The band was called Skid Row.
I Lost My Virginity at the Age of Thirteen
On the floor of my aunt’s boyfriend Jay’s apartment, where I was living at the time. I had invited this girl over, and we got a large bottle of Kressmann white wine that I either bought somehow, or more likely stole from my aunt. I remember downing most of the bottle of wine together, then lying down on the floor and putting my thingy in her thingy. This would be the first of many, many times that I would get drunk and fuck.
One time at a Kid Wikkid show, two strippers from Montréal named Bunny and Manon came to see us. They had heavy French Canadian accents and I really dug them a lot. I brought them both back to Uncle Jay’s place and I proceeded to have my first threesome. It’s pretty cool when you are fifteen years old to have two women doing each other in your bed, and doing you at the same time. It’s like Twister. Only different.
I remember Uncle Jay opening the door to my room the next morning and seeing the three of us nude, our limbs entwined and the most visceral look of shock on his face. I sure was a lucky boy!
When I was in Kid Wikkid, I was with some girls. Not too many, because I didn’t really want any of them. I remember being fourteen or fifteen and meeting this thirty-year-old woman who took me back to her place. I fucked her for literally hours. I was hard as a rock, but I couldn’t cum. I remember looking down at her and saying to myself, this is great . . . but I don’t have any feelings for this person. After hours of sex with no ejaculation, she looked at me and said, “I am amazed at your stamina.” I was like, “Thanks.” I did not want to hurt her feelings with the truth, which was, I wasn’t really into her scene.
I lived with a stripper known to most as Crazy Sue, who was much older than me. She took me into her apartment, at the corner of Yonge and Eglinton in Toronto, when my aunt broke up with Jay and I had nowhere else to go. It seems crazy to me now, when I look back, that I moved in with a stripper when I was fourteen or fifteen years old. Hey, it was the ’80s.
Crazy Sue had one or more “sugar daddies.” When these men would come over, she would kick me out of the place and I would go hang out in the stairwell of the building. I would sit there, by myself, not knowing what to do. One time I snuck back to the apartment and put my ear up to the door. I could hear Sue and some strange man having sex, laughing, having fun. While I sat in the hallway hurt, jealous, and confused. Sue was my friend, and although we weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend, I lived with her and felt protective of her because she gave me a place to stay when no one else would. I listened to her have sex with another man and felt betrayed.
I met my first wife, Maria, around this time. I was fifteen years old. She was twenty-one.
We met at a concert by a band called Harlot at a bar called Studio 21. I had my hair teased up to the rafters and was wearing more makeup than Caitlyn Jenner at a Kanye West concert. When Maria first saw me, she thought I was . . . a girl. An extremely tall, lanky, girl.
I was wearing a black T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, which showed my bare shoulders. On my right shoulder, I have a black mole. Maria told me later that she and all her friends were saying to each other, “Oh my God, look at that poor, tall girl! She is so tall and she has a MOLE on her SHOULDER! How can she walk around in that T-shirt! She has NO TITS!!!!” When I walked towards them in the club, they all exclaimed to each other, “Oh my God! It’s a BOY!” Hey, it was the ’80s.
I had a weird dream about Maria the other night. She had fixed up our master bedroom’s bathroom. In the house that was lost to Hurricane Irene. The countertop and drawers are all gone. In its place is a brand-new counter, new mirrors, ornate lighting. The bathroom looks completely beautiful and brand-new. I try to thank her. But she ignores my thanks. She ignores me completely.
“Why won’t you let me thank you? Why can’t I thank you?” I begin shouting at her. She will not acknowledge me at all. We finally wind up on the floor together. “I just want to thank you! I just want to say thank you for making the room so nice! Why won’t you let me thank you? Why?”
She just shakes her head in fear.
No, no, no, her eyes say.
4
FROM PARK AVENUE
TO SKID ROW
I joined the band Skid Row in 1987, through a series of events. The story has been told many times.
I had met Mötley Crüe in Toronto on the Girls Girls Girls tour, in Toronto. I gave Nikki Sixx a cassette tape and a picture, which he then passed on to Doc McGhee, who also managed Bon Jovi. I was the one with the most blow at Rock ’n’ Roll Heaven, the club we were partying at that night. This was a great way for me to meet Tommy and Nikki. They liked me right away!
We closed the bar together that night. Mötley Crüe got us backstage at the show at Maple Leaf Gardens the next night. Their security guard, Fred Saunders, was awesome, telling me to “please not smoke hash” backstage at the Garden. I ignored him, and then he ignored me smoking. Fred is a wonderful dude.
I was nineteen years old.
After I spent a year in the band Madam X, the photographer Mark Weiss invited us to his wedding. He had shot Madam X in Phoenix at Rockers, on Indian School Road, when we were rehearsing there. It was an awkward trip because Madam X had already broken up at that point. But we decided to drive together from Detroit to New Jersey to attend Mark’s wedding. I can remember right before we left for New Jersey, Maxine from Madam X was on her porch screaming at me and Mark McConnell, our drummer. “Everything was great for us until we got you guys in the band!!!” Little did we realize that this trip would not only see me out of her band, but into one of the biggest bands of our time.
I remember driving to New Jersey that summer of 1986. Coming down the Garden State Parkway for the very first time, and feeling the breeze. The Bruce Springsteen/Southside Johnny/Little Steven/Clarence Clemons vibe of the whole state. Bon Jovi was absolutely massive at this time. Slippery When Wet became one of the biggest-selling albums of that year and we were headed straight to the promised land off of Route 9. The New Jersey “rock ’n’ roll pride” feeling was palpable. I wanted some of that.
Mark’s wedding was held at the Molly Pitcher Inn, Red Bank, New Jersey. The day of the wedding was sunny. I went to the pool in my blue jean cutoff shorts and took my shirt off. I started getting a tan.
A girl named Sydney Masters, a publicist, started taking pictures of me. I cracked open a bottle of Jack Daniel’s and started drinking. In the afternoon. It was a beautiful day.
I remember Zakk Wylde was at the wedding. Known by his real name of Jeff Wielandt back then. He was a super nice guy. Very much a “pretty boy” of the times. I handed Zakk my bottle of Jack Daniel’s.
“Come on, dude, swig some Jack with me!”
The future Mr. Zakk Wylde then turned to me and said, “Oh no thanks, dude, I don’t drink.” This is remarkable, considering the amount of liquor Zakk would consume a couple of years down the road. But when I met him that night, he was sober, young, and pretty. Pretty damn talented, too.
There was a wedding band present at the reception. I remember Zakk and me talking about what songs we were going to do when we took over the stage. I had been screaming in Zakk’s ear all afternoon. He thought my high-pitched scream was hilarious, which it really was. I had a scream when I was in the band Madam X that was absolutely earsplitting. It was so high it’s hard to describe what it sounded like. Zakk kept saying to me, “Do that scream! Do that scream!”
Kevin DuBrow of the band Quiet Riot was at the wedding and whispered to me, “No matter what you do, please don’t ask me to come onstage and jam. I sweat a lot when I sing. I’m wearing this blue suit. I don’t want to sweat it out tonight.” I said, “Okay.” Of course, this meant I was going to get him up onstage no matter what!
Zakk and I took over the wedding. We did “Whole Lotta Love” by Led Zeppelin. I hit that scream for Zakk. I then asked Kevin DuBrow to come up and sing a song, with him approaching the stage dripping in sweat, looking at m
e like “You little bastard.” It was pretty funny.
Also present at the wedding were Jon Bon Jovi’s parents. After I sang, I was summoned over to their table, where I was asked to sit down. It felt pretty amazing to meet them. I asked Jon’s dad, what was his favorite Bon Jovi song? He responded, “Never Say Goodbye.” I told him I liked that song too, but my favorite one was “Let It Rock.” It was a fun night.
They explained to me that their son had a friend named Dave who had a band. They were looking for a singer. Bon Jovi’s parents thought I would be a good fit for the band. There was a guy named Dave Feld at the wedding as well. He took my phone number and information, and promised to the Bongiovis he would get my tape to Dave. Dave’s band was called Skid Row.
I drove back to Detroit with Mark. I remember him telling me in his green van, on the way home, that I was going to be a star and that I was going to make it big. It all seemed like a dream.
After we got back to Detroit, I quit Madam X. I had been in that band exactly one year, to the day, from 1985 to 1986. I went back to Toronto in a car that I bought in Troy, Michigan, for fifty dollars. It was my first car. A Grand Prix. That barely worked. I got it from some guy and drove it by myself from Detroit back to Toronto. The car died two blocks away from Maria’s house. I pulled the car over onto the side of the road and left it there. She came and picked me up. We never saw the car again.
Hey, it was cheaper than a bus ride.
Me and Maria moved into an apartment on Roncesvalles in Toronto. This is where Skid Row sent me their demo tape. We then moved into a basement apartment right near the CNE (or for you Americans, the Canadian National Exhibition). It was one room, which would get flooded out sometimes. We would wake up in a puddle where our soaked futon lay. It was no big deal. As long as the stereo didn’t get wrecked, we were happy.
There were around five songs on that original Skid Row demo. Two of the songs were “Youth Gone Wild” and “18 and Life.” I kept listening to the tape, and at first, I did not like it. The singer they had at the time was a complete Jon Bon Jovi vocal sound-alike. I did not want to copy anybody. And my taste in vocals was much more heavy metal oriented. My main vocal influences were Rob Halford and Steve Perry. I wanted to hit high notes on my albums, and in these songs. Which there were none of. But I kept listening anyway, and the song “Youth Gone Wild,” in particular, really stuck in my head. I began to love the song. I also liked “18 and Life,” but I needed to figure out a way to rewrite the vocal melody to make it more intense. Which I did, by the time we got to recording it in studio.
I knew that “Youth Gone Wild” was a good song. I knew that the lyrics fit my life, and many other people could relate to it too, if I could. It turned out I was right. A whole generation completely got off on the track.
I loved the song but I didn’t want to leave Toronto. After being unhappy in Detroit, I loved being back in Toronto with Maria in our little apartment. We had a baby on the way.
I had been singing jingles, including one for Schooner Beer that paid me a couple of thousand dollars. At the age of sixteen, this seemed like an incredible amount of money. I was very happy doing that, but I just couldn’t get the song “Youth Gone Wild” out of my head. But I needed to sing it in my own way.
After a couple of letters from Dave Sabo and Rachel Bolan, I agreed to go down to New Jersey. They bought me a plane ticket for $180 from Toronto to New Jersey. I was quite impressed that they would fly me down, all expenses paid. Of course I got a shock, and had to laugh, a couple of years later, when I saw the $180 charge come back to me, from my accountant, to pay for myself, years after the fact. Gotta love showbiz.
Rachel Bolan picked me up at Newark airport. In order to not repeat the experience of getting turned away at the border, like what happened coming to audition for Madam X, I had a black Helloween baseball hat on. Rachel told me later that he thought my hat was very uncool. At least I got into the country this time. We got along immediately. I thought he was a cool guy, looked cool, played the bass cool, and he wrote cool tunes. I was excited to be in a band with him.
He took me to Dave the Snake’s house. Straight off the plane. We immediately had a couple of beers and went off to a bar called Mingles, only hours after I landed from Toronto. There was nobody there, but we jumped onstage and did some sort of jamming, if I recall correctly. I remember we all got pretty drunk that night and we all had a great time. We got along very well, upon first meeting.
One of my most treasured memories of the early days of Skid Row is of an all-out brawl that we got into, at the local White Castle, of all places. New Jersey was a culture shock to this Canadian boy, in many ways. I had never seen foods or towns with names like Manalapan or baked ziti. My first encounter with baked ziti was at a pizzeria with Dave the Snake. I looked up at the menu and I said to Dave, “What in the hell is baked zit?”
Going to White Castle was a similar culture shock. I had never experienced food quite like White Castle’s. It was definitely unique.
This was not a brawl that we got into against each other. This was a real feeling that we were a gang. A team. Brothers. United. Against the same jerks that held us down. With the same goal. On this night, we would literally fight for each other.
We were coming from an Aerosmith show on Long Island at Nassau Coliseum. Dokken opened the show, if memory serves. We were driving back home and stopped at the Sayreville White Castle. Only blocks away from Snake’s house.
It all started when this huge drunk guy came over to our table. This guy was bigger than me. He had to be at least six foot six. Burly. Wasted. Big. Fucked up.
He came over and started giving us shit about our clothes, the makeup we were all wearing. The standard “you look like a girl” kinda stuff. He was particularly mad at Scotti, our guitar player, and got in his face. “Why do you wear that shit?” I can remember him laughing. Scotti said something back to him, and this asshole grabbed the ketchup container on the table and squirted ketchup all over Scotti. Possibly even mustard, as well. Have it your way.
A switch then went off in my head that said, “I’m going to knock this motherfucker out.”
Don’t fuck with my guitar player. Maybe I can say things about Skid Row. But fuck you if you say anything about old Skid Row. Nobody’s a bigger fan of the Original Skid Row than I was. These were the days when if you’re in a band, and somebody puts down your band, those are fighting words, for sure.
I was not about to let anybody fuck with my band.
I got over the table and told the dude to come outside. He was laughing and being a total idiot. I couldn’t wait to jam my fist into his face. I was maybe nineteen years old at the time.
We walked outside the White Castle. The guys in the band went right behind me. Rachel was to my left.
I had had enough. This big jag-off walked out of the White Castle and straight into my outstretched right arm. I rifled my fist into his mouth and knocked him back with the force of the punch. He went flying backwards, and as I did this, I saw Rachel jump through the air and land on top of this guy. He commenced to punch him, in the face, as he was landing, from the air, onto his chest. It was an amazing moment in SkidStory. They kept fighting, and then Rachel got off the guy. He was a rumpled mass on the pavement. Then the cops came.
We peeled out of the parking lot in somebody’s car as we could see the police cars heading towards the establishment of fine cuisine known as White Castle.
Got to Snake’s house. Cracked open a couple more brews. Congratulated ourselves on kicking some ass. New Jersey style. All was well, until the next day. We got served with police notices to appear in court for fighting. I was very worried because I was not yet an American citizen, and certainly did not want to get deported. But on the day of court, we had a lawyer show up for us and the other guy didn’t show up at all. So we won by default. It was an amazing moment in New Jersey White Castle parking lot history. And one of my favorite memories of hanging out with Rachel and the band.
We had a lot of good times. In those days.
The thing that was different about Skid Row than other bands I had been in was that it was all about the music. We rehearsed every single day. Without talking about it. We rehearsed in Rachel Bolan’s parents’ garage. Rachel played the bass. Whereas the focus on my previous bands was more about the look than the sound, Skid Row was first and foremost about the sound. The songs.
After I had joined the band, and we had played around the tristate area, Doc McGhee came into the picture. He already managed Bon Jovi, so he knew what was happening. He remembered my cassette and picture that I had given Nikki Sixx at Rock ’n’ Roll Heaven back on the Mötley Crüe tour. Doc agreed to sign the band to a management deal.
Next up, an accountant was chosen for us. Although a red flag should have been raised in my head, I was far too young to understand the music business even remotely. Bruce Kolbrenner was Bon Jovi’s accountant at the time. He would become Skid Row’s accountant as well. We were each given a check to celebrate at the signing.
Doc also signed an assistant manager to help us on the road. His name was Steve Pritchitt. He traveled with us to a couple of shows, but then had a falling-out with McGhee Entertainment. Apparently Steve wanted to own more of Skid Row than Doc wanted him to. So after Steve left Doc assigned his little brother, Scott McGhee, to co-manage the band.
Scott and I would have many, many laughs together, and he would become a great friend to all of us in the following years.
The next piece of the puzzle was an entertainment lawyer. Scott found a guy named Michael Guido who would handle our legal affairs. Michael was a great guy. I partied with the man, and became great friends with him as well, in the Skid Row years. Michael Guido kept me out of jail more than once, and got me through the insanity detailed in the prologue of this book. He has since gone on to an incredibly successful career being Jay Z’s longtime lawyer.
18 and Life on Skid Row Page 7