Rock Bottom: Dark Moments In Music Babylon

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Rock Bottom: Dark Moments In Music Babylon Page 2

by Des Barres, Pamela


  After presenting an award at the MTV Music Awards in September 1993, Snoop Doggy Dogg (Calvin Broadus), charged with being an accomplice to murder, surrendered to police detectives. Snoop was sitting in the driver’s seat of his jeep on August 25 when, according to witnesses, an argument broke out between Snoop’s friend Shawn Abrams and his bodyguard, McKinley Lee, and another man, Philip Woldermarian. According to police, the rapper and his team chased Woldermarian to Woodbine Park three blocks away, where Lee fired the fatal shot. Lee insisted that the victim had been pointing a gun at the jeep and he fired in self-defense. On February 20, 1996, Snoop and his bodyguard were aquitted of first- and second-degree murder charges after the jury listened to testimony supporting Lee’s statement that Woldermarian had indeed reached for his gun before Lee fired the fatal shot. Under lengthy questioning, two of Woldermarian’s friends admitted taking the gun from him in order to improve the chances that the rapper and his bodyguard would be convicted of murder. The following day the judge declared a mistrial on charges of manslaughter. (Later the L.A. prosecutors decided not to retry Snoop and his bodyguard on the remaining manslaughter charges, which the court then dismissed.) Said an exuberant Snoop, “Victory is on … . The media made us guilty. But by the grace of God, the jury found us not guilty.” When the judge ruled that Snoop had to stand trial in the murder case, the rapper told the press, “I will continue to make good music and keep my faith in God.”

  “I was in jail as a fetus,” claims Tupac Shakur. The rapper’s mother was a Black Panther who, while pregnant with Tupac, spent time in prison, awaiting trial. Tupac’s first album, 2Pacalypse Now, came under attack when a teenage car thief insisted the album’s lyrics incited him to kill a Texas state trooper in April 1992. Arrested in March 1993 for carrying a concealed weapon, two days later Tupac was charged with assaulting a limo driver on the set of the Fox TV show “In Living Color.” In March 1993 he allegedly attacked director Allen Hughes with a lead pipe after being axed from Hughes’s film Menace II Society, and spent fifteen days in jail. Seven months later Tupac was arrested again, accused of shooting two off-duty policemen. The charges were later dropped when witnesses said one of the officers shot first. One month later, however, Tupac was arrested for sodomizing and sexually abusing a twenty-year-old woman in his Manhattan hotel room. (The victim, who admitted giving Tupac head in a nightclub, told police that Tupac later held her down while three other men repeated the act.)

  While awaiting trial, Tupac was arrested for carrying a loaded 9mm pistol and half a gram of marijuana. In New York to stand trial, Tupac was headed to a recording studio in Times Square when he was robbed by three gunmen. Tupac, of course, put up a fight and was shot four times. Two bullets grazed his head, another punctured his left palm, and one went through the back of his right thigh and slit his scrotum. Against doctor’s wishes Tupac checked himself out of the hospital and charged into court. Found guilty of sexual abuse (but not the more serious sodomy charges), Tupac was sentenced to up to four and a half years in prison. On October 12, 1995, Death Row Records posted $1.4 million bail to spring the rapper from Rikers Island’s maximum-security prison, pending his appeal of his conviction. The headline in the L.A. Times upon Tupac’s early release: I AM NOT A GANGSTER.

  Uh-oh. Tupac’s troubles with the law continued. In early April 1996, an L.A. municipal judge ordered Tupac to serve 120 days in jail due to his failure to do court-ordered Caltrans work, which violated his probation on two misdemeanor battery cases. Tupac’s attorneys filed an appeal. He still faces felony charges in L.A. for alleged possession of a loaded firearm. After the hearing, the twenty-four-year-old said, “They can put me in jail for a hundred and twenty years, but I’ll still be richer than all of them.”

  Rock and roll will always make headlines:

  December ’84—ROCK SINGER [Vince Neil] ARRESTED IN FATAL CAR CRASH

  January ’85—ROCK SINGER FACES MANSLAUGHTER CHARGE

  September ’85—HEAVY METAL STAR GETS $2.6 MILLION SENTENCE

  September ’88—SINGER. JAMES BROWN CHARGED IN GUN INCIDENT AND POLICE CHASE

  November ’88—JAMES BROWN ADDICTED TO PCP

  January ’89—BROWN GETS SIX YEARS IN GEORGIA SENTENCE

  February ’91—GODFATHER OF SOUL PAROLED AFTER TWO YEARS OF SENTENCE

  September ’93—DID MICHAEL DO IT?

  April ’94—EX—WIFE SUES AXL ROSE, ALLEGING YEARS OF ABUSE

  June ’94—BASSIST FOR BAND HOLE FOUND DEAD

  August ’94—ROCK STAR BILLY IDOL RELEASED AFTER POSSIBLE OVERDOSE HOSPITALIZES HIM

  February ’95—BLIND MELON SINGER CHARGED

  February ’95—RAP STAR EAZY-E SAYS HE HAS AIDS

  March ’95—RAP SINGER EASY-E DIES OF AIDS AT 31

  October ’95—DEPECHE MODE’S LEAD SINGER BACK HOME AFTER SUICIDE TRY

  October ’95—BOBBY BROWN CHECKS INTO REHAB IN DESPERATE BID TO WIN BACK WHITNEY

  October ’95—BLIND MELON’S SHANNON HOON FOUND DEAD

  November ‘95—LOVE IN COURT. “Courtney Love was in the mood to play games as her assault trial began in Orlando, Fla. Wearing a black ruffled suit, the rock star whispered from the defense table Thursday: ’Hey, prosecutors. Pssssst … . Can I be O.J. and you be Christopher Darden?’”

  June ’96—MILLI VANILLI FIGURE FLEES DRUG CENTER

  July ’96—MUSICIAN TOURING WITH SMASHING PUMPKINS DIES

  LAUGHING SYD BARRETT

  Scream the Last Scream

  Nobody seems to be able to pinpoint when Pink Floyd’s founder, Syd Barrett, began his slide into legendary madness. Like most poetic, gifted artists, Syd was wildly sensitive, difficult to understand, and headed down a decidedly precarious path that few would dare follow. After his highly creative, tumultuous period with the Floyd, the mischievous twinkle in Syd’s eyes got flat and foreboding, then blinked out completely. Over twenty years have passed since Syd graced the rock world with his starlit piper’s heart, but his mythic legend continues to grow. His rabid cult following flourishes, his few records are released over and over again, but unlike Hendrix, Lennon, and Morrison, Syd Barrett is still alive.

  Roger Keith Barrett was a gorgeous, happy kid with a wicked sense of humor, adored by his parents and siblings, admired by his peers and teachers. Though his father, a prominent doctor, passed away when Syd was fifteen, his mother lavished attention on her talented son, encouraging his keen interest in art and music. At fourteen Syd briefly played guitar in a band he called The Hollerin’ Blues, and soon had major status in his hometown of Cambridge, where the local girls were entranced by his dark, wavy bangs and the unique way he decked himself out. (It was during this time that he picked up the nickname Syd at a local pub.) During his two-year stint at Cambridge Technical Art College Syd was so preoccupied with his guitar that his girlfriend Libby Gausden often felt left out. “He was totally lost,” she recalled. “I used to loathe that guitar, like every girlfriend did.” When Syd took her to see a new, unsigned band, the Rolling Stones, Libby was once again left on the sidelines as Syd had a long musical chat with singer Mick Jagger.

  Syd continued to paint and was accepted at a prestigious London art college, but found that playing music with fellow students Nick Mason, Richard Wright, Roger Waters, and Bob Klose held more fascination and promise than the classroom. Syd had started singing and writing songs, setting his sights on pop stardom. A hardcore fan of rhythm and blues, he called the fledgling band Pink Floyd after two Georgia bluesmen, Pink Anderson and Floyd Council, and proudly painted the new moniker on their banged-up old van in bright pink letters, though the band did little more than play pubs and parties for the next year and a half. Musical tastes of the band members were diverging, and Syd was getting a little too far out for Bob Klose, so Klose called it quits early in 1965. (Syd was already experimenting with feedback and echo boxes.) Klose recalled Syd as a gifted artist. “He had almost too much talent, if such a thing is possible. But there were definitely no signs of what was to c
ome … . The music business is so full of cheats and exploiters that a true artist is always going to be vulnerable.”

  In the summer of ’65 nineteen-year-old Syd was getting as far out as possible, gobbling pure LSD and becoming involved in Sant Mat (Path of the Masters), a Sikh sect, with much reverence and excitement. When he was turned down by the Maharaji Charan Singh Ji and told instead to pursue his studies, Syd was crushed and humiliated, and began his own spiritual training by using vast quantities of psychedelics, which he quickly channeled into music.

  After garnering a substantial following, in February 1966 Pink Floyd made their debut at London’s oh-so-trendy Marquee Club, sending out invitations that read: “Who will be there? Poets, pop singers, hoods, Americans, homosexuals (because they make up ten percent of the population), twenty clowns, jazz musicians, one murderer, sculptors, politicians, and some girls who defy description are among those invited.”

  Also among those invited was Peter Jenner, one half of a rock managing team, who was impressed enough to promise the group that he would make them “bigger than the Beatles.” Jenner and Andrew King bought the band new equipment, and Syd embarked on a staggering period of creativity, combining all his far-reaching influences—the I Ching, Tolkien’s Middle Earth tales, Dylan, Chicago blues, the Byrds, English folk ballads, the Beatles, the Stones, avant-electronics—into a psychedelic stew uniquely his own. He was the group’s leader and inspiration, coming up with bass lines and drum rolls, as well as the motivating vision—a vision that would last for decades. When the Floyd played the Roundhouse in October 1966 in front of a mind-altering light show, it was an “event.” Paul McCartney arrived in white robes and a headdress, and Marianne Faithfull won the “Shortest and Barest” prize for her very naughty nun’s habit. Soon after, Pink Floyd became the house band at UFO, a dark and damp underground den of iniquity where nothing was forbidden and everything was encouraged. The show revolved around Syd, and the rest of the band were hard pressed to keep up with his “No Rules!!” law, keeping their eyes on their whimsical leader at all times. And he looked so cool in his King’s Road popped-out regalia—a disarming, unruly velvet-and-satin showcase.

  Syd lived with an attractive model, Lyndsay Korner, in a flat with a purple door, and his days were spent high and productive. He considered himself a “progressive” artist, taking his inspiration from Handel’s Messiah, William Blake, and acid guru Timothy Leary. With several labels showing interest, Jenner and King chose EMI for Pink Floyd, and when the band’s first single, Syd’s outrageous “Arnold Layne” (about a fellow who enjoyed cross-dressing), was released in March 1967, it was banned on London’s pirate radio. With the help of the ensuing controversy, the single managed to crack the Top Twenty and is now regarded as a classic of megaproportions. “Arnold Layne just happens to dig dressing up in women’s clothing,” said Syd. “A lot of people do, so let’s face up to reality!”

  The original Pink Floyd before Syd Barrett (second from right) took the low road (after he took the high road). (MICHAEL OCHS ARCHIVES/ VENICE, CALIF.)

  In that 1967 Spring of Love the original Pink Floyd began their brief period of glory, playing on “Top of the Pops,” headlining huge venues in front of flying-high fans, grabbing rave reviews, creating musical and visual milestones for bands to live up to for years to come.

  The follow-up single, “See Emily Play,” was written by Syd after he “slept under the stars” and encountered a naked girl dancing in the woods. No one knows if this incident truly took place because Syd was almost always in the grip of an intense acid trip, his eyes glittering from someplace far away and ultimately unreachable. But who wanted to burst the Summer of Love bubble by coming down on somebody’s groovy trip? Already quite eccentric, Syd was starting to show signs of extremely bent behavior—he once fried an egg over a small camp stove in the middle of a Floyd set at the UFO club. It was a sure sign of sad things to come, but I certainly wish I could have been there.

  In the studio, however, Syd was a miracle. Pink Floyd’s album, The Piper at the Gates of Dawn—the title of chapter seven in the children’s book The Wind in the Willows (one of Syd’s favorites)—is a stunning accomplishment, full of innocent fairy-tale imagery gone mad (“Lazing in the boggy dew, sitting on a unicorn”), singsong vocals, and trippy-hippie psycho-delic enchantment. We get to meander through Syd’s personal dreamscape, where he was barely balancing on the edge of bewitched, beleaguered reality. Years later Roger Waters told Q magazine, “What enabled Syd to see things the way he did? It’s like why is an artist an artist? Artists simply do, see and feel things in a different way than other people. In a way it’s a blessing but it can also be a terrible curse.” By the time Syd’s masterpiece reached number six on the charts, he had more pressing things on his mind.

  When gigs had to be canceled, the management labeled Syd’s problem as “nervous exhaustion.” For weeks at a time the twenty-two-year-old seemed in complete control, and then he would snap—once keeping his girlfriend locked in a room for three days, shoving crackers under the door while she begged to be let out. When the badly shaken girl was discovered by friends and released, Syd promptly locked himself in the same room for an entire week. Besides the blasts of acid that Syd bestowed upon himself, sycophantic friends would dose his drinks just to watch him shatter into interesting fragments.

  There was pressure from the rest of the band to conform to some sort of commercial “pop star” ideal that the increasingly fragile Syd couldn’t even comprehend. Demands were made for a third Barrett single. It must have been difficult for the band to realize the full extent of how Syd was losing his grip. They didn’t spend much time with their elusive leader, and even playing music together became virtually impossible. At a gig in July with the Animals, it became excruciatingly clear that Syd was slowly switching off. He just stood onstage with his guitar dangling around his neck, staring at the audience, catatonic. When the Floyd started their first tour of the United States, they soon realized it would be Syd’s last. In between brief moments of dissonant brilliance and frenzied sexual encounters with eager, adoring girls, Syd unraveled. The look on his face was one of horrified paranoia. He had gotten a bad perm and his hair frizzed out from his head like a fright wig, the blazingly bright colors he wore giving his ashen features a dreadful glow. In San Francisco Syd bought a pink Cadillac, only to give it away to a total stranger a few days later. During a record-company tour of Hollywood, upon reaching the corner of Sunset and Vine, Syd piped up, “It’s great to be in Las Vegas!” On Dick Clark’s “American Bandstand” Syd refused to lip-synch to “See Emily Play,” and on Pat Boone’s TV show he stared blankly as a flustered Pat asked an array of dumb questions. He just walked off the set of a third television show. Finally the disastrous tour was halted, with the East Coast never getting the opportunity to see Syd Barrett’s Pink Floyd.

  Recording sessions for the second album proved to be madness, with Syd insisting that a Salvation Army band be brought in for “Jugband Blues.” The lyrics are telling: “I’m not here/And I’m wondering who could be writing this song.” In another tune, “Vegetable Man,” Syd describes what he is wearing, tossing in the chorus, “Vegetable man, where are you?” Good question. Onstage he would either not play at all, play an entirely different song than the rest of the band, or strum the same chord endlessly, sitting cross-legged and staring flatly at the audience. When the Floyd toured with the Jimi Hendrix Experience, Jimi nicknamed Syd “Laughing Syd Barrett.” Maybe the guitar god witnessed something in the dark-ringed eyes that nobody else could see.

  Syd let his hair get matted and grungy, beat up his girlfriend (once smashing her repeatedly with a mandolin), and dropped endless tabs of LSD (once tripping for three solid months), becoming more and more withdrawn. The band never knew what would happen when he finally made it to the stage. “We staggered on thinking we couldn’t manage without Syd,” said Nick Mason, “so we put up with what can only be described as a fucking maniac. We didn’t choos
e to use those words, but I think he was.” At this point, an old friend of Syd’s, David Gilmour, was brought in to pick up Syd’s formidable slack onstage.

  The most notorious Syd Barrett tale seems like a verification of Mason’s assessment . Weary of waiting for Syd to pull himself out of his backstage mirror-trance, the band went onstage without him. Fifteen minutes later he appeared with a mixture of his favorite downer-drug, Mandrax, and a full jar of greasy Brylcreem rubbed into his frizzed-out hair. The hot lights soon turned Syd’s head into an oily, dripping, monstrous display of insanity On a night soon after this fearsome demonstration, the band just didn’t pick Syd up for a gig.

  Jonathon Green interviewed Syd for Rolling Stone, hoping to share in the Piper’s spiritual revelations, but the article was scrapped after the subject spent most of the time staring at the top corner of the room. “Now look up there,” an awestruck Syd told Green. “Can you see the people on the ceiling?”

  After a harrowing band meeting, it was put to Syd that perhaps he could become to Pink Floyd what Brian Wilson was to the Beach Boys—he could write and record but not perform live. Did Syd realize he was being excised from his own band? The split wasn’t announced until April 6, but after more disastrous sessions, a haunted Syd stood around in EMI’s Abbey Road lobby with his guitar for two days, waiting to fulfill his Brian Wilson role. He never got the chance.

 

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