought about what other people thought of me. To tell you the truth, I never thought of it; it never even crossed my mind. But just thinking about it now… hm.

  I’m sure, in the past, a lot of opportunities came my way, but I was just too fucked up to move on them. I’m sure a lot of opportunities that came in probably never went past my management—I’m sure they were like, “This guy can’t deal with this,” you know? That’s probably why deals didn’t get passed to me. But there’s no sense crying over the past. What’s done is done. I have always had a talent for living in the moment. And so I continue.

  Not that I don’t have my dreams. I mean, I’m only forty-nine. Celebrity is a blessing and a curse. As you go along, you kind of turn into another person. I like my job. I like what I do for a living. I just don’t like a lot of what comes along with it. Sometimes you want the attention. I love being able to walk into a restaurant and get a table right away: “Oh, Mr. Neil, how are you doing? Good to see you again.” Blah blah blah. That kind of stuff I love. Who wouldn’t, right?

  But I don’t like people coming over and asking for autographs while I’m eating. Thankfully, it doesn’t usually happen.

  The fame I’ve achieved, where things are right now, it’s good for me. Basically, on an everyday basis, nobody cares if I go about my business. I wouldn’t want to be like the Beatles for instance, where they couldn’t leave their hotel room. Or Michael Jackson—he couldn’t fucking do anything or go anywhere. That would be a terrible way to live. All the money in the world, but what can you do? You can’t go anywhere; you can’t enjoy your life; you’re basically in prison.

  I like it where I can go down the street, get my own gas, go to the grocery store if I have to, live a normal life. And when I’m on the road, or onstage and doing a concert, then yeah—you’re going to have people who want autographs and stuff. That’s part of the deal. I love that, too. Everything at the right time. And then you get home and you get a break from it, which is a nice level of fame. All these celebrities that bitch, “I want my privacy,” I feel like sometimes I want to slap them. You’re famous, you know? Get over it. You signed up for it. That’s the way I look at it. It’s like if I wanted to be totally left alone, I could have stayed an electrician.

  Lia Neil Vince’s Fourth Wife

  When Vince and I met he didn’t have a pot to piss in. He had a rental, a bed, and a car. And that’s it. I mean there was no Mötley Crüe when we met. There was nothing. He had filed for bankruptcy. He had three bad marriages.

  It’s been three years since we did an intervention with Vince. Before that, he was a nightmare. I threatened to leave, so he went from hard alcohol to wine. But an alcoholic’s an alcoholic. I kept wondering, Why isn’t anybody who cares for him trying to stop this? I mean he was so self-destructive. He was bloated and had put on so much weight. He was either screaming at the top of his lungs or he was slurring. He wasn’t eating. Nobody could find him. I didn’t know if he was going to be dead. He wouldn’t call. I couldn’t live that way. I was out here in Vegas with the dogs by myself without my family.

  Then it became booze and pills and girls… again. I wasn’t having any part of it. I wasn’t going to fly there and be his mommy. I mean after you’ve been with somebody for so many years, I don’t want to babysit. You know this is somebody who should be responsible for himself, and me flying here and there and everywhere with him just aggravated me. I called up his manager and I said, “Look I’m just going to let you know if we don’t do an intervention, if you don’t step up to the plate and call somebody to help him, then I’m leaving him and you’re going to have a serious problem because there’s going to be another divorce.”

  We called Nikki. He was an inspiration. If it wasn’t for Nikki I really didn’t have any hope. Vince had been to Betty Ford and Promises. He’s been everywhere. Yet, every few years he goes back to drinking.

  Finally, he’s sober now.

  He does indulge in a few pills every now and then. I can hear it in his voice. It’s an issue. It may be a very minor issue. It’s nothing compared to the alcohol. He says he needs something to take the edge off. But you know that’s just the door to the monster. I don’t know what’ll happen. I don’t know how long he’s going to be sober. You just never know. It’s very difficult.

  My dad was my rock. He was the most amazing man—honest and kind. He provided for his family and he never judged me. He was always there. When I went through difficult times my dad was always there. Now he’s not. I don’t have my rock. I love my husband but he’s not my rock. He can’t be. I’m his rock.

  Vince seems in a good place now, with his business and everything. Ever since he hired 10th Street, the pieces have seemed to come together in a better way. The change couldn’t have come too soon.

  He was in the dark for a long period. One time, Vince and I were staying at the Four Seasons in Beverly Hills and we ran into Allen Kovac at the valet station. Allen asked Vince why he wasn’t coming to the band meeting. And Vince was like, “What band meeting?” And Allen was like, “The one about creating a Crüe Fest tour.” And then he said that if Vince wasn’t going to tour with Mötley that summer, then the promoter was thinking of replacing him with the lead vocalists of the other bands already signed: Buckcherry, Papa Roach, and Sixx:A.M. Allen told Vince that he “owed it to himself” to come to the band meeting and hear the proposal. Of course, this news didn’t sit too well with Vince. He screamed at Allen until the valet brought around the Ferarri. He peeled out into the street, mad as a hornet.

  As usual, Vince cooled down and reconsidered after a little thought. He eventually decided to hire a new lawyer and a new accountant to represent him in the band negotiations. I think it was all a good move because with Vince on board at 10th Street, Mötley Crüe really took off again. Crüe Fest was the number one Rock Festival of 2008. You can’t argue with results.

  Vince lived it and he owns it. Now it’s really interesting to watch him get older. I mean he still gets a lot of attention, but there are times when we’ll roll up to the valet and you’ll get some young girl and she’ll ask him for his last name. It kills him. He’s not the superstar that he was. He’s aging. He’s on his third face-lift and he’s forty-eight years old.

  Life goes on. I ground him and try to show him what a normal life is. You don’t have to run with the wild dogs all the time. You can have something else. When I met Vince he didn’t know how to use the ATM. He’d never been to the grocery store. He needs the excitement. He likes to be seen. He gets antsy. He can only play so much golf.

  I was very nervous when I made the decision to go with him. I had the plastic surgery practice that I loved and the doctors that I worked for who I admired. I had my family and my friends. Vince said, “I want you to move down here with me.” There was one side of me that thought, This is great. The other side thought, This is not real. When I resigned, the doctors I worked for told me that whatever happened, the door would always be open for me. At the time, I thought, I can stay in this office forever, or I can take a chance and see what happens. Not very many people get that opportunity. It is what it is.

  As to the guys in the band… I don’t know. It’s weird because after all this time of being with these guys, there is stuff I still don’t understand. Mick is still a complete mystery to me. I don’t talk a lot to Mick; I don’t see a lot of Mick. He shows up onstage and then he’s gone. He’s a great guy, but he gets a little too into certain things, like it seems like sometimes he likes to make a big deal out of a small thing just so he can act like he’s contributing. I feel bad for Mick. I know he’s in a lot of pain and that’s shaped his life. I know sometimes he is in so much pain it’s hard for him to play. What comes out of his amplifier is always amazing, though.

  After all these years Nikki and me are still great friends. The press likes to blow things out of proportion, but we love each other like brothers, for better and for worse. We’ve been together for so lon
g. You’re going to have fights with people, it’s human nature. You can’t be around somebody for twenty-five or thirty years and not have an argument. That’s just what happens. Nikki does a lot of things that irritate me, but I’m sure I do a lot of things that irritate him, too. It’s just called life.

  Nikki Sixx

  Bassist, Songwriter, Founder of Mötley Crüe

  How did I meet Vince? Tommy told us about him and we saw him play in a club band called Rockandi. This was at the Starwood in 1981. I remember thinking he reminded me of Robin Zander meets Iggy Pop and I loved that. There was a little bit of a snarl to him ’cause his voice was kind of raspy. He had a very melodic voice on top of that. It was cool and different.

  To me, my vision for the band was always metal. Punk rock, pop, and heavy metal mixed together. But I think when you’re kids you don’t think that far in advance. You just want to be in a band. For me, from the start, it was all about crash and burn, search and destroy. It wasn’t about longevity. It’s never been about longevity. The fact that there is longevity is the actual joke. That’s the whole pun. It’s like God’s cruel joke: Something that’s meant to die won’t die. It’s like we’re rock ’n’ roll vampires. And you’re in the vampire coven, forever stuck together in the same cave. That’s the, that’s the cruel joke. You get to live forever. But is that necessarily a blessing or a curse? That’s the question. We never had any intention of lasting beyond probably the first gig—that’s the whole interesting part of Mötley Crüe…

  … and that’s what makes those first few albums by a new band magical. It’s the reckless abandon. There is no upside and there’s no downside. It just is. It’s a perfect, perfect place to be. And you just hang out together, you make music together, you’re just in this zone. It’s really cool. I love seeing bands at that juncture. It’s just a fantastic thing.

  Being in Mötley Crüe is not a chore for me. It has never been a chore for me. I love Mötley Crüe and Tommy, Mick, and Vince with all my heart. I am sorry to hear that Vince doesn’t speak very highly of anybody in the band; I’m sorry to hear that. I give 200 percent to something that I’ve believed in for thirty years. So I don’t just show up. I couldn’t be in this band if I didn’t think very highly of the guys. It must be hard for Vince to feel that way and still be in the band…. I feel bad for him…

  I’m a songwriter. I love writing music. I’m in a band, and I love the band. And I think all the members of the band are really talented and really unique. I feel pretty blessed.

  I’ve always believed Vince was our emblem. I always believed he was magical. I always believed he has a unique voice, that he’s one of the greatest frontmen in rock. When we’re onstage together, I’m always proud to stand next to him. I’m proud to fucking see him do what he does. And I’m proud to do what I do. I realize that I would never be able to do his job. It’s a hard job. It’s a fucking hard job. And you know—I got a job to do, too. And so does Tommy. And so does Mick. But it’s the four of us together that makes it really magical. We all know that for a car to run it needs more than the emblem. It takes a motor, it takes a chassis, it takes the fucking paint and the emblem. It takes all of it to make it a finely tuned machine.

  I wake up every day and I think, I’m not a rock star, but I am in Mötley Crüe. There’s a lot of other things I want to do in my life. From being a father to being a successful songwriter, producer, photographer, radio host. There is so much out there to do and to dedicate my creativity toward. If I ever wake up thinking I am a rock star first and I’m in Mötley Crüe second, I’ve got it upside down.

  This is what I understand: I’m in Mötley Crüe. I get to be in a band. It’s the same band that started out playing in a garage. And I’m really fucking lucky. I mean, I look at Mick Mars and everything he’s been through. Look at Vince and everything he’s been through. Look at Tommy and everything he’s been through. And then me. I’ve been through a lot myself. Sometimes, when we’re onstage, I’ll look at us playing. And I’ll think to myself, Wow, we’re still here, man. It’s fucking cool. It’s different, but it’s the same. I live in gratitude, man, it’s fucking pretty fucking cool, man.

  Deep down, in my heart of hearts, what I really want is this: I want to get to that next level. I want to get to the Ozzy level. I want to headline arenas with my own band.

  That’s why I hired Allen Kovac and 10th Street Entertainment. I don’t like Kovac. I don’t like him at all. We have a lot of history, most of it not that great. But this is business—this isn’t friendship. I’ve had plenty of friends screw me over, believe me. The thing about Kovac is business, and he knows how to say “no.” His motivation is helping me to make more money so that he gets paid more money. The way I see it, dealing with 10th Street is dealing with a company versus being managed by only one or two guys. It’s like having a gang behind you, all of them strapped and down for your cause. Allen has invested in his people; he gets the best out of them. Like my man Eric Sherman, the creator and president of VH1 Classic and the former president of Fuse, who now runs 10th Street. With guys like him at the helm, I know that 10th Street can do for me what record companies can’t do anymore: radio promotion, new media, press, touring, etc.

  The thing about it is this: 10th Street really isn’t just a management firm. It’s a marketing and business development company. Look at the history: Kovac and 10th Street have done amazing things with Mötley Crüe, Buckcherry, Papa Roach, JET, the Cranberries, Blondie, Meat Loaf’s Bat Out of Hell—the list goes on and on. He sees my potential as a solo artist on his roster. And, hey, if Kovac can do what he promised me—put out a record and a national tour, tie it in with the book, tie it in with the tequila and my tattoo shops and Feelgoods and my aviation company—then that’s fucking wonderful. I don’t care how much I like him or not. The truth is, you can’t do it yourself. It’s like doing a deal with a devil I know.

  My old management had me going out playing fairs and theaters. Kovac’s right: You have to have a record out to tour with. And I haven’t had a record out, you know? And my old management just kinda kept me touring and touring. Just touring and touring and touring and touring and touring. But all I was doing was repeating the same things over and over and over and over again: You know: Mötley Crüe stuff. Don’t get me wrong. I love the songs. And as a fan, you know, if I go see David Bowie and he doesn’t play his hits, I’m fucking pissed. ’Cause that’s what you want to hear. I want to go hear David Bowie sing “Rebel, Rebel” and shit like that you know. So it’s the same thing with me. And with Mötley. And with any band. But you still have to have new music. You still have to keep moving forward. Maybe an old rock ’n’ roller is like a shark. (Shark Week on Discovery! One of my all time favorites!) You have to keep moving or you die.

  Deep down, I still love it. I love the songs. I can sing them a million times, it doesn’t matter. I can sing them every single day of my life and I’d be happy. I like them. Our hits are all fuckin’ immortal. It’s almost like as long as I can sing the songs, it makes everything else in the world not as important. Because it’s the ultimate satisfaction in a way. Like I have a lot of shit going on, but I really love what I do, and that’s really the center of it, and that’s what’s the most important. You may have crap that wants to drag you down, but if you really like what you’re doing, there’s always a silver lining. Here I am, I’m almost fifty or whatever, and I still have idealism. I still have things I want to achieve. So many guys my age are like getting ready to hang it up. Not me. I’m like, Hey, I got a lot of shit to do, man.

  I think I have at least another ten years in me.

  Neil Wharton Vince’s Son

  Unless you’re a hard-core Mötley Crüe fan you wouldn’t know my dad’s real name is Vince Neil Wharton. When I was born he wasn’t planning on changing his name, so he gave me his middle name. Then he changed it and I got stuck with Neil Neil.

  I grew up in the same area as my dad. My mom and my dad and grandparents literally grew up withi
n a half mile of each other. I went to the same school my dad went to. I had all the same teachers.

  From what I know, my mom and dad loved each other. My mom says my dad was a great father. But when you’re seventeen years old and you basically get handed the keys to the world and you get to do your dream, what do you do? Do you say, “Oh, no problem, I’ll get another chance to be a rock star,” or do you say, “I’m going to stay and be a father”? Or do you go and do what you’re meant to do? He made the right choice. I’m not bitter.

  The misconception of being a rock star’s child is that you get everything. I was lucky enough to have a well-grounded single mom. Right now she’s a clothing manager for Harley-Davidson. She’s been there sixteen years or seventeen years. She’s great at what she does. I don’t expect special treatment ’cause my dad’s Vince Neil. My dad’s just got a cool job.

  When I was growing up, my grandparents, my dad’s parents, took me to every Mötley Crüe show. Literally I was like a baby and a toddler and then a little kid. I used to go to the shows at the Whisky and the Roxy and the Canyon Club and Santa Monica Civic. My mom would take me, too. My greatest memory of any Mötley Crüe show when I was little was that I got to sit upstairs in the little sound booth. I remember it was just a ton of people. When you’re little everything’s big. Even a can of Coke is gigantic when you’re little.

  At the concert, they had candelabras on the stage and smoke. A guy would come out dressed up like a skeleton and he’d do this whole thing. But the one thing I remember is my dad would come out with a satchel. He had wrapped presents in it. I was two or three. I didn’t know what they were; I just knew people were getting presents. But I remember as a kid I always wanted one of those things.