My Appetite for Destruction

by Steven Adler

  Now, maybe this was the blow talking, maybe the painkillers for my hand were messing with me, or maybe it was the recurring shitty self-esteem, but I began to harbor this growing dread that Duff and Slash didn’t think I could play the drums that well. It wasn’t anything they said; it was just their general attitude toward me at the time. I could tell they didn’t think I was a good drummer, and I started to think they didn’t think I was so cool either. Breaking my hand on a bar light didn’t help. But I was just feeling very down at the time. Taking myself out of commission and off that drummer stool, however temporarily, was like taking away my identity.

  Fortunately Dougie was my go-to buddy and he was very good at propping up my spirits. He had me believing everything was fine and I could count on him to have my back.

  We said good-bye to Alice in Madison and flew back to California, where they had quickly booked a series of shows in Pasadena for the following week. My buddy Fred Coury, the drummer for Cinderella, was brought in to replace me. I remember going over the parts with him. I wanted to be gracious about the whole thing, and Fred was cool about the opportunity. He was well rehearsed and told me that Appetite was one of his favorite records to jam to.

  We quickly sold out four homecoming shows at the Perkins Palace in Pasadena, and I was completely bummed that I couldn’t be a part of it. I was angry too, at Slash in particular. I told him, “Dude, if you broke your finger there’s no way you’d let them get someone else to sit in for you.” Slash just shrugged, which is his standard noncommital response. Regardless, the shows went on, and Axl was cool about it, introducing me and bringing me out onstage every night. I played tambourine on our new song “Patience.” I’d talk to the crowd a bit and give Freddie major props. I’d say, “You rock my world, buddy.” He was a good guy, but the situation just sucked.

  NIKKI DON’T LOSE THAT HEARTBEAT

  We were holed up at the Franklin Plaza suites again, and one night Nikki Sixx came over. It was me, Slash, and his new girlfriend, who I thought was a total bitch. Our drug dealer came over, and we got about a pound of coke. I grabbed my share and went back to my room to shoot up. After a few minutes, I decided to rejoin the group.

  The door was open slightly, and when I pushed at it, it wouldn’t open. “What the fuck?” I peeked in and discovered why the door was stuck. There was Nikki’s huge, motionless body, passed out against the door with his face up. He had turned completely purple. “Shit!” With my shoulder, I put all my weight against the door and forced myself in. Everyone else was gone and Nikki was just lying there. I thought he was dead. I still had my cast on my right hand, so it was useless. With just one hand, I tried to drag him into the shower.

  Suddenly, Slash’s friend shows up, and I’m all, “Call a fucking ambulance. Call 911 now!” She just stood there. “Fucking call 911, you bitch!” She still just stood there. I swear she just wanted to be there when Nikki Sixx died. “Fucking help me drag him into the shower.” Again, she had no reaction. I’m pulling, pushing, shoving, half dragging him with one hand, working as hard as I could. I made it into the bathroom and rolled him up and into the tub. I turned on the cold water and trained the flow from the showerhead directly on his face.

  Nothing.

  I started smashing him in the head, and I can still hear the sick sound it made when my cast slammed into his face. But Nikki wasn’t moving. Not even a groan, despite the freezing cold water, the hammer blows, and me screaming at the top of my lungs.

  Zip. Nada. Now, I was really starting to freak. I started slapping him in the face and suddenly, in what felt like milliseconds, the purple drained away from his face. It was the weirdest thing. Right away he came back to life. Ten minutes later, an ambulance came and the paramedics rushed Nikki down to Cedars.

  The next day I found out he called someone to pick him up. He wasn’t cleared to check out and had no business leaving. He called me and asked, “Stevie, what the fuck happened last night? My face is killing me.”

  I told him, “I was slapping you with my cast, dude, you turned fuck-all purple. I dragged you in the tub, got some cold water on you, and slapped you until you came to.”

  All he said was “Fuck. My head is killing me.” He told me that as soon as he got home, he shot up another dose. I thought I was insane.

  Years later, I found out that he’s fathered several children, and saving him is one of the few things I feel proud about having done. Had I not been there, who knows? Everyone else had already left the room that night. And for all the things I feel horrible about in my life, this isn’t one of them. I stepped up for my friend. Now, that friend’s a dad; he’s got a family, and I’m happy I was there for him. Plus Nikki is a legend, an amazing individual.

  Stephen Pearcy, lead singer for the band Ratt, came over to the suites the following night. I had known Stephen for a good while. We used to hang out a lot at his house in Coldwater Canyon. I still had the cast on, but it was all wet and soggy. I was like, “Dude, help me get this thing off. It’s driving me nuts.” He helped me cut it open and remove it. God, it smelled so terrible, and Stephen said, “Jesus, Stevie, that fucking stinks like rotten meat.” My hand was still badly swollen, and I had aggravated it to the point that I had to get a new cast put on. This prolonged the healing process, but fortunately, because of scheduling, it didn’t force me to miss any other shows.

  MOVIN’ ON

  The year 1988 rolled around, and we now had a gold record. Expectations were growing as we received word that sales were showing no signs of slowing down. I felt better once I got the cast off and buried my earlier feelings of insecurity by convincing myself there’d be no more fuckups.

  The band got together to receive our Appetite for Destruction gold record plaques. I felt like I was floating on cloud nine. I wondered, “How much bigger can it get?” Immediately after the presentation, I visited Grandma Lilly and Grandpa Norman and gave the gold record to them. They were as much responsible for my success as I was; they were always there for me. I loved them dearly, and I wanted to show my appreciation. They hung the record above their TV, where they could always admire it.

  I topped off my celebration by visiting my buddy Rob Benedetti at Sunset Tattoo. This time I wanted my very own Guns N’ Roses tattoo. No skulls or guns or knives. I came up with this idea of a heart with wings on it. It cost me $145, and to me it meant the freedom and the love I’ve had with and through Guns N’ Roses. That’s how I felt, and it’s what the band represented to me. Now, everyone in the band had their own custom GNR tattoo.

  Rob mentioned to me that he also designed drumheads. In fact, it was Rob who came up with the idea of the little metal device that goes in the circle of the bass drum, where the mike is placed. It prevents the head from breaking or tearing. I was so happy with how the tattoo came out that I felt I was on a roll. So I had him make me those bass drum heads he was talking about, using the same design.

  In mid-January I rejoined the band for a show at the Cathouse. There was no fanfare; it was just like rejoining your family at the dinner table. Ten days later, on January 31, we flew to New York, where we performed at a club called the Limelight. MTV had contacted our management about taping one of our live performances while in the Apple, and it was scheduled for our appearance at the Ritz on February 2.

  Label mates Great White opened for us. After their set, it was time for us to hit the stage. I’m all ready to go, and fucking Axl is holding us up. Of all the times for him to do this. MTV was there, and this was huge, but eventually the MTV guys were like, “We gotta go, we gotta get this going, guys.”

  Axl’s like, “Fuck it. I’m not going on unless I have my bandanna!” Apparently, he couldn’t find it after tearing apart the little hovel they gave us backstage. Of course the rest of the band was avoiding any eye contact with Axl, preferring to wander off, out of earshot, to do their grumbling.

  Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. “What’s wrong with you, Axl?” He shrugged me off and continued with his insane
tirade. He had all of our roadies looking around for people who had scarves or bandannas. I said, “C’mon, Axl, let’s just go on.”

  He blurted out, “Fuck that. Fuck you. I need a bandanna or a scarf or I’m not doing this.”

  Now, we’re thirty minutes late. The cameramen were tired of standing around and said, “We’re outta here.” I was the only one who was openly begging them to stay: “Please, don’t go, we’ll go on.” I’m sure that’s why I’m featured prominently throughout the video, because I showed some respect for the MTV crew.

  Axl finally found a fucking scarf, some powder-blue, girly-looking thing, and the show began. He put it on, and he got this Little Rascals Alfalfa look going, because his hair was pushed up, like a ridiculous cowlick, on the back of his head. I’m sitting there playing and just laughing. “You dick, look at you. You couldn’t go on without your scarf, and now you look like you’re in an Our Gang movie.” Someone must have tipped him off, because he finally got wise to it and adjusted the bandanna.

  In spite of all the drama, the show went off fantastically. It’s become one of the most widely bootlegged performances of the band. YouTube has the audio with stills, and a full video feed of it exists somewhere. It was also aired on MTV a bunch.

  After the show I hung out with an old friend, Athena. Athena is Tommy Lee’s sister. We had known each other for years. Back in ’85, Slash and I were walking around Hollywood, by Sunset and Fairfax. Athena lived in this apartment building next to a health food store, and she and a friend were hanging out the window. They shouted out to us, invited us up, and the four of us got along famously. After that we would hang out, go to clubs, and invite them to our shows. They were the same age as us, and we had a lot in common.

  Fact is, we’ve been friends ever since. I always thought Athena was such a beautiful woman. She was a skinny girl with great breasts. They were so big, she had to have a breast reduction because they were hurting her back. I would rate her as an easy eleven, that hot. She was such a sweetheart, a wonderful girl.

  I was staying in a suite at a hotel that was in the same area where they did rehearsals for the famous Honeymooners TV show back in the fifties. After the Ritz concert, I invited Athena back to my room. We had a big pizza, and it was the greatest New York pie I’d ever tasted. We were eating, and I said, “I wonder if the Honeymooners ever did this?” I threw a slice of pizza against the wall. Then she threw one. It was a real mess. We were just laughing it up, having a hell of a time. We were drinking and one thing just led to another. Afterward, we just took in the sounds of the city around us.

  We had made love in the spirit of fun. She had no one special in her life at the time, and although I was in love with Cheryl, it was very early in our relationship. Afterward, it was simply, “Hey, we did it, and that’s it.” If I was with one of the crazy babes who would fixate on us, it could have been awkward, but she was so cool. The urge just built up from knowing each other and being attracted to each other for a while.

  There have been times when I thought I could marry Athena. But we were so good as friends, we both knew it was best to continue the no-commitment way. I don’t think I ever considered the stabilizing effect a good woman might have had on my life at this time. Not a wife, but a levelheaded go-to girl who could have been in my corner with some good counsel from time to time. I think that Athena could have been that girl, but I was way too young and immature to even think about that at the time. Why have a level head when you can just have head?

  HEATHER LOCKJAW

  Around this time I had also been hanging with Athena’s brother, Tommy Lee. He called me one day and said, “Dude, why don’t you come over? We’ll go dirt biking.”

  “Fuck yeah! Can I bring my little brother?”

  Tommy said, “Sure!” I thought, “Jamie’s gonna love this.” He was just a kid, twelve or thirteen at the time, and a huge Mötley fan. We got in my Mercedes and cruised over to Tommy’s house, which was in an upscale, gated community off Ventura Boulevard, way up in Woodland Hills.

  Heather and Tommy were very much an item those days. But when we arrived, Tommy said she was sick. She had the flu or something. Eventually she came down and I introduced her to Jamie. It was clear that she was not feeling well, which is probably why she seemed a little bitchy, but I always smiled and treated her with respect. She was a gorgeous girl, but she was a TV star, kind of stuck-up. She was always worried about Tommy on the road, jealous about girls. Personally I knew she had every reason to be concerned.

  Tommy had a couple of Hondas, and we took the bikes behind his house. There was a massive dirt mound just a short way back, perfect for riding. That day I showed Jamie how to work the brakes, the accelerator, and the clutch, and how to change the gears. It felt good being the big brother, showing him how to drive a motorcycle. He did great and it was a fantastic time. At the end of the day, we thanked Tommy and Heather for their hospitality and vowed to do it again sometime. Tommy just wanted to frolic and play all the time; he was the same fun-loving person I was. Two drummers who just want to bang away the day. Heather was definitely chaining him down, but guys like Tommy and me will put up with a lot and then, look out.

  That weekend, a movie chronicling heavy metal’s increasing popularity, particularly in L.A., opened. It was called The Decline of Western Civilization Part II: The Metal Years. As far as I was concerned, the best part about the film was that we weren’t in it. Izzy played guitar and Axl did backing vocals, however, on the soundtrack’s updated version of “Under My Wheels” with Alice Cooper. I thought that kind of rocked.

  Most of the bands featured in Decline were struggling to make it but were overly confident about their shot at success. In the end, few of them ever truly made it. One scene in particular, featuring a shit-faced Chris Holmes, WASP’s guitarist, was depressing as hell. He was sitting with his mother, cursing up a storm. He was talking about dying, complaining about being a rock star, and his mom was just sitting there smiling. I thought the whole segment was a real downer. There was, however, some comic relief in there for me. Particularly the scene with Paul Stanley lying in bed with a number of scantily clad young females. The scene looked so artificial. I couldn’t help but think that after the shot somebody yelled, “Cut!” Paychecks were handed out, and everyone just went home.

  On March 31, 1988, we did another acoustic performance, with me playing drums, on a show that was called Fox Late Night, a variety hour. It featured a black host, so “One in a Million” was out of the lineup. Instead we did a midtempo version of “You’re Crazy” and also “Used to Love Her.” When the host introduced the second song, he blew the surprise punch line of our tune by announcing: “Coming up, Guns N’ Roses perform ‘I Used to Love Her, but I Had to Kill Her’?!” The first time I ever heard the lyrics to that song was back at the Hell House. Axl and Duff came up with them. I thought it was so damn funny.

  The reason I remember that performance so well is because we played “Crazy” the way it was always meant to be played: slower, sleazy, more bluesy, with much more feeling, and not the frantic sped-up version on Appetite. Even though Axl had to censor himself for TV and leave out all the “fuckin’s,” he did a masterful job, and it’s definitely my favorite rendition of “Crazy.” Check it out on YouTube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RuqUqNuh2nQ#.

  PARTY ON

  Of course, life was a nonstop party. Axl would have Del and Wes out with him. Duff and Slash were a little less distant toward me since my hand had healed, but honestly, who needed the fucking drama? I didn’t, so I decided to hang with Tom Mayhue, my newly appointed tech. He had already been on many tours, particularly with Dokken, serving as Mick Brown’s tech. I was getting massive amounts of coke, but I found that I would burn out on it from time to time. So, on many occasions, I’d give what I had left to Doug and just be like, “Do whatever you want with it, but just get it away from me.”

  The time had arrived for us to shoot our second video, “Sweet Child O’ Mine.” It was
filmed at the Huntington Ballroom in Huntington Beach. All the guys got their girlfriends to be in it with us. Axl had been dating Erin Everly for a few years. She was the daughter of Don Everly, of the Everly Brothers. She was just the sweetest girl, and I thought for sure that she wouldn’t be able to stand Axl for long. They were always arguing about this or that, and at times it would get really intense.

  When he first brought her around, she was so cool and I honestly thought, “I hope Axl doesn’t screw this up.” Duff was dating and became engaged to a girl named Mandy who performed in an all-girl L.A. band called the Lame Flames. Slash had his current girl there, and I brought Cheryl in. A friend of mine worked with the L.A. punk veterans TSOL, with whom we had played many shows, and asked me if I would wear the shirt in the video. Why not? I happily obliged.

  A few weeks after the “Sweet Child” video was shot, our record was certified platinum. It was an unbelievable achievement for the band and our whole team. Our popularity was soaring to the point that we were being referred to as a “supergroup” in the rock rags. We truly were the rock stars we’d dreamed of becoming, and it was finally starting to sink in. But it was soon plain to see that the bigger we got, the colder we became.

  CLINT AND MY FIRST OD

  Right after the “Sweet Child” video became a sensation on MTV, the band’s growing popularity came to the attention of screen legend Clint Eastwood. Someone must have suggested bringing us into his new film project, The Dead Pool. Around the same time, I was asking Dougie, “Dude, can you get us in a movie? Or a TV show? A fucking cartoon? Anything?” So it was a pretty cool coincidence how it all worked out.

  Axl would later proclaim the movie to be “a piece of shit,” encouraging fans not to see it. It featured a would-be Axl-type rock star, Johnny Squares, played by a then-unknown Jim Carrey, lip-synching to “Welcome to the Jungle.” In the film’s plot, he is murdered in what would be made to look like an overdose so that participants in a pool for betting on when celebrities would die could benefit from the bets they had placed in their morbid game.