Despite some of our rather abrasive qualities, at the core Dead Serios was actually just a hard rock party band. And when the party officially came to an abrupt end for the big boys in early 1992, any chance we had of “making it” had also been squelched. But I didn’t go quietly. In fact, I remained in denial for the next few years – convinced that the glorious arena rock era would make a full recovery. Twenty years later, my conviction has wavered.
Mmm, Butterscotch!
As an admitted lifelong, self-centered creep, I never wanted a child. The notions of a baby’s non-stop crying, midnight feedings and dirty diapers were offensive and frightening to me. And I simply was unwilling to put anyone else’s needs before my own selfish ambitions. However, to my amazement (as well as to most other people who knew me), I did a complete one hundred and eighty degree about face regarding parenthood the instant Trish came home from seeing her gynecologist in early 1993 with the big news – “I’m pregnant!”
Trish and I immediately began renovating our apartment together – painting the walls, child-proofing cabinets and transforming the one-time guest room into a brand-spanking new nursery. I was also present at every one of Trish’s scheduled doctor appointments throughout her pregnancy. We even attended Lamaze classes together.
Everything about Trish’s pregnancy seemed to be a breeze. She experienced very little morning sickness and she gained hardly any weight. And on October 5, 1993, the night our son, Jesse, was born, Trish was in actual hard labor for only about an hour. In fact, I joked that the baby came so quickly and effortlessly that Trish didn’t even smear her typically immaculate, Stryper-like makeup.
The deal was, if Jesse had been a girl, Trish would have named him Shandi Nicole. “Shandi” is the title of a Kiss song from the band’s 1980 pop album, Unmasked. But since he was a boy, I got to name him Jesse Tanner, after John Stamos’s and Bob Saget’s characters on the aforementioned ‘80s sitcom, Full House. Okay, I know what you’re thinking. But from the beginning, I’ve made no bones about maintaining that I’ve always been a dork!
I was now a dad and I instinctively knew I had to step up and make some life changes. But I was now a thirty-year-old, with few options. My high school effort was minimal; I quit college after a couple of weeks and I had no back-up plan in the unspeakable event that my rock and roll “lottery numbers” weren’t called. And they weren’t.
Me and Jesse shortly after he was born in October 1993
Kiss drummer Peter Criss holding my son Jesse in 1994.
(Photos: Patricia Long-Lee)
In the mid-‘80s, I became acquainted with a local entertainment booking agent named Greg Kimple. In 1989, Greg and his brother Jeff opened a rock mega-club in Melbourne called The Power Station. Dead Serios became a proven and consistent cash cow for the Kimple brothers and through that association, Greg ultimately brought me into his DJ business in late 1993. He loaned me a cheesy, AM radio-sounding audio system, a case of cassette tapes and put me to work. Before long, I found myself making appearances as a DJ in clubs and at private events several nights a week. And I was grateful for the opportunity, just when I needed it most. Soon after, Jeff offered me a job tending bar at a smaller nearby nightclub that he and Greg also owned.
Thanks to the Kimple brothers, I was earning a decent living by the summer of 1994. However, the effects of working in the bar business were beginning to take a toll on my marriage. But it was that crazy, late-night existence that allowed me to be home with Jesse every day. From feedings to diaper duty, I found indescribable joy in caring for my son. In fact, I changed so many dirty diapers when Jesse was a baby, that to this day, I still can’t stomach looking at a bowl of butterscotch pudding! And because of that early bond, we continue to enjoy an incredible father/son relationship.
The Dope Show
In the early 1990s I began hearing reports of an outrageous new band coming up on the South Florida scene called Marilyn Manson and the Spooky Kids. I loved the name and after seeing one of their early promo photos in a local music magazine, I became even more intrigued. Wearing gobs of makeup and dressed in striped tights, with colorful, fashion-forward hair styles and carrying lunchboxes, they combined a 1990s “club kid” look with old-school Alice Cooper-like attitude. Even without having ever heard their music I just knew that these guys were going to be huge. Unfortunately, I don’t think The Spooky Kids shared the same enthusiasm for Dead Serios.
Dead Serios was set to perform at Jam magazine’s 1993 Jammy Awards after-show party at The Hard Rock Cafe in Orlando. During the ceremony’s intermission break earlier in the evening, I noticed various “Spooky Kids” hanging out in the auditorium lobby. There they were, Twiggy, Biggy, Piggy and the whole crew – sporting their outrageous L.A. rock fashions and carrying their obligatory lunchboxes. I remember thinking how absolutely amazing they looked. They were a unified team, making a bold artistic statement and not giving a hoot what anyone else thought. Now that’s rock and roll. And I was really hoping to impress them later when Dead Serios took the stage at The Hard Rock. However, judging by the disapproving, scowling faces and the militant, cross-armed stances they displayed while watching our set from three rows back, I’d wager a guess that the Spooky Kids were less than impressed.
Jam magazine began holding its annual Jammy Awards ceremony in 1990. This was a major Central Florida event held in various 3,000-plus-seat venues over the years and was attended by throngs of the local music biz insiders, all dressed in their “Sunday best.” The top honor of the event was the coveted “Entertainer of the Year” award. Similar to the Miss America pageant, it became a Jammy tradition for each reigning Entertainer of the Year to present the honor to the next recipient the following year. In 1991, the band Stranger presented the award to Dead Serios. In 1992, Dead Serios presented it to thirteen-year-old blues guitar ace Derek Trucks, nephew of The Allman Brothers Band founding drummer Butch Trucks. This was simply a respectful means of passing the crown from one “pageant winner” to the next. That is, until Marilyn Manson accepted the crown from Derek Trucks in 1993.
Marilyn Manson had been discovered by Nine Inch Nails frontman and producer Trent Reznor who recently had helped sign the band to a major label deal with Interscope Records. They had now dropped “and the Spooky Kids” from their name and “Mr. Manson,” as the group’s frontman was now commonly referred to, was taking full advantage of every opportunity to publicly shock and outrage as many as possible.
Despite only being fourteen at the time, Derek Trucks had already become a well-respected, nationally-known musician. He even arrived at that night’s event in his own personal tour bus. This meant precious little to Mr. Manson, who upon approaching the podium to accept the award, patted Trucks on the head and mockingly announced over the microphone to the thousands in attendance that Trucks would likely be better suited at home doing his homework. In addition to ridiculing Trucks, arguably the most talented musician at the event, Mr. Manson further proceeded to raise eyebrows by publicly accepting the award in the name of Satan, his “personal Lord and Savior.” “Did he just say what I think he said?” I asked my buddy who was standing next to me in the back of the auditorium. “Uh, yeah,” he replied. “Uh, yikes!” I said to myself.
The words of the wicked are like a murderous ambush,
but the words of the godly save lives.
Proverbs 12:6 (NLT)
Regardless of my own personal sensibilities, I’ve never been one to have a “book burning” mentality. I don’t have to agree morally, spiritually or even politically with an artist to appreciate a work’s creative value. In fact, Dead Serios didn’t exactly create a family-friendly product either. Consequently, I was able to overlook personally troubling lyrics and recognize Marilyn Manson’s 1994 major label debut, Portrait of an American Family, as one of the year’s best rock records. In fact, by year’s end, I was actually involved with promoting a Marilyn Manson concert date at The Asylum nightclub in Melbourne.
In addition to being
one of the co-promoters of the Marilyn Manson show, Dead Serios was also the opening act. Although they were now a national contender with a record in stores, I was surprised to notice during soundcheck that Marilyn Manson’s stage amps and drum kit were as beaten and weathered as Dead Serios’ gear. After soundcheck I was standing at the back of the club perusing the tremendous assortment of T-shirts Marilyn Manson had for sale at their merchandise area. In fact, the wall behind their table was covered with about a dozen different shirts. They all had the band’s eye-catching trademark logo on the fronts and various different troubling slogans on the backs encouraging fans to hate their parents and blaspheming God. Known for my often caustic sarcasm, I incorporated these negative messages into my band’s signature grand finale later in the evening. Taking on the persona of a rock and roll version of the popular children’s television personality Mr. Rogers, I reminded the two hundred-plus Goth kids in the crowd to brush after every meal, do their homework, go to church and love their parents. I doubt they were “buying” what I was “selling.”
Remembering how disinterested the Marilyn Manson members seemed with the Dead Serios performance they’d seen in 1993 and given my growing lack of enthusiasm for them, I didn’t stick around to watch their headline set. I left the stage, walked out of the club, got in my car and sped home to watch the Cowboys on Monday Night Football.
Of course Marilyn Manson went on to become one of the biggest names in rock. In 2008 I took a teenage friend of mine to see Marilyn Manson perform in Orlando. I noticed that not much had changed about Mr. Manson’s presentation, as onstage video screens flashed messages promoting drug use and hating God throughout the show. Uh, yikes!
I Need to Know
I’d just been going through the motions with Dead Serios for the last several years. We were no longer the cutting edge young kids that we once were in our award-winning glory days. The young rockers coming up on the East Coast scene clearly had no connection to guys in their thirties and our once diehard teenage followers were primarily now all married or divorced – with kids of their own, mortgages and understandably, little interest in the local rock and roll scene. I hoped that our new guitarist could provide the spark needed to re-ignite the band and keep us moving forward. We loaded our gear into our van on New Year’s Day 1997 and traveled from Melbourne to producer Jim DeVito’s recording studio, ninety miles north in St. Augustine, to begin working on what ultimately would be our last record.
During our first day at Jim’s studio we got a visit from a guy who lived nearby.
Around lunchtime this animated, hyperactive fellow came bopping through the studio doorway dressed as if he’d been playing tennis. He was none other than Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers drummer, Stan Lynch.
Talking non-stop at about a million miles an hour, Stan is quite a character. Rattling off insider rock and roll stories at a rapid-fire pace, Stan rides a fine line between captivating and annoying. However, I for one, immediately liked the guy. And I think that he liked my band too. In fact, he came to the studio each day we were there that week. We had been recording an EP that was to include a White Zombie-like remake of the 1978 Village People disco hit, “Macho Man.” Stan thought that it was an inventive and hilarious concept and offered to produce the track. However, after noticing some of the rather tongue-in-cheek impromptu vocals, he backed away from the project because, as he put it, we had “gone overboard” with what he referred to as “fag-bashing.”
I could listen to Stan’s insider, rock and roll war stories all day. While taking a break from recording one evening, Stan got caught up in telling us about his experience during the 1970s as an opening act for Kiss during the first Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers tour.
“I had to play under that Kiss sign night after night while people booed us,” Stan passionately recalled. “But I just thought, hey, I’m up here and you’re down there!”
From memories of drug-crazed experiences while working with Stevie Nicks to studio dish on recording with John Mellencamp, Stan had a million outrageous tales to tell.
Recalling his days with Tom Petty, he admitted that in the beginning they were great. However, according to Stan, while in the studio during his last days with the band, egos had gotten totally out of control. Stan claimed that by this point nobody was allowed to speak directly to Petty any longer. In fact, all communications with the legendary frontman while in the studio had to be done via handwritten notes.
One morning Stan described to me his recent influx of band requests for him either to produce or manage them.
“I send them all back the same three word comment card... Sucks! Sucks! Sucks!” he passionately told me with his arms flailing about. “Nobody’s got any originality anymore and everyone’s afraid to be themselves,” he added. “If you’re an aging '80s hair metal guy, then hold your head up and be the best aging '80s hair metal guy that you can be!”
I found Stan’s stories to be fascinating and his words of advice to be quite inspirational. In fact, I would apply his “hold your head up,” “be the best you can be” philosophy to my future spiritual life.
Be on guard. Stand firm in the faith.
Be courageous. Be strong. And do everything with love.
1 Corinthians 16:13 (NLT)
Let Them Eat Cake!
I met a young woman named Jules in 1993 as she and her girlfriends frequented the South Florida nightclubs where Dead Serios often performed. Simply put, Jules was a cool
chick and after coming to see the band live a few times, she began inviting us to crash at her place whenever we were in town. Even after the band began losing momentum, Jules and I still continued to keep in contact. And in early 1997, Trish and I received an invitation to attend Jules’s wedding.
Despite her reluctance to divulge the info when we first met, I soon learned that Jules’ father is media mogul Lowell “Bud” Paxson, the one-time owner of several radio stations and founder of both the Home Shopping Network and PAX TV. Although the wedding reception was set to take place at Mr. Paxson’s palatial West Palm Beach residence, the ceremony was to take place at the nearby home of his longtime close friend, Donald Trump.
I remember feeling as if I’d been cast in a real-life episode of the popular sitcom, The Fresh Prince of Bell-Air, as Trish and I arrived at Trump’s Mar-A-Lago estate. Oh sure, our car was considered a sporty ride back in our hometown, but as valets parked our 1992 Dodge Daytona among the near countless Mercedes, Cadillacs, BMWs and other luxury vehicles, I quickly began to feel somewhat out of place at this black tie gala.
The nuptials took place in Trump’s personal theater-type room, overlooking the Mar-A-Lago golf course. As Trish and I sat in the temporary wedding chapel, waiting for the ceremony commencement, I began to recognize the faces of many of the guests who were seated nearby. From old school show biz-types like Connie Stevens to “The Donald” himself – seated with then-wife Marla Maples, Jules’ wedding was truly a “who’s who” event.
While making our way through the receiving line after the ceremony, I recognized legendary music manager, Doc McGhee, standing in the back of the room. Having managed such heavy weight rock acts as Mötley Crüe, Bon Jovi, and Skid Row, McGhee was currently managing Kiss – I would have known him anywhere.
The wedding was a very formal affair and all of the men were dressed in black tuxedos, while the women all wore glamorous evening gowns. Anticipating that a situation like this might arise, and not being one to ever miss a promotional opportunity, I intentionally had lined the inside of my tux jacket with half a dozen Dead Serios demo tapes. Although I genuinely didn’t want to offend McGhee by bothering him, “off the clock,” I didn’t want to miss the chance of getting my music to an iconic industry power player either. Trying to appear cool, I waited for an opportune moment in which to make contact with him.
I became a little nervous as he approached me, because in Elvis-like fashion he was surrounded by a huge entourage. Then, just as he was about to pass me by, I
finally made my move. As politely as possible, I apologized for the intrusion and asked if I could give him a demo tape – a request that he graciously granted. For an up-and-coming musician like myself looking for that big break, the courtesy was appreciated greatly. This was the first of several personal experiences I’ve had with McGhee over the years and he has always proven himself to be a class act.
While attending a Kiss show a few years later, I noticed McGhee walking through the crowd – suit and tie, of course. As he approached my crew seated near the front of the stage, he noticed my son Jesse, who was still quite little, sitting with us. Seeming genuinely to be concerned for the welfare of such a young child attending a potentially rowdy rock concert, McGhee inquired if Jesse was okay, if he had a clear view of the stage and if he needed earplugs. Next to Gene Simmons and Paul Stanley, McGhee was probably the most important man in the entire arena. Yet, he showed concern for the well-being and safety of one child. As I said, “a class act” to be sure.
Trish and I continued to experience life in the lap of luxury at Jules’ reception – sampling caviar for the first time and schmoozing with the upper crust. Guests were all placed for dinner according to assigned seating. Among others present at our table, Trish and I also enjoyed the company of a woman resembling actress Bea Arthur who had traveled to the gala from her home in The Hamptons. With the face of her fox stole staring me down, the regal-looking woman informed the two of us commoners that the miniature sorbet sculptures which had arrived at our table were not ice cream treats, and were intended to “cleanse the pallet” following the main course – truly a Grey Poupon experience!
C’MON! – My Story of Rock, Ruin and Revelation Page 9