No Encore!

by Drew Fortune

  59

  LITA FORD

  Growing up in The Runaways, Lita Ford learned young and fast about rock ’n’ roll excess, as the band used to party with Sid and Nancy on the group’s French houseboat. She dishes on the ’70s punk scene and about getting royally punked by Poison.

  Because I’m a female, everything has been a goddamn fight. When The Runaways ended and I started my solo career, everything was crazy, and it was totally life-changing. I could have left music forever after The Runaways, but I chose to carry on. It’s what I love to do and what I feel I was put on this earth to do. But from the start, it’s always been crazy.

  In The Runaways, there was always something really fucking dramatic going on, and it’s why I hate drama so much today. One day, it would be Cherie Currie is sixteen and pregnant! Ah fuck, are you kidding me? What are we gonna do?

  One time, we were in Japan, and Jackie desperately wanted to go home. She’s a fucking hypochondriac and thought she was dying. We were like, “Dude, you are not dying! You can’t go home because we still have to play Budokan!” So what did Jackie do? She slit her wrist with a broken plate from room service. She thought she was so sick that she attempted suicide to get a ticket home. That Budokan show was huge for us, and Joan Jett had to play bass. I covered on guitar, and it was fucking awesome. Nobody really missed Jackie that much, I’m sorry to say.

  I remember the punk era as being really awesome, and it’s probably my favorite era. If the fans loved you, they would spit on you. If you were in a club and the place was absolutely packed with a bunch of dudes in leather jackets, all you would see is spit flying through the air. It looked like it was raining sideways. When that big loogie would splash on my guitar neck, I just had to play through it. What are you gonna do, stop and get a fucking wet wipe? We all learned how to spit really well, and I loved it.

  The very first tour The Runaways did was three months, across the US, with the Ramones. I had just come out of high school, and it was so badass. People would throw handfuls of change at us, and that shit hurt! The Ramones would put chicken wire in front of the stage to cut down on the spit and change. There was nothing fake about those guys. Joey looked fucked up, skinny, down-and-dirty nasty, and that’s exactly who he was. He was truly one fucked-up individual but also a genius. They’d eat greasy fried chicken and then sing about wanting to get well. They should have eaten some vitamin C along with their heroin, Jack Daniels, and reds.

  The Runaways had a ninety-foot house boat on the river Thames, next to the Battersea Bridge. Sid Vicious and Nancy would just walk right in. Sid would be drunk and fucking high as shit. He had just carved Nancy’s name into his arm with razor blades, and his chest was bleeding with the word “Sid.” He’d be dripping blood, his hair all matted from the night before. He was heavy duty, but I could have real conversations with him. But he was scary. When he’d start talking, I’d usually get up and walk away and go talk to Nancy. She was a doll. She was so gorgeous and a really sweet person. Then Sid would yell something, and it would snap me back to reality. I’d go in the other room and make peanut butter sandwiches for everyone. Everyone knew we had peanut butter sandwiches on the boat, so that’s what brought everyone over. We didn’t have paper plates, and nobody did dishes. Most of our plates got thrown out the window into the river.

  That era was so raunchy, with people slicing themselves up with razor blades. The drugs were better back then, and I stayed together for a lot longer than people might realize. Blackberry brandy was my drug in The Runaways days. We’d be booked on these winter, outdoor festivals in Europe, and I was freezing. My fingers were so cold, and I had to go out and play guitar. My mother, being from Rome, and my father from Great Britain, said, “Lita! Have some blackberry brandy!” I used to carry a pint of it in the back pocket of my jeans. That was how the shit really started. From there, I went to Johnnie Walker Black Label. I loved alcohol and really had fun with it for a while. There was always so much different alcohol to try, and cocaine was always available. I didn’t love coke at first, but I eventually got deeper into it. One day, I just said that I didn’t want to do it anymore. I put all my drugs and alcohol into a box and put it out front for the trash man. That was in 1990 when my mother died. I had too much fun in the eighties.

  One of the most embarrassing shows for me in the eighties was when I was on tour with Poison. I knew the guys in passing, but I didn’t really hang out all night partying with them. At the end of the tour, I felt like I really hadn’t gotten to know them, and I thought they went overboard with what they did to me on stage. It was the last night of the tour pranks, and I got really, really pissed. I don’t know who exactly did it, but they duct-taped my guitar tech to a chair. While I was on stage, they lowered him from the rafters. He came down out of the sky, and I was pissed. I acted like I was laughing, but I wasn’t happy. Then, during the show, they brought two male strippers onstage, who started flapping their penises on me. Whipped cream rained down, and I just lost it. I jumped off stage and into the orchestra pit to get away from these strippers.

  Backstage, Poison were getting ready to go on. All of their keyboards were lined up, all nice and neat. All the programs, samples, and backing vocals were in the keyboards, and I kicked them over as hard as I could. I sent them flying and crashing to the ground. They had to go on in forty-five minutes, and I wiped out their samples. I looked over and saw C.C. DeVille’s guitars lined up perfectly in a row. I figured that if I kicked one, it would have the domino effect, knocking the rest over. I lifted one foot and someone grabbed me from behind. He wrapped his arms around mine and literally picked me up, moving me away from the guitars. It was Poison’s tour manager. He was six foot four—a foot taller than me—so he picked me up like it was nothing. He’s carrying me kicking and screaming through the backstage area, past Poison and all these crew people, trying to get me to my bus. My clothes and hair were totally covered in whipped cream, and I see Bret Michaels smiling and laughing. I just thought, “Fuck you,” and I punched him as hard as I could in the mouth. Finally, the guy got me to my bus, and I had to think, OK Lita, just get in and shut up. We’ve actually become great friends over the years and still play together.

  60

  JOSH FREESE

  Drummer Josh Freese has the coolest career, playing with everyone from DEVO to Nine Inch Nails. Perhaps closest to both our hearts are the decades he’s spent with Paul Westerberg, solo, and in the brief reformation of The Replacements. In this love letter to our hero, Freese recounts an ill-fated MTV performance and the time he yelled “Burt Reynolds” on SNL.

  There are artists that I grew up loving, like Paul Westerberg, that I would always daydream about meeting one day. Then I was suddenly in the studio working with him. In the early days, I really had to pretend like I wasn’t starstruck by him, even though it was probably painfully obvious that I was freaking out.

  In early summer 1993, Westerberg had just made his first solo record, 14 Songs. We were in New York to play Irving Plaza, and we heard from the label that MTV wanted Paul to do a live performance with an interview for 120 Minutes. He did the interview fine, but then it came to the performance, which was only going to be a couple songs. Paul said that he wanted the full band involved, as he didn’t want to do it acoustic. Because our gear was across town being set up at Irving Plaza, MTV rented a really nice backline for us, with a really nice drum set for me.

  It turned into this really elaborate production. Since it was no longer just a guy on a stool with one mic and acoustic guitar, they had to set up a stage in the studio. They had to bring in monitors, extra camera guys, and all this shit that MTV hadn’t anticipated, and had to assemble it in record time. It was a big, expensive deal. It was under the guise that Paul would perform, and they would take one or two of the songs to put into heavy rotation. The truth is, it was going to be a great thing for Paul, in terms of exposure.

  We get to the studio, and there was all this buzz in the hallways. LA people from Warner B
rothers had flown out. There were a ton of excited label people hanging out and people from MTV who had shown up to watch. We rehearsed and did a sound check, then had to do all the camera blocking shit. It was hectic—a lot of hurry up and wait. All of this, of course, is that absolute shit that Paul hates more than anything. Paul is the last guy to say, “Wow, look at all the label people. I can’t wait to be on TV, isn’t this great?”

  Paul started grumbling, wondering what he had gotten himself into. They said to take fifteen minutes, as they were gonna send so-and-so back to makeup and do a million other things. Mind you, this was years before everyone had cell phones or the internet, so we’re just sitting around with nothing to do. They started calling us back to our places, as we were finally going to do it for real. We walk onstage, and all the camera guys are ready to go, but Paul wasn’t there. We knew he had to be around, so we checked the vending machines and the fire escape, because we figured he might have ducked out for a cigarette. We came up empty, and it seemed that Paul had completely vanished.

  Meanwhile, I’m just chatting with the camera crew and the band. We’re all completely geared up to do this. Hell, I was only twenty at the time. This was huge! Fifteen minutes looking for Paul turned into thirty, at which point we’re all saying, “Where the fuck is he?” His tour manager and manager hadn’t seen him nor had any of the band. Everyone’s getting paid, waiting to shoot this thing, and I’ll never forget that Paul’s manager at the time, said, “I can’t believe I’m about to do this, but I’m going to call the hotel to see if he’s there.”

  Gary comes back about three minutes later, looking like he’d seen a ghost. He said, “I called his room, and he answered.” Paul had walked back to the hotel. Apparently, he thought there was too much commotion and bullshit, and he couldn’t handle it. We’re all standing there, thinking Gary and Paul might have been playing some really weird joke. Nope. Everyone from MTV starts looking at us, asking, “Where’s your guy?” I stuttered, “Shit, he’s not my guy!” I was at a loss for words and completely paralyzed. I felt like a total asshole in front of all these powerful people, with no answers. Finally, Gary had to say that Paul left because he didn’t want to do it. At least he was honest about it.

  We left, thinking, “Well, that’s one way to completely burn a bridge with MTV forever.” I was so bummed, but part of me was thinking, “Goddamn, what a punker.” Paul never does things to be an asshole. For better or worse, he’s taking care of himself and his principles. Even if it means letting a lot of people down, he was doing exactly what he felt like he needed to do. In the end, Paul didn’t get his song in rotation. They weren’t super keen on banging out his video that had just been released. The only thing that has survived from the whole fiasco is a clip of us playing “First Glimmer” that you can find online. It’s actually really good, and it’s because we didn’t hear “lights, camera, action.”

  It’s no secret that The Replacements had a permanent Saturday Night Live ban after they did the show in 1986. The funny thing was that SNL then booked Paul in 1993. I remember Lorne Michaels not realizing that it was Paul Westerberg from The Replacements until right after the show was done and then he was furious. We came in the day before the show to do a big, long rehearsal with the horn section. We were there all day, and the word was, “Everybody, don’t talk too loud backstage about the fact that Paul was in The Replacements. Don’t mention the ‘R’ word.” Lorne still wanted his head on a stick. Basically, everyone backstage knew who Paul was, obviously, so it was really fun, with all of us playing dumb and mischievous for the day.

  We got back the following day for another rehearsal, and there’s a full run-through of the show in front of an audience around 8:00 p.m. We’d been there for fucking two straight days at that point, and Paul was getting antsy. We did “Knockin’ On Mine” as our first song, which went fine. I think it was kinda nerve-wracking, even for Paul, because it’s live, obviously. But it’s also SNL. It’s not exactly the club down the street. “Can’t Hardly Wait” was our second song, and as we were walking to the stage, Paul whispered to me, “During one of the breaks, just yell something.” He didn’t tell me what to yell or why the drummer would be yelling some random thing on live TV. I think he just thought it would be funny or might piss off Lorne Michaels. Again, I’m a twenty-year-old kid, so no pressure, right?

  I literally had no time to think up something that would be funny to yell, as we launched right into the song. It came to the first break in the song, and I choked. I didn’t yell anything. To put this in perspective, this was a couple years before Burt Reynolds had his big resurgence in Boogie Nights. He was basically off the grid in terms of popularity in 1993. It was coming to the second break, and I’m thinking about Burt Reynolds. I was also thinking about Taco Bell’s seven-layer-burrito, which had just come out around that time. I ended up yelling “Burt Reynolds!” at the top of my lungs. I wasn’t mic’d, so if you were in the room, you definitely heard it, because I yelled. But if you were watching TV that night, you would have needed to hit rewind, thinking, “What the fuck did somebody just yell that made Westerberg crack up?”

  The other funny thing was that Charlton Heston was hosting that night, and during rehearsals he kept screwing up Paul’s last name. Poor Heston was so old and out of it at that time, and I have no idea what he would have been promoting in 1993. He was really struggling to remember Paul’s last name, and it wasn’t like he was being a jerk. He was just old, and we kinda felt bad for him. At the very end of the show, when everyone’s on stage and the host thanks everyone, Paul was standing next to Heston. The way I remember it, Heston forgot the name again and doesn’t even say, “Thanks to Paul Westerberg.” I remember Heston pausing to say something to Paul, but he blanks and just stares at Paul like, “There’s no fucking way I’m going to be able to remember your name again.” Then he waved to the crowd and sticks his hand out to Paul, who coughs into his own hand right before they shake. If you ask Darren Hill, Paul’s manager, he spit in his own hand before the shake, masking it with the cough.

  That’s what I love about Paul. I remember he turned down a big-money gig once because it wasn’t about the money. He said, “Hey man, if I wanted to do it, I’d do it for free.” I love that he’s not filthy rich. Almost anybody else I know in his shoes would have jumped at the opportunity. If he doesn’t feel right about it, he won’t do it. I appreciate and admire that. I’ve also wanted to strangle him occasionally. I’ll get pissed, and then he’ll literally give me a big smooch, and we’re buddies again. Paul can be a fucking bastard, but I love him, and I’ll stick up for him until the end of time.

  61

  VIOLENT J/SHAGGY 2 DOPE

  (Insane Clown Posse)

  Whoop whoop! It feels fitting to end the book with ICP, perhaps the wildest, longest-enduring, and oddly endearing acts of the last three decades. Break out your hatchets and Faygo, fam, because here’s Violent J and Shaggy 2 Dope on the craziest shit they’ve seen over the years.

  Violent J: One time, when I lost my mind on stage, we were doing the song, “How Many Times.” I had a microphone stand in front of me, my eyes were closed, and I was really feeling the song. I’m screaming and having my rock star moment. In my mind, I was Eddie Vedder, and I forgot for the moment that I was a fat clown. I was thinking the whole crowd was with me and totally feeling it. This was in Albuquerque, New Mexico, and there was stage-diving going on all night. When I finally opened my eyes, after doing this touching, emotional song, a kid was standing right in front of me. He was about two feet from my face, with his back to the crowd, facing me. He was flipping me off with two hands, the double birds, while looking right into my eyes.

  I took my microphone stand, swung it like a battle axe, and split the top of his head open. The crowd went silent and then started cheering after a three-second shock. I went on with the show like nothing had happened. After the show, when I got backstage, I was covered in Faygo and soaking wet. The cops were waiting there to arrest
me, and they took me down to the police station. They had four witnesses sitting there, and they all had clown paint on. I’m looking at them like, “You motherfuckers! You’re painted like me and snitching me out!” It was hella fucked up, and we ended up getting banned from Albuquerque for seven years.

  Years later, whenever we were playing somewhere in the Southwest, a huge posse of 200 juggalos from Albuquerque would show up and chant, “505! 505!” That was the Albuquerque area code, so they would always let us know they were in the house. They did that for years, and when we were finally allowed back into Albuquerque, we got a hero’s return. The kid I hit ended up suing me, and I had to pay him $30,000. I was walking to the tour bus one day, and a guy literally jumped out of the bushes to serve me papers. He said, “Joe Bruce?” I thought he was asking for an autograph. That’s the last time I did anything like that because it was before I learned that if you beat someone’s ass, you get sued.

  Shaggy 2 Dope: The shittiest thing that happened to me was at one of the Gatherings, sometime around 2006. Our dumb asses would wrestle during the day before going on stage. We had wrestled these two big cowboy dudes, and I hyperextended my knee. I thought I broke it, but I snapped my ACL in half. The show had to go on, so we go on stage, we’re turning it out, and my dumb ass decides to climb the lighting rig. That thing was stupid high, and I decided to climb it halfway, with my knee all fucked up, and do a back flip into the crowd. I get up there, go to do the flip, and my knee gave out. I ended up doing a ridiculous-looking back dive, and I must have been about twenty-five feet in the air.

  I didn’t realize what had actually happened until I was being hoisted back on stage. I blacked out, and I feel bad thinking about the people I must have crunched. I hope that I just straight hit the ground, because if I clocked someone else’s head, that’d be like getting hit with a fucking cannonball. They threw me back on stage, and I was basically unconscious on my feet. I ended up finishing the show, and after limping backstage, I started puking blood.