by Mick Wall
2003 was another difficult year for Weiland. In the wake of commercial indifference to STP’s 2001 release, Shangri-La Dee Da, the troubled singer’s drug problems approached dire proportions. His latest split from STP came on the heels of a drug-fuelled backstage blowout with the guitarist Dean DeLeo that had seen the two of them squaring up for a fight. The band members left that show in different cars and, for the first time since 1985, Scott Weiland was a man without a band. And that was just fine with him. ‘I never fucking tried out for Velvet Revolver,’ he maintained. ‘I’ve never tried out for any band. I wouldn’t even try out for the fucking Rolling Stones. Stone Temple Pilots broke up and I was working on my solo album. The last thing I wanted to do was join another fucking rock band after all the fucking drama I went through with Stone Temple Pilots.’ When news spread of STP’s dissolution, Duff received a call from one of his managers, urging him to reach out to Scott. ‘I was reluctant at first because Scott and I were friends in a completely different context and I wasn’t sure I wanted to cross that bridge. Besides, he still went through periods of pretty serious drug use and I hadn’t spent big chunks of time with anyone in full-habit mode for about eight years. Still, I did have a lot of sober time under my belt and no harm could come from just asking Scott if he would be interested.’
The Project needed a vocalist who could do more than just sing, one who would invest the band with a real sense of risk, both in the material and in live performances. Having assiduously cultivated their roguish outlaw personae, to turn around and play it safe with some skinny, straw-haired kid who worshipped at the altar of GN’R would be tantamount to shooting themselves in the collective foot. Sebastian Bach would have created a drama-fuelled sideshow and at the other end of the spectrum, some no-name up-and-comer would have vanished into the background of the others’ towering celebrity. They needed somebody with his own weight, fame and swagger. Someone who would speak up and assert himself as a major contributor. They needed a true peer – somebody as brilliant, committed, fucked-up and ballsy as they were. Scott Weiland was all of those things. But would he want to join them? Was The Project up to his low-life standards?
Three months after Weiland rejected the first clutch of material, they sent him over another CD, full of new stuff. This time, something clicked. ‘There were two that I thought were pretty good,’ Scott said. ‘One was called “Slither”. I thought it sounded a lot like Stone Temple Pilots around Core – like “Piece of Pie” or “Wicked Garden”. In my head, I was thinking, “What would I do with this?” If you listen to the vocal on it, it’s, like, very much Core-era Scott Weiland. What ended up happening was, my wife and I separated. She was with the kids in LA and I was living in our apartment in Hollywood, doing a lot of drugs. And those guys were clean at that time. I said that if I did get into this band, it might be an opportunity to hook up with some guys who aren’t using and had gone down the same sort of path that I had. Right around that time, their manager called me and said there were two soundtrack opportunities on the table for a lot of money. Do the songs, get a big pay-cheque and if you find out you work well together, just take it from there. I didn’t show up the first day because I was loaded and couldn’t make it. But I came the next day and we got together and started working out Pink Floyd’s “Money” and writing a new song, “Set Me Free”. And I joined. But never, ever, ever, never did I try out.’
One can only speculate as to Weiland’s mind-set at the time this was all going down. A man plummeting into full-on addiction lives out his day as a series of impulsive, shortsighted decisions with little regard to the future or consequences. At this point in his well-worn cycle of using, crashing and heading into rehab, Weiland was physically dependent on drugs to simply avoid the agonizing grip of dope sickness, and finding a predictable source of income and a place to cool his heels surely made sense, even though he wasn’t yet wholly invested in the concept. Scott would test the waters, although he later admitted that joining the band was purely a financial decision, telling Spin, ‘I can’t call it the music of my soul.’
Or as he told Classic Rock, ‘So there was this period of time before Velvet Revolver that I really didn’t want to play in a rock band again. I was knee-deep in recording my solo record. I was in the process of putting together my record company and I was producing other bands. I co-produced two of the Limp Bizkit records. Not my favourite band by any stretch of the imagination, but it definitely put me on the map as a producer. I also had kids and didn’t want to spend the rest of my life on the road.’ Joining Slash and the guys ‘was almost like coming together off a rebound. At first it was very exciting and we did jive. We had the same common interests. Duff and I shared a lot of the same musical interests with punk rock. Matt and I shared an interest in experimental music. Dave and I had known each other from back in the days of playing clubs in Hollywood. And then you had Slash and I who were – and I don’t want to come over as self-serving – two iconic figures, which the media tried to turn into a Mick–Keef kind of thing. We did have that gang-type camaraderie at first. At the same time, I was in the worst period of my drug addiction I’d ever gone through.’
During their first week together, the musical director Kathy Nelson connected them with F. Gary Gray, the director of the 2003 update of The Italian Job. He wanted to use Pink Floyd’s ‘Money’ in the film but the original version was too fast, and he wanted to see if they’d be interested in knocking out a slower cover. It proved an excellent opportunity for easing everybody into the new dynamic; they learned and recorded it in a day. ‘[Scott] was just the guy, you know,’ said Dave. ‘It was so undeniable. It was him … just the complete package. The look, the attitude, you know … the stage presence, the performance and especially the vocals. It’s like he came in and we gave him a demo of one song, and he came back a day and a half later and it was “Set Me Free”’, another track that also ended up being used on the soundtrack to a Hollywood blockbuster: The Hulk.
Speaking with me years later, Weiland confessed that his insouciance about hitching his wagon to the ex-GN’R crew was mainly for show. In truth, he said, joining Velvet Revolver ‘was a magical thing too. That was right when I was getting off dope and those guys were all sober and clean, and I had, like, a very special kinship because we’d all experienced the same things. So it felt like, kind of us-against-the-world and we’re gonna play just pure rock’n’roll.’ To underscore his excitement, on 12 May, at a Marilyn Manson concert in Hollywood, Scott announced that he was the singer for the new band, which he now referred to as Reloaded, jumping the gun on the band name, leaving their publicist rushing to clarify the next day that Reloaded was only a working title.
Six days later, LAPD officers approached Weiland, sitting in a parked car with its lights off, and arrested him for possession of heroin and cocaine. He pleaded not guilty at his arraignment two weeks later and voluntarily entered another rehab in advance of his next court appearance. That the band moved forward in the face of this bleak augury only emphasises how confident they were that Scott was indeed their guy. And how desperate they were to keep him.
Also, in June, they finally settled on a name. ‘Coming up with a name was an eventuality we were dreading,’ McKagan told Gavin Edwards. ‘We were like, we have to come up with a fucking name.’ They had seen a movie financed by Revolution Studios, inspiring Slash to suggest Revolver. ‘But I did a Google search on a Revolver,’ Duff said, ‘and there was, like, a thousand bands, so that was impossible.’ Weiland countered with Black Velvet Revolver, but the band rejected that because it had the same rhythmic cadence as Stone Temple Pilots. They eventually settled on Velvet Revolver, entirely missing, until it was too late, that it sounded eerily, some might say mockingly, like Guns N’ Roses, with the hard-soft resonance merely flipped to soft-hard. Guns, Revolver, Roses, Velvet … anyone?
On 19 June, 2003, Velvet Revolver made their first public appearance with a brief, six-song set at the El Rey Theatre, in LA, where they played ‘B
odies’ by the Sex Pistols, ‘Set Me Free’, ‘Sex Type Thing’ (Stone Temple Pilots), ‘It’s So Easy’, ‘Slither’ and ‘Negative Creep’ (Nirvana). The brevity of the set and the inclusion of only two originals suggest that it was more of a statement of purpose than a platform for showcasing the band’s creative heft. It was now that they were approached about using ‘Set Me Free’ as the end-title song for The Hulk. Not only was the new band hitting a collaborative stride but, at long last, it had begun to generate some cash. ‘The deal gave us some breathing room,’ said Duff. ‘Everyone had some scratch, and we recouped some of the costs of our rehearsal space.’ Without a deal, a label or any formal PR machinery, ‘Set Me Free’ entered the US charts, peaking at Number 17 on Billboard’s Mainstream Rock chart.
By now, the new band had accumulated a trove of demos, jams and other ideas, which Weiland brought to his own studio to add vocals. On some, he sang over the existing music, but on ‘Big Machine’ he torqued the original arrangement, twisting the guts of the song into something that suited not just his voice but his style. The significance of this play did not go unnoticed by the band. Duff wrote: ‘It instilled confidence in us about Scott’s ability, despite his being strung out on opiates and various other supporting drugs.’ Although they knew Scott was still using, songs began quickly flowing. At his son’s birthday party, Weiland played a demo of ‘Got No Right’ for Dave and Duff, saying, ‘I think this is the best thing I’ve ever done.’ Having worked with Axl Rose, the silo approach of four guys creating music in one time and space and a singer adding lyrics and vocals in another was not new territory for Slash and Duff and Matt. Weiland, though, was forced to develop a new approach to his craft. ‘A lot of times, on certain songs, the riff and the beat inspired me to write music that’s pretty fucking sleazy and dirty and, for lack of a better term, music that girls and guys should fuck to,’ he said. ‘It’s good stripper-fucking music, and there’s nothing wrong with that. You know why? People should spend more time fucking.’
In a room full of strong-willed, creatively driven egos, their ability to tap into a verdant songwriting chemistry was less impressive than the notable lack of personality clashes. But their path to a debut album proved anything but linear. Either unaware or uninterested that he was running out of chances, early one morning in October – his thirty-sixth birthday – Weiland was popped for driving under the influence when his BMW smashed into a parked van. He fled the scene. Duff tore over to Weiland’s apartment, where he found Dave Kushner already there, trying to talk Scott down. Exploding in a vitriolic rage, Duff began giving Scott all manner of holy hell for letting everybody down. Scott’s response was not what Duff anticipated – the singer asked for help and, when he did, Duff softened. ‘This guy’s a dad, I thought. In fact, I had originally become friends with Scott because we had that in common: we were fathers.’
When the LAPD officers caught up with him they charged him with DUI and hit-and-run. It was his fourth arrest in eight years. Once again, the judge committed the singer to an inpatient detox programme, followed by six months in a residential outpatient programme, during which he was allowed one ten-day stretch to finish the album. Only in LA could the court system broker such a generous arrangement: police would escort Weiland to and from the studio and he would be drug-tested immediately upon his return to his halfway home.
Duff said they knew when they formed the band that ‘We’d get the “Guns N’ Roses without Axl” crap, but it was too good to let go. And then we just needed to find a singer. And everyone was saying, “Oh, these guys will never find a singer.” And then when we got Scott it was like, “Oh great, they got a junkie for a singer.”’
15
SMELL THE POPPIES
For years now, Duff had been working with a martial arts instructor – a Sefu – in a gruelling regimen that had turned Duff from a bloated, out-of-shape, coke-addled alcoholic into a lithe, muscular athlete. Dejected by one failed rehab after another, Scott Weiland asked Duff if that regimen might help him clean up. Dave Kushner, who was the most sober of them all, took Duff and Scott to a doctor in LA who supplied them with the drugs they’d need to detox Weiland and, just like that, they were off to Seattle, heading for the mountaintop retreat of Duff’s Sefu, where together they put Scott through a 360-degree wellness programme that included punishing intervals of exercise, followed by meditation, more exercise, writing and a strict healthy diet. After three weeks, the light in Scott Weiland switched itself back on and Duff could add ‘Miracle Worker’ to his list of accomplishments.
Meanwhile, Slash and Matt Sorum were both anxious and sceptical, wondering if, instead of booking studio time for an album, a search for a new singer should be next on the band’s ‘To Do’ list. But when they saw the hale and laser-focused singer back in LA, their concerns evaporated and they finally got down to the business of recording the first Velvet Revolver album, although as part of his court-ordered outpatient rehab, Weiland was only allowed to work a few hours each day so he could return to his halfway house by curfew.
During the writing, Slash resurrected the melodic little ballad that he’d conjured up with Steve Gorman and handed it over to Scott, who, inspired by his most recent crash and all the terror and damage it inflicted on his wife and children, added the lyrics that became ‘Fall to Pieces’. ‘If it hadn’t been such a powerful song, on a musical level, I wouldn’t have been moved to write those lyrics, that melody,’ he said. ‘That song was the exact moment where I realised that Slash and I could really be one of those classic songwriting teams.’ Accompanied by a grim, emotionally charged video that drew from the real-life events of the singer’s addiction, the song showcased the very best of Velvet Revolver – Weiland at his most broken and vulnerable, Slash back in his element as the architect of chiming, anthemic riffs, and the band together again, playing grimy, four-on-the-floor rock’n’roll.
With a hit song already enjoying broad exposure and an album on the way, a bidding war erupted among the major labels and the band ultimately signed with Clive Davis at RCA. It was during these meetings that Duff first appreciated just how deeply his financial classes were paying off: he actually understood the complex financial considerations underpinning the deal, matters that he had never before bothered to learn. ‘People took me more seriously in business meetings. Cool shit. Sometimes I looked into the eyes of industry types and saw a flash of panic: Shit, I wonder if Duff knows more than I do.’
Weiland finished his vocals during the first week of December and the finished masters were sent to New York for mastering, with RCA announcing a release date of 27 April 2004. During this time, Weiland took to the band’s official site to call out the media for what he saw as their cynical portrayal of his high-profile struggles, writing: ‘First of all let me say that Rolling Stone magazine’s gossip columns exist only so rich college boys can wipe their fucking asses with the rag. As for the lad that interviewed me and then printed that I was drunk driving … get your facts straight you moron paparazzi fuck.’
They hadn’t planned it that way, but nevertheless the timing of the release of Contraband, as the band had decided to call the album, could not have been more perfect, in terms of snagging disaffected Guns N’ Roses fans. By 2004, Axl Rose’s ‘new’ Guns N’ Roses had lost whatever momentum they had built up with their unveiling three years before: Chinese Democracy was now the most well-known unreleased album in the world, its title a jokey euphemism for any black hole endeavour with little purpose or ending in sight. As the spring eased into summer, some observers wondered if a similar fate had befallen Velvet Revolver’s debut when the album’s release date was pushed from April to May, then to June. ‘We finished it sometime around Christmas,’ Matt recalled, ‘and I think that was just a record company thing, you know, as far as, like, the setup, and doing a lot of press … Duff and Slash went to Europe on a couple-week run over there, we had to do a video – there were a lot of factors. And we just really believed in Clive and … everyone at RCA. W
e weren’t worried.’
In fact, the delay was caused by concerns over whether Weiland would be legally able to tour with the band. Finally, in April, a California judge cleared the singer to tour with the band and they played a brief acoustic set on LA’s KROQ morning show later that month, running through ‘Slither’ from the upcoming album, and versions of STP’s ‘Interstate Love Song’ and GN’R’s ‘Used to Love Her’. In an effort to combat illegal file sharing on P2P platforms, RCA flooded fan-related websites with recordings of Scott, his brother and Doug Green reading poetry, naming the files after actual songs from the album.
Contraband was released six weeks later with the supporting tour starting in May. A thoroughly polished modern rock record, Contraband struck the halfway point between the Use Your Illusion sessions and Purple-era Stone Temple Pilots. It was a crowd-pleaser, a muscular blood-storm of bare-knuckled, fucked-up hard rock, erupting with vitality, tooth-rattling hooks and infectious, ear-worm choruses that begged for big, swaying crowd singalongs. The element of risk was not in the style of music, but in the band chemistry, and with Weiland’s vocals dovetailing seamlessly into Slash’s prismatic melodies, it was eminently clear from the radio play, the media coverage and the industry buzz that the risk had paid off handsomely. Reviews were mixed. ‘Anyone expecting Use your Illusion III will be in for a slight buzz-kill,’ declared Entertainment Weekly. ‘The songs suggest the pop grunge of Weiland’s old band more than the careening overdrive of GN’R.’ David Fricke in Rolling Stone was considerably more bullish, hailing the album as ‘a rare, fine thing’, saying that ‘[Weiland’s] grainy yowl – which, at the height of Seattle rock, earned Weiland a lot of lazy, cruel comparisons to Eddie Vedder – is actually a precision instrument that cuts through Slash and Kushner’s dense crossfire with a steely melodic purpose that, when Weiland piles up the harmonies in the choruses, sounds like sour, seething Queen.’ In the main, critics reluctant to reach for the word ‘safe’ described the album instead as ‘mature’, with one going so far as to call Contraband an ‘Appetite for Destruction for grown-ups’.