by Steven Adler
LIVE ALBUMS ROCK
Frampton and I are a lot alike when it comes to performing. He’s always smiling, always happy, working the crowd, reaching out to his fans. Look what Comes Alive! did for Frampton. He slaved for years with his band Frampton’s Camel, putting out four studio albums with some incredible songs. But Comes Alive! put him out there and over the top. I think it’s the biggest-selling double live album of all time.
Songs like “Do You Feel Like We Do?” and “It’s a Plain Shame” were studio gems recorded by Peter like five years earlier. But when people heard them on Comes Alive! they flipped. Those tunes were made to be played live and loud. They were suddenly reborn and hugely popular. That’s definitely one of the greatest live albums ever recorded. And if you listen to “Paradise” or “Jungle” on our later Live Era, you get the same rush, a realization: “So that’s the way it’s supposed to sound!”
Live albums transcend. They bring the full potential of a song to the audience. The way the crowd noise swells when Frampton slams into his first solo on “Something’s Happening” gives you chills. To hear that same kind of intensity out of Frampton, you have to go back to the live album he did before Comes Alive!, and that was Performance: Rockin’ the Fillmore, when he was still just a teenager playing with Steve Marriott and Humble Pie.
REALITY BITES
The idea was to have a “live” record with thousands of people screaming in the background, thereby making us sound as popular as, or maybe more popular than, we actually were. So yes, we knew from the start that they were going to add an audience. We were cool with it. Just so long as it sounded right. We didn’t want this album to sound tinny or cheesy. Geffen’s engineers told us there would be too much shit involved (i.e., it would cost too much) to actually record a live record, so we were told to create the live audience effects in the studio. Although I’ll admit to being a little upset about the authenticity of it all, I ultimately felt it was okay because many of the live records we loved so much as kids weren’t really live either.
They told me that was the case with Comes Alive! I was floored to find out that the only thing that was actually live on that album was the drums. Also, on Priest’s Unleashed, Rob Halford actually recorded the vocals at Ringo Starr’s house. I couldn’t believe it. So we were learning the game and rolled with it, just so long as they kept their word and, as I said, didn’t fuck with the songs. It was a bit of a tightrope for us, because we wanted to get our sound out there; we wanted them to know we were in it to win it, but we didn’t want to completely bow to their direction.
Recording time was booked at Pasha Studios. Pasha was right next to Paramount Studios near Melrose Avenue in Hollywood. Spencer Proffer was hired to produce and it was his studio. Quiet Riot’s Metal Health was recorded there, and that album was huge. We recorded the four songs, and I swear, I think we recorded “Shadow of Your Love” there too. Come to think of it, we may actually have done six songs during the session.
One thing always bugged me about the very beginning of the record. The count-in to “Reckless Life” is my very first hit on the drums. It’s the high hat and cowbell. When I hit the cowbell the stick slid off. So my first recorded note is muted, it’s not all there.
In the beginning of “Mama Kin” we added the sound of firecrackers. If you listen closely, before the song starts, while Axl is saying, “This is a song about your fucking mother!” you can hear them going off: crack-boom cracka-boom bam-boom! We actually lit the firecrackers in the studio. We set them up in the recording booth, lit the fuse, and had them covered by a bucket. Of course the bucket was miked and it came out sounding huge. After we finished the songs, Spencer added the audience. He used archived tapes of live performances by Dio and Quiet Riot and mixed the cheers in. Spencer had been in the business a lot of years, and I really dug working with him. He had a lot of great stories, and I couldn’t get enough of hearing them. He had done so much; I was very impressed. He worked with a lot of my idols, musical artists from the sixties and seventies. Plus he was a great human being and it was easy to work with him.
Every day around noon we would break for lunch and go to Astro Burger on Melrose, home of the best burgers in L.A. Then back to the studio, where the whole recording process took two or three days. We were all in the same soundproof room and we actually recorded those songs together to give it a “live” feel, instead of each performer laying down a separate track, then assembling the tune. The only stuff they overdubbed was the backing vocals. If you listen closely to “Nice Boys,” you can hear Axl singing backup to his own vocals.
The record came out, KNAC put “Mama Kin” and “Reckless Life” in regular rotation, and it was an incredible thrill to hear my band on the radio. I experienced the most joyful, natural buzz from this. A movie that was released in 1989, American Ninja 3, featured “Move to the City” on its soundtrack, but I’ve never seen it.
We were at Vicki’s when she came in with the first shipment of our record. It felt like Christmas morning. We just watched as she opened the box packed with EPs. It was about the size of the boxes that hold ten reams of paper in a stationery store. It was a feeling just like the one I had when Slash and I heard GNR on the radio for the first time. I experienced many fantastic firsts in my life at this time. The child in me couldn’t get enough, as every morning smiled down with the promise of more and more artistic highs.
The cover featured a close-up shot of Axl and Duff. It was such a cool picture, the lighting, their expressions; I thought it was perfect. Everyone in my family bought a copy. Our very good friend Marc Canter bought a couple. The first store that I walked into and actually saw the record on display was Vinyl Fetish on Melrose. The owner, Joseph Brooks, was a close friend of the band and, like a lot of locals who had charted our rise, shared in our accomplishment.
Geffen assigned a personal manager for us, Alan Niven. He was a big, shit-talking tough guy with a British accent. He was also currently managing the established L.A. band Great White. I know the guys were hoping for Doug Taylor or Doc McGee to manage us, because they managed huge acts like Bon Jovi and Mötley Crüe. But Alan was raw and hungry, and he would be there for us. We all liked him. He was uncompromising and brutally driven, not unlike Zep’s legendary über-manager Peter Grant, and he was gonna bust ass, get us busy, and get us to the top.
VICKI VACATES
All of a sudden, out of the blue, Vicki was no longer around. It just happened. At first I thought that she had cut some severance deal with Geffen and that was why she just dropped out of sight. I had heard no talk about tossing her aside when we got signed. I believed that she still had some tricks up her sleeve and would still have plenty to contribute to our success. I certainly got along best with Vicki; in fact, out of the entire band, I probably got along with all outsiders the best.
Slash really liked Vicki and Izzy liked her too. But I guess the band as a whole felt that she was not established enough, and in fact, a general feeling surfaced that a man would have more power. This was particularly true of Axl, who believed a woman would not get the same kind of respect as a man. Alan was a cool guy and never uttered a negative word about Vicki. This only confirmed our belief that he was going to be a consummate pro and kick major ass for us. I kind of made a mental note to find out the details of Vicki’s departure, but in the swirl of getting the live record out, I never really followed up on it.
At this point, everything was happening so quickly. In the past, I’d felt that some of the gofers that we had around us were a bunch of desperate users who were out to leech off us and grab everything that they could. I believed Alan had successfully reamed out that grimy hole, and I felt much safer, less exposed to the greedy cling-ons.
We moved out of Vicki’s place and set up in a roomy two-bedroom apartment right on the corner of La Brea and Fountain. It was, however, very rare that the five of us would ever be there at the same time. We were all over the place now, granting interviews, buying new clothes, checking out n
ew equipment. Of the five of us, I probably hung out there the most.
KISS OFF
Paul Stanley of Kiss saw one of our shows and became very interested in producing us. He contacted Zutaut, and Tom arranged for us to meet with him. I was so stoked, I couldn’t sleep. I never slept anyway, was last to bed and first up, but at least now I had a solid reason. Of all the surreally wild stuff that had been happening in the last month, this topped them all. I mean, we were about to be courted by rock royalty; this was Kiss, man!
Paul came to the apartment and sadly, almost immediately, the guys hated him. Paul probably knew as soon as he walked in the place that it wasn’t going to work out. It just wasn’t in the cards, and so he would not be producing us. The guys talked to him for about ten minutes.
Each guy would ask him something like, “Well, what do you think about such and such?” and Paul would answer with something that was probably the polar opposite of what we wanted to hear. One by one each member of the band just kind of drifted away. To be fair, I’m sure Paul felt he had to strut in with an authoritative manner to show us he could be in charge, but nothing, and I mean nothing, he said resonated with us. In fact it was more the opposite. I remember Izzy in particular didn’t like Paul’s response to one of his questions, and he gave a very shaky, “Ohhh . . . ,” and then peeled off, saying softly, “See ya . . .” Within fifteen minutes the group was doing other things around the apartment, like jumping on the phone, digging in the fridge, watching TV, and not paying attention to Paul at all.
Eventually just my friend Ronnie Schneider and I were left. I was the last in the band to talk with him, and I was initially like, “Whoa. Paul Stanley.” He was a hero to me.
But he wanted to change me, and that’s where he lost me. First fucking words out of his mouth: “You need to get a huge drum set.” He told me this without explaining why. I just looked at him. “Well, fuck that,” I thought.
I think we all felt that he wanted us to become the Paul Stanley Project. So I realized that I didn’t want him to produce us, but I still wanted to talk to him. I was a big Kiss fan. I told Paul about my Kisstory experience and said, “When I was a kid, I would put my speakers on either side of my head, crank it up, and listen to you for hours.” But by this point, he just wanted to leave.
I remained polite and walked him out. I think he wanted to get away from me because I was asking him all these goofy obsessive fan-type questions about Kiss. Then finally, at the elevator, I impulsively lifted up my shirt and said, “Who do you think has a hairier chest, me or you?” and he was like, “Well, I do, of course.” He said it in such a snobby-ass way, I thought, “Oh well, you can have it.”
We welcomed Paul, and I swear we all had open minds when he walked in, but I’ve never seen anything go south so quickly. It’s because Paul came in with an attitude like, “You guys are the youngsters. I’m the rock star, and for this to work you gotta listen to me and do what I want.” In the end, we weren’t mean to him, we were just, “Whatever, dude.”
AXL’ONE GREEDY MOTHERFUCKER
When the time came for us to record our LP, we moved in with Alan Niven at a much bigger house in Los Feliz. We began doing preproduction rehearsals at SIR Studios in Burbank. That’s when the issue of crediting the songs, who got what, who owned what, and who got royalties for what, came up. It was Mike or Tom who told us, “You guys got to work this out. And you’ve got to have it all finalized before you start releasing your music.”
So we gathered in the new place to sort everything out, just the five of us. Now, I thought it was kind of a formality because we had talked about all this before and from day one it was always supposed to be an equal share for everybody. But Axl had changed his tune. Axl wanted a bigger slice of the pie.
Photographic Insert
Parental Units. Mel, Mom, and me.
Keeping the Faith. “Stormin’ Norman” and “Big Lilly” are very proud grandparents at my bar mitzvah in 1978. (Deanna Adler)
Adlers All. A rare Adler family reunion on the occasion of Jamie’s high school graduation, 1993. Clockwise from left: Kenny, Deanna, Mel, me, and Jamie. (David Sears)
Big Lilly’s Boys. Kenny and me with our grandma.
Young Gun. Me at five years old.
Leather and Lace. I’ve cleaned up for a formal photo session with Jack Lue, October 1985. (Jack Lue)
Ass Backward. Slash and I try to get Axl pointed in the right direction to take the stage for our first sold-out gig at the
Troubadour, 1985. (Marc Canter)
Gourmand Goofing. Guns N’ Rotelle during a fun Jack Lue photo session in 1985. (Jack Lue)
Stand and Deliver. GNR rocks out on January 4, 1986. At this show, “My Michelle” was played live for the first time. (Marc Canter)
Adler’s Attitude. Always happiest behind the drums, I’m debuting “Nightrain” live at the Music Machine, December 20, 1985. (Marc Canter)
Welcome to the Cathouse. Guns N’ Roses loved playing “the pussy palace.” This was a special video shoot for “It’s So Easy,” October 10, 1989. (Marc Canter)
Guns N’ Ronnie. GNR gathers backstage at Fenders Ballroom five days before we are signed. Joining us is Ron Schneider, a great friend and musician, who was also my tech assistant. (Marc Canter)
Giant Step. Backstage with Duff before opening for Aerosmith and Deep Purple at Giants Stadium, August 16, 1988. (Marc Canter)
Smack Down. Slash and I wrestle at friend Marc Canter’s house while Jack Lue referees, 1986. (Marc Canter)
Slash Trashed. Slash and me on the road. (David Plastik)
Big Buddy. Kevin DuBrow and me.
Fast Friends. Howard and I hit it off the first time I was on his show. A stretch limo, porn stars, and weed helped prep me for my appearance. (Jamie Adler)
My Idol. Frankie Valli of the Four Seasons with me.
Wild Things. Steven Tyler, Slash, and me during the shooting of Sam Kinison’s “Wild Thing” music video.
Drummer Boys. Fred Coury sits in for me (note the broken hand). (David Plastik)
Pug in My Pants. Me with my dog Shadow.
Meatloaf Concert. Caro and I snuggle before a
concert outside Las Vegas.
Appetite for Confection. My wife, Carolina, and I gather at a favorite lunch spot in the Valley with friends Steve Sprite (far right) and Lawrence Spagnola. (Morgan Saint John)
Alice N’ Adler. Opening for Alice Cooper, October 23, 1986. This was the night Axl got held up and we played without him. (Marc Canter)
Axl didn’t think it was fair to split royalties evenly five ways on our songs. He believed he was entitled to more than the rest of us. The other guys were smart. They just stared at the floor. No one said a fucking thing. I don’t know if Axl intimidated them or if they just knew that silence was the best way to deal with his ego. Well, I couldn’t just shut the fuck up about it. The reason I wouldn’t dummy up was I was so outraged.
So right off the bat, I was like, “Screw you, I was here from the beginning, I worked on putting those songs together just as much as you.” I had no trouble standing up to Axl because I was right. So now there’s this deadly silence again, and it’s obvious that it’s become a big fucking deal. Still, no one else is saying anything, so rather than get into a big argument, I proposed what I thought was a fair offer: “Considering Axl did write most of the lyrics, which is a huge fucking part, I’ll give you five percent of my twenty percent.”
Axl shot me this look not of thanks, not of appreciation, but of arrogance and triumph. It was like he expected it. So I looked around the room because what I expected was for everyone else to follow suit and ante up too, but the room went dead quiet again. I looked around and everyone kind of started talking about other stuff. The matter was over, settled, done. Axl was happy and I was like, “Fuck!”
So it went 25 percent to Axl, 20 percent for each of the other guys, and 15 percent for me. The entire ordeal lasted only a couple of minutes. As long as Axl got more than everyb
ody else he was a happy pig in shit. And at this point we were all trained to feel that as long as Axl wasn’t being pissy, as long as Axl was content, then we should all be happy. He got away with more than the rest of us combined. Like climbing up on the roof of the Whisky the day we signed. If that was anyone else from the band, we would have climbed up there and thrown him off, but not our Axl.
We didn’t know that Axl had a medical condition, manic depression, at the time. We just knew that dealing with Axl was tricky, that he was a moody motherfucker, and that you had to be prepared for craziness. One day he’d be hugging you and the next day kicking you in the balls. But Axl did some loving things for me that surpass anything the other guys ever did for me, so who am I to praise or condemn? I love the guy to this day, I honestly do. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to lie to you about the way he was.
HIS OWN WORST ENEMY
Axl could get very uptight, while I was usually the opposite. People told me I was always easygoing. I got along with everyone and he didn’t. Fact is, Axl had trouble getting along with himself. Axl was always living in his own little high-class snobby world, or at least he was in his twisted little mind.