by Dave Navarro
Afterward, Dave goes to see the movie Trippin’. It is so bad and Dave’s so fidgety that he leaves after fifteen minutes. He’s sick with a cold and wants to get permission from the clinic to crash out for the night at his dad’s. He says he feels ungrounded and compares himself to an ice cream cone with no scoop on top. But, he says, on the bright side, there is actually ice cream inside the cone. May is over in four days, bringing a year of documentation to an end, and it seems like he’s going to make it this time.
Reassurance comes a few days later, on May 31. He has spent the past few nights at his dad’s house, getting caught up on sleep and pampered. Finally, he seems happily sober when I see him at a tattoo parlor on Sunset, getting his arm touched up. He is spoon-feeding himself tuna fish from a can.
“I went to a trainer this morning and worked out,” he says, grinning. “The monster is back. I can even pick you up with one hand.”
He shovels another spoonful of tuna into his mouth. “I’m so excited about my life right now.”
A healthy regimen of high-protein food, weight lifting, and therapy has become his new addiction, and he is as obsessive about them as he was about drugs. Physical fitness has become the plot to ease his transition into sobriety. He suggests starting a new book documenting the forthcoming year. It will begin, he says, with the line, “Do you know what to do when somebody goes to too many therapists?”
“Oh,” he adds as he leaves the tattoo parlor. “Did I tell you I’m getting a new house?”
He returns to rehab just as the pay phone in the hall rings. It’s Perry Farrell, calling with good news: he and the movie crew want to give the Jane’s Addiction movie back to Dave and reinstate him as producer. Even Anthony Kiedis is back in Dave’s life. Kiedis left him a supportive message the previous day, and Dave phones back today, thanking him for calling and caring. “I’ve got all these people back in my life,” he says with a big smile. “Maybe we should modify our thesis.”
So what is the thesis now? “This book is about a drug addict who has negative beliefs about life and buys a photo booth to prove and document those beliefs. But in the process he comes to learn that many of his beliefs are inaccurate and he gets sober.”
Dave walks into the dormitory kitchen and picks up a broom: it’s his turn to clean up today.
part I “WHAT WAS I THINKING?”
The following conversation took place on June 1, 2000, exactly two years since the documentation of Navarro’s life began and a year since it ended. The location was Real Food Daily, a health food restaurant in Beverly Hills.
I DON’T THINK YOU’VE BEEN LOOKING FORWARD TO THIS CONVERSATION.
To be honest, I haven’t. Because what I’m supposed to do is analyze a part of my life that I’m not proud of.
LET’S BEGIN WITH THE FIRST QUESTION POSED IN JUNE: WHAT DO YOU DO WHEN SOMEBODY SHOOTS UP TOO MUCH?
The answer is: Call 911 from your cell phone as you’re getting the fuck out of there. And definitely don’t get sucked into writing a book about it!
HOW ABOUT IN THE BIGGER PICTURE. I HAD TREMENDOUS GUILT THROUGHOUT THE YEAR BECAUSE I WATCHED YOU HARM YOURSELF WITH DRUGS TO THE POINT WHERE YOU COULD HAVE EVEN DIED. AND I ALWAYS WONDERED IF I COULD HAVE DONE SOMETHING MORE, LIKE CALL AN INTERVENTION OR HAVE YOU ARRESTED OR—
There’s really nothing you could have done that would have stopped me from doing what I wanted to do. What could you have done? Told me it’s bad for me? An intervention didn’t help me; I escaped. People in greater positions of power over of my life tried to do the very same thing, and there was nothing they could do. They threatened to take my music away and that didn’t stop me. No one had that power but me. If a guy is running away from his fears, what human power is going to make him face them?
IT’S INTERESTING HOW OPEN YOU WERE DURING THAT YEAR, BUT NOW YOU SEEM MUCH MORE CLOSED OFF, LIKE YOU USED TO BE BEFORE YOU STARTED TAKING DRUGS AND DOCUMENTING YOUR LIFE.
All I can really tell you about all of it is that I fed myself a lot of bullshit to self-destruct because I was unhappy with a lot of things. And I think a lot of the bullshit that I fed myself with was based on making large generalizations because of past experiences. I think my whole trip was that I was living in absolutes, and there aren’t really absolutes. So it was a very delusional time for me. And to be honest with you, I was on a path of self-destruction in which the only way to remain on the path was to live within delusion. Plus, like I said in the conversation with Tori, self-disclosure can be a very deceptive yet effective way of concealing some inner truths regarding our insecurities and most intimate fears. I could intellectualize a lot of things to the point where there wasn’t much anybody else could say to me. Fortunately or unfortunately, I have an intellect. In fact, I would even go so far as to say that it isn’t so much an intellect as it is a gift for manipulation.
COMPLETELY. BECAUSE I DIDN’T EVEN REALIZE UNTIL I LOOKED OVER THE TEXT FROM THE ENTIRE YEAR THAT—AND I DON’T WANT TO COME OFF AS HARSH OR ANYTHING—BUT EVERY TIME SOMETHING WENT WRONG, YOU PUSHED THE BLAME ON SOMEONE ELSE. WHEN YOU AND ADRIA BROKE UP, IT WAS HER FAULT. WHEN YOU DIDN’T FOLLOW UP WITH ANGELYNE, IT WAS MY FAULT. WHEN YOU DIDN’T FOLLOW UP WITH ANGELYNE, IT WAS MY FAULT. WHEN YOU COULDN’T THINK OF A SONG TO PLAY TO GABE’S KINDERGARTEN CLASS, IT WAS YOUR PARENTS’ FAULT. WHEN ANYTHING ELSE WASN’T DONE, IT WAS JEN’S FAULT.
I know. It’s fucking funny when I look back on it. If it’s everybody else’s fault, then why am I the guy who’s dying?
EXACTLY.
It occurs to me that a lot of what I was going through at the time of making all this stuff was me living in so much fear and being so afraid of who I was and my experiences that I was basically forcing them on everybody else. By doing so I thought that I’d be looking at them too. But really what I was doing was amplifying everything I didn’t like about myself and then avoiding having to deal with it, as bizarre as that sounds. I think there was a lack of acceptance on my part about where I was coming from. And I don’t want to say that I regret any of this stuff, because it has been incredibly self-realizing for me and I’ve grown a lot. But I’ve also damaged myself a lot in the process. I have to admit, however, I had some really fun times.
BUT THAT’S YOUR MEMORY SPEAKING. WHATS INTERESTING IS THAT IF YOU HADN’T DOCUMENTED ALL THIS, MAYBE AFTER A WHILE ALL YOU’D REMEMBER IS THE GOOD TIMES, AND YOU’D FORGET THE ARGUMENTS AND THE PAIN AND THE UGLINESS.
I think in a weird way the documentation has helped me stay together this past year, because reading it kept me from remembering it in a glamorized way. My memory gets really selective: I remember having strippers in the booth; I don’t remember that I was in the bathroom the whole time smoking ice. And the truth is, we could have all that again now without the drugs. But we wouldn’t want to. The problem is that my brain became so clouded with chemicals that all the random, nonconnected interactions with people seemed somewhat tolerable. The truth is that after all has been said and done, I don’t really feel that I actually experienced a single true memorable and life-altering moment. Certainly none that were beautiful, and definitely none that I was truly present for.
EXACTLY. YOU LET THEM COME IN AND SUCK UP A LOT OF TIME IN WHICH YOU COULD BE DOING SOMETHING MORE MEANINGFUL.
I had to be completely whacked out of my head to be able to stand it for five minutes. Granted, the conversation we had with those wannabe hookers was really funny, but now I can realize how desperate they were. Now I find it sad. I’d much rather find humor that isn’t at the expense of the desperate.
HOW DO YOU FEEL NOW ABOUT YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH ADRIA IN THAT TIME?
I think that I made some bad choices, and maybe getting back together with somebody was one of them. And I have to accept responsibility for that. Getting fucked up is all about pointing fingers and, when you’re not fucked up, it’s all about accepting responsibility. That’s why I stayed fucked up: I wouldn’t accept any responsibility.
LET ME ASK YOU SOMETHING, THEN, AND
YOU HAVE TO PROMISE NOT TO GET MAD AT ME. BUT LOOKING BACK ON YOUR MTV INTERVIEW JUST BEFORE YOU LEFT THE RED HOT CHILI PEPPERS—THE ONE YOU GOT INTO THE ARGUMENT WITH ADAM ABOUT—DO YOU THINK YOU BROUGHT IT ON YOURSELF?
Is that one of your questions?
YES.
You know what, I thought about it a lot, and I’ve pretty much come to the conclusion that I accept full responsibility. I’ll send Adam a box of chocolates in the morning.
WHAT IS YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH THE BAND NOW?
I talk to them once in a while, and really like their new record. I think I told Adam that they had taken away my ability to have fond memories of having been with them. But I do have fond memories, and for me to say that my memories hinge on somebody else’s actions is really an immature way of thinking.
WHEN YOU SAW THIS ACCOUNT OF THE PAST YEAR, THERE WERE SOME SECTIONS THAT TOU JUST COULD NOT BRING YOURSELF TO READ. WHY WAS THAT?
God, it was hard. I looked at some of it and thought, “Who the fuck is that guy?” I actually have to hand it to you for seeing this thing through, considering who your partner was.
I WASN’T ALWAYS AS SUPPORTIVE AND RATIONAL AS I COULD HAVE BEEN EITHER.
But I was a fucking monster. If there’s ever a day I’m thinking about getting high, all I have to do is look at that argument with Adam Schneider to change my mind. I think that I was dealing with a lot of pain that needed some course of action, and the only course of action I could think of was one that was destructive to others. There were times when I would rather see certain people go down than live. Which is really unbelievable, because I would get just one-dimensional, where my sights were so narrow I couldn’t see anything else. There was no big picture. My manager refers to my life back in those times as “the small reality.”
It’s funny, because I was driving around with Conrad last night and two hookers drove by and said, “Yo baby, wassup? You want a date?” And we said no thanks and left.
As we were driving away, Conrad asked, “Do you realize that if this was two years ago, we’d all be up at your house looking at little films that you made on your computer?” I would have just brought them into that little fucking world. And I would have told them, “You guys gotta get in the booth!”
In a weird way, the booth was initially supposed to be a way to capture people who would eventually leave my life. Is that right?
YES.
But what it might have been, more than that and unbeknownst to me, was a way to get people in my life.
BECAUSE TOU WANTED TO MAKE YOUR PLACE INTO THE FACTORY?
Yeah, and also because if you have a bunch of freaked-out, fucked-up, drug-addled prostitutes and strippers and IV drug users in your house all the time, it’s really hard to focus on how fucked up your own life is. There were a lot of really intense, underlying messages in the project that I wasn’t aware of.
AND TO THINK, NO ONE SEEMED TO BE MORE SELF-AWARE AT THE TIME THAN YOU, AND NO ONE SPENT MORE TIME RECORDING AND ANALYZING EVERYTHING THEY DID. BUT YOU STILL WEREN’T FULLY AWARE OF YOURSELF.
I used self-awareness as a way to remain unaware. Lately, I’ve been trying to live with the knowledge that it has always been my awareness of self that causes most of my problems. Actually, I think I was more self-centered than self-aware.
WHY DO YOU THINK IT WAS SO IMPORTANT FOR YOU TO HAVE THE VIDEO CAMERAS AND THE PHOTO BOOTH AND DOCUMENTATION GOING ON ALL THE TIME? OBVIOUSLY, YOU DON’T STILL DO THAT.
As delusional as I was, I was still pretty aware that I was destructing. I fooled myself pretty well sometimes, though. Like when the doctor was coming over and giving me IV drips, I was thinking, “Look, I’m taking care of myself. I’ve I got vitamins.” That’s why my head was so dangerous, because I truly believed I could figure out or afford a way out of almost any problem.
AT THE BEGINNING, WE NEVER MEANT FOR THIS TO BE A DOCUMENTARY ABOUT DRUG ADDICTION, BUT IN MANY WAYS IT BECAME ONE. DO YOU THINK THAT IN DOCUMENTING IT DRUGS ARE GLAMORIZED IN ANY WAY?
Absolutely not. In no way are we glamorizing drugs. Perhaps drugs have been glamorized so much already that anything having to do with them seems glamorous, no matter how negative the message ultimately is. For this book, the message that I read into it is simply that I can’t do them. I guess if I had died, the book would have done a better job of dissuading people from doing drugs.
WELL, A LOT OF THE BOOK ISN’T THAT GLAMOROUS ANYWAY.
Exactly. Life may suck sometimes, but back then it sucked most of the time. I mean, the types of people that want to hang around while a guy’s killing himself have got to have some major issues of their own. “Ooh, this is fun. Let’s go over to this guy’s house—he’s killing himself. Let’s go watch it.” I mean, there were times you couldn’t hang out with me. And it wasn’t all fun and games for you.
TOTALLY. ALSO, A LOT OF TIMES I DREADED COMING OVER TO YOUR HOUSE, BECAUSE I KNEW IT WAS SIX P.M. OR NINE P.M. WHEN I CAME OVER. BUT YOU’D KEEF ME THERE UNTIL THE NEXT AFTERNOON, OR LATER. AND I WOULDN’T DO DRUGS AND I’D WANT TO GO TO SLEEP, AND I WOULDN’T BE ALLOWED TO GO TO SLEEP OR LEAVE.
Probably because we were too busy arguing.
MAYBE ARGUING, MAYBE SITTING AROUND, MAYBE PUTTING UP WITH PEOPLE. BUT IT WAS EXHAUSTING, AND IT WAS CONFUSING AND STRESSFUL BECAUSE THERE ARE NO RULES FOR A DOCUMENTARY LIKE THIS. ON ONE HAND, I WASN’T SUPPOSED TO INTERFERE WITH YOUR LIFE BECAUSE THEN I WOULDN’T BE A GOOD DOCUMENTARIAN. BUT THEN, ON THE OTHER HAND, IF I STOOD BY AND WATCHED YOU DIE, I WOULDN’T BE A GOOD HUMAN BEING.
I don’t know how I survived. I really don’t. I did it for so long I can’t believe I look like a human being again.
WOULD YOU SAY YOU’RE HAPPIER NOW?
Yes, much happier. Actually, come to think of it, I honestly feel like I never really knew back then what it was like to feel anything besides compulsive excitement or fear-driven anger, resentment, and overblown self-serving suffering. Happy really wasn’t an option. So now I feel much happier when I am happy, because it is actual happiness. The hard part is the rainbow of emotions that come along with life that I never had a chance to experience. I’m not able to avoid certain emotions and things, but on the other hand, instead of hanging onto the anger for a year, I hang on to it for a day. I think that it’s hard to measure your level of happiness when you’re living under a cloud. Now, living in reality, I definitely think that I’m on a shorter road to inner peace.
IT WAS BRAVE OF YOU TO OPEN UP YOUR LIFE LIKE THIS.
I disclosed a lot of shit because I never thought in a million years I’d survive long enough to see this book come out. So I hope it helps someone. And, besides, when I get this book in front of me, I’ll have hard evidence of what I have to apologize to a lot of people for.
part I GOOD-BYE TO HOLLYWOOD
The canyon road dips and winds to Navarro’s new home overlooking Beverly Hills. It is not at the end of a dead-end street, it does not have thick black curtains to blot out the sun, and there is not a single cuckoo clock on the walls. Parked in the driveway are a black Hummer, on permanent loan for his MTV reality show ’Til Death Do Us Part, and a black Grand National, a gift from his wife, Carmen Electra.
The door to his garage is open. There are no cars inside, only piles of discards: cardboard boxes, a pink bicycle, rusting drum sets, empty Coke cans, a Prince wall calendar, faux presents hand-wrapped by his interior designer to go under the Christmas tree, and a self-portrait that Angelyne gave Dave to hang on his wall.
One item in particular stands out: pushed flush against the wall, it is covered with dust and partially blocked by percussion instruments and wardrobe boxes. I recognize it immediately because I spent a year living with it. It is the photo booth.
In the glass frame on the outside of the booth are five photo strips. One strip came with the booth: it depicts a beaming, all-American couple. The pair reeks of innocence and purity, especially in comparison to the photo strips around them. Three of the other strips are of Dave’s former houseguests. D
ave inserted them into the frame randomly years ago. Since then, however, the women pictured have either passed away or been institutionalized.
The first strip features Where’s My Purse from June, a Penthouse Pet who since died of an overdose. The second strip shows the breast puppeteer from September. She is now in a mental institution, which isn’t all that surprising considering her idea of fun. And the third is of Jen Syme, Dave’s former assistant Driving to a party at Marilyn Manson’s house around dawn, she crashed into a row of parked cars and was thrown from her Jeep. Her injuries were fatal. Dave was one of the pallbearers at her funeral.
The fourth strip shows an unshaven, emaciated Dave. In all probability, he should have been among the ranks of the crazy and the dead. Instead, he now has much more in common with the smiling, happy, generic couple.
“You couldn’t ask for a better location to keep the photo booth to imply how over it I am,” Dave says when he greets me in the garage. He has a gym bag and two salads from KooKooRoo in his hands.
We walk into a house decorated so immaculately that it looks like the lobby of an Ian Schrager hotel. “I think that a lot of people who knew me before are very surprised to see how happy and free I am now,” he says as we sit down on the couch.
It has been four years since our last interview, and, truth be told, I expected that this book would have been out long ago. But when Dave reread it prior to publication, he flipped out. The past was still too close for comfort. It was then that I learned the only reason he had allowed me to document his life: he didn’t think he’d be alive to deal with the consequences.
As the years passed by, there wasn’t a day that I didn’t think about the book. And there wasn’t a day that Dave didn’t think about the book either. The only problem was that he was too afraid to read it: he didn’t want to be reminded of his year of living dangerously. And then, one recent afternoon, we sat together over lunch and cracked it open again. And he realized not only that enough time had passed that he could see himself with some perspective, but that the book was incomplete.