by Scott Ian
We got there, and he was a different Meat Loaf than I had ever seen—all smiles and having a fucking ball. He was totally into the show. I had never seen him like that before, so it was really fun for me. Obviously, Pearl had been with him when he was in that state. For me, I was like, “Wow, this is a new Meat Loaf!”
Metal Shop called him onstage, and they did Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ on a Prayer.” Meat didn’t really know the words; he just did whatever he did with Ralph Saenz, their singer. But even though he didn’t know the lyrics, Meat fucking owned it. Then he did a Whitesnake song with them that he didn’t know at all. And he owned that, too! He just had so much charisma, it didn’t matter what he sang or how he sang it. The crowd went nuts. Then Meat came over and sat down with us.
At the end of the night, everyone was leaving and I said to Meat, “Hey man, give me your keys. I’m going to drive you home.”
“You are not! What are you talking about? You’re not driving me home,” he slurred, then laughed.
So I said, “Dude, seriously. You gotta give me your keys. I don’t give a fuck what you think or anything. You’re giving me your keys or you’re taking a cab. You’re not driving home.”
So he handed me his keys. We left our car there at the Viper Room, and Pearl and I got in his big black Mercedes. I was driving, Meat was in the front, and Pearl was in the back. I drove Meat to the house he moved into after he and Leslie split. I was a little worried he’d be mad at me for insisting on being the designated driver, but I didn’t care. I didn’t want to see a story about him on CNN later that night. I didn’t have to worry. During the whole ride to the house he was thanking me. Then he said, “I know things have been strange, but I fucking love you! You’re fucking awesome—I fucking love you, man!”
He was putting his arm around me and leaning into me. Then he kissed me on my cheek and on my neck.
“I love you, man. I love you! And you’re so good to my daughter!”
It was this really great moment between the two of us—a total bonding experience. And from that point on, we were totally bros. Over the years, Meat has gone above and beyond for me, Pearl, and Revel.
I introduced Pearl to my circle of friends, and we’d all go to Daddy’s. Pearl would keep up with me drink for drink. Actually her drink at the time was double vanilla Stoli straight, so if anything she was drinking way more than me! We kept raging hard for at least that first year of our relationship—but for a different reason. Neither of us was drinking to stop feeling bad. We were drinking because we felt good. It was a happy, in love, go out, get drunk, come home, have sex all night long kind of partying. It was the best.
It was truly a miracle. I really thought I’d never meet the right person and never be happy. I figured I’d always have to compromise. Then within a matter of months I was happier than I ever was or realized I could be. It made me think that there really is someone out there for everybody. I was on this path of self-destruction when I met Pearl, and she was on a parallel path. She has told me a million times that I was her savior. She’d say, “If we didn’t meet, I don’t know where I would have ended up, certainly in rehab. Maybe dead.” Once we started hanging out, everything changed.
The closer I got to Pearl, the weirder Debbie became. Pearl and I would be lying in bed, and Debbie would walk into my room naked under a completely see-through nightgown with her boyfriend in the other room. And then she’d ask me for cash: “Can I have $20 to buy a magazine?” It was fucking crazy, and I enabled her because I was afraid that if I told her I wanted a divorce, she’d get a lawyer and go after me like a shark, and I’d be financially fucked for the rest of my life.
I didn’t even see how I was letting her manipulate me until Pearl threw down the gauntlet. “You’re still kowtowing to her like you’re married. You’re still enmeshed in this.” I tried to assure her that wasn’t the case. But when Pearl opened my eyes to what was going on, I was dumbfounded. Then I just felt dumb. I paid the rent, expenses, and food. I sold the house, found a way to manage month to month, and the whole time I was busting my ass she didn’t have a job. Then, after we broke up, she started dating other people and I was bankrolling them.
I was so scared Debbie was gonna sue me for alimony that I allowed her to emasculate me. Then I grew my balls back. One day Debbie tried to pull some shit with us and got rude with Pearl. When she saw that things were real between Pearl and me, that the two of us were deeply in love and about to do our own thing, Debbie became threatened. I confronted her because I wasn’t afraid anymore.
“You need to fucking shut the fuck up and mind your own business,” I told her. “You are not a part of my life anymore. We are over, done. You’re not the magic witch who once blinded my eyes. You’ve been taking advantage of me for years, and it’s over! No more free ride. I’m moving out and we’re getting divorced.”
Chapter 28
The Other Side
of the Mike
Thank God I had Pearl in my life because aside from my relationship with her, everything else seemed to be going down the shitter. I was barely getting by, which is why I knew Pearl wasn’t with me for my money. That was a small consolation. I literally had nothing and was almost fucking broke. The band wasn’t making any money. I had enough to pay my rent and feed myself, but for all intents and purposes, I was living month to month. And everyone in Anthrax was counting on the Beyond record to get us back on our feet.
Even before our divorces were finalized, Pearl and I moved in together, and it was like a sea change had taken place, which only backs up my theory that my professional life is often a direct reflection of my personal life. I got the hell out of the apartment with Debbie, stopped paying her bills, and moved in with Pearl, and that immediately brought bliss back into my life. Days later, I got a call from VH1 asking me if I wanted to host The Rock Show. They decided not to renew Cane’s contract and wanted me to fly to New York to host the show on a trial basis.
The producers told me I’d be introducing rock and metal videos, reporting metal news, and interviewing guests. My gut did a bit of a flip when they told me I’d have to do interviews. I’m not a talk show host, and I definitely was not comfortable being the guy asking the questions. They wanted me to interview my peers—my friends. Just the thought gave me douche-chills. I asked if we could do the show without guests. They said no, so I sucked it up and prepared for the worst.
The first shoot was really easy. They offered me a teleprompter, but I had already memorized my script. I didn’t know anything about TV. I learned fast. All you need to do is read and make it look like you’re not reading, and you’ve got it nailed. I got really good at not reading. I shot a few weeks with no guests because they wanted me to get comfortable being the host. Then they told me the Cult were coming in to the studio, which made me nervous. I could talk to the camera no problem. They let me improvise and make jokes. They wanted me to be myself, and that’s why the show was working. Now, I suddenly had to become a journalist and ask all the lame questions that I hate being asked: “Tell us about your new record. What are your greatest influences? What’s the wackiest thing that happened on the road?” Then there were all the other mind-numbingly boring pearls of journalistic wisdom like “How’s the tour going?” and “How do you get along with your bandmates when you’re on the road?”
I couldn’t be that guy. I was sweating it to the point that I was ready to quit the show rather than look like some asshole. I couldn’t reconcile that I was in Anthrax, yet to do the TV show right I’d have to interview other bands. I didn’t belong there. I belonged on the other side of the mike. Looking at myself in that position, I became so self-critical that it was incapacitating. I was convinced that if I started interviewing bands, my career in a band was over. Who would ever take me seriously again as an artist?
No disrespect to journalists. I’ve had the pleasure of talking to many fine writers and deejays over the years. There�
��s a big difference between people asking cookie-cutter questions scribbled on a sheet of paper and professionals who actually do their research and involve you in a conversation enough to get something back from you that you weren’t expecting to give. A good interview can be inspiring. A bad one makes you never want to answer another stupid question again. It reminds you of the precious minutes of your life you’re wasting with some idiot who went on Wikipedia for ten minutes and rewrote well-worn facts in the form of questions. Hey, we’re not playing Jeopardy here. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to punch someone in the face through the phone line for wasting my time.
The day of my first interview as The Rock Show host, the producers handed me a list of questions for the Cult, and just as I had feared, they sucked—unless the objective was to bore both the band and audience to death. I didn’t know what to do. I knew the guys in the Cult—friends since the eighties—and they are as Britishly razor sharp and dry as you can get. I figured I’d be lucky to come out of this sane, considering the blank stares I’d be getting from their guitarist Billy Duffy. To make things worse, backstage before the shoot, they were all being really nice to me. In my neurotic state I figured it was because they felt sorry for me. “Poor Scott. Look at what his career has been reduced to. He had such promise once. Let’s be really nice to him. He has it hard enough, having to do this now.” It kind of felt like a pity fuck.
I took a deep breath and swallowed my humility. The stage manager set us all up and the cameras started rolling. Then, at the last second, an inner voice told me to go off script and talk to the Cult like I talk to my friends. Why ask a scripted question that I already knew the answer to when we could just shoot the breeze? The conversation was natural—lots of ball-busting, lots of commiserating about shared band experiences—and it became a situation where I wasn’t a TV host interviewing my guests. We were a bunch of friends hanging around telling stories. It wasn’t me against them. We were on the same team, and that made everyone less guarded, and in the end it made for a much better segment.
During the conversation, I made sure to touch on the things the band was there to promote. The producers were happy and so was the band. I had found a winning formula. The guest segments became my favorite part of hosting The Rock Show. Over the forty-eight episodes I shot, I got to hang with Ozzy, Pantera, Rob Halford, Megadeth, Stone Temple Pilots, Tenacious D, Alice in Chains, Deftones, Godsmack, and more.
So what secrets did people let slip because they felt so comfy talking to me? I don’t know. I didn’t ask questions I would be uncomfortable answering, nor did I bring up personal things I may have known about some of my friends I had on the show. In the end, people wanted to be on the program because they knew they were sitting down with me and I wouldn’t cross a personal line.
When I interviewed Sully Erna from Godsmack, he told me a story about how they got their name. As he explained it, one of the guys in the band came to rehearsal one day with a big zit, and Sully made fun of him. The next day Sully had a zit as well, and someone said, “God smacked you for making fun of him.” Voila! Godsmack. It had nothing to do with the Alice in Chains song “Godsmack” or the fact that they used to cover Alice songs. Total coincidence. There were a few times I had to interview bands I knew nothing about because their music wasn’t for me. Three Doors Down and Nickelback come to mind. I went into those interviews not knowing what the fuck I was going to talk about, and I was worried the whole time that my expressions would give me away (that’s where I learned my poker face). As it turned out, they were all really cool guys, and a lot of them grew up listening to Anthrax. That’s when I started making my list of nice guys, bad bands. It’s a long list.
Of all the Rock Show episodes I did, my favorite was the Halloween interview I did with Ozzy Osbourne. Ironically, it started as a disaster. The fact that we got him was a major coup. It was fucking huge! He was in town doing promo for his Down to Earth record, and I was his last interview of the day. He started at 6 a.m. on The Howard Stern Show and did interviews all day up to the point where he got to our set at 4 p.m. I could tell he was exhausted. The set was decorated for Halloween. I was dressed as Gene Simmons in full makeup and costume but with a bald head and a goatee.
Ozzy and I had been friends since we toured together in 1988, and I was totally looking forward to hanging out with him and telling stories. Having had dozens of guests at this point, I felt confident about my “interview” skills. The producer said Ozzy was told in advance that I would be in Gene Simmons makeup for Halloween. But as Ozzy walked in with Sharon, I could see him across the room looking at me with a serious shit-smell face. We reached the interview segment. Ozzy walked on and I could tell something was wrong. He grimaced at me and then looked off set to Sharon. He was fidgety and it seemed clear he didn’t want to be there.
We started the interview, and I asked him the most basic questions about his new record—what the recording process was like—real simple stuff. Ozzy was giving me short, curt answers and staring at me like I was someone he didn’t know. At that point I was freaking out that I was fucking blowing it with Ozzy Osbourne. All the excitement of my biggest interview was sweating away right through my Demon face paint. The director yelled “Cut” and told everyone to take five so they could reset for a different shot. That left Ozzy and me sitting there in a palpably uncomfortable silence. The makeup girl came over and touched up my widow’s peak, and I was trying not to show that I was stressed, but I literally didn’t know what I was going to say next.
I just didn’t know why Ozzy couldn’t be bothered with me. The director said, “Action,” and before I could stammer out another question I noticed Ozzy staring intently at me, moving his face closer to mine to get a better look. Just when I thought he was going to head-butt me, he smiled and said, “It’s you . . . it’s you, man. Scott, is that you? It is you. Hey, it’s Scott!” I was so relieved and said, “Yeah Ozzy, it’s me. I thought you knew.”
I could hear Sharon yelling, “Ozzy, I told you it was Scott Ian under the makeup,” and then Ozzy said, “I thought you were some wanker dressed like KISS, and I couldn’t figure out the bald head and I didn’t know why I was here to do some stupid interview.” He gave me a big hug and said, “Let’s start over.” Fifteen minutes later we were done. We had a great time, and I was thrilled to have had the chance to sit and talk to one of my idols on my show—even as a wanker in Gene Simmons makeup.
Thanks to the Rock Show gig, I went from practically being broke to having a regular paycheck, something I hadn’t had since I worked for my dad. I was on Viacom’s payroll! That was a definite morale booster. One thing I’ve learned in life, though, is right when you think everything’s going your way, something can happen that can leave you feeling helpless and speechless. That’s what went down in the middle of my gig with VH1 when one of my best friends, Jennifer Syme, died.
I met Jennifer in ’91 at Irvine Meadows, backstage at a Beastie Boys concert. She worked for David Lynch, and Charlie and I were massive Twin Peaks fans; the song “Black Lodge” was a Twin Peaks reference. We used to ask Missi Callazzo at Megaforce to call David Lynch’s office all the time to try to get us Twin Peaks–related swag. Jen was the person Missi would talk to.
One night, I was backstage at a Beastie Boys show, and a girl walked up to me and said, “You’re Scott, right? I’m Jennifer from David Lynch’s office. Your management calls all the time looking for stuff.”
We immediately became great friends. She was literally like my sister and became a big part of my life. She had a wicked, extremely politically incorrect sense of humor. Most of the years through the nineties, when I was having fun, Jen was there. When Pearl and I first started dating, Jen couldn’t wait to meet “the love of my life.” They hit it off immediately and became very close as well.
Jennifer was Keanu Reeves’s girlfriend, and in 2000 she got pregnant. I remember Keanu moved Jen out of her place and into a hous
e to help shield her from the constant paparazzi hassle. She was thrilled about having a baby, and everything in her life seemed to be working out. So when she came full term only for the baby to be stillborn, it was terrible—just fucking horrible and tragic. Having my own child now, I can’t even imagine what that would do to your heart and soul. We all came together for Jen and Keanu and did our best to help them through it. Sadly, the tragedy didn’t end there. The rest of the story was well reported by the tabloids.
Jennifer was at a party at Marilyn Manson’s house. She went home and then decided to drive back to his place. She was already fucked up, and when she reached Cahuenga Boulevard she lost control and crashed into a bunch of parked cars. She wasn’t wearing a seat belt and was thrown from the car out onto the street and killed. I couldn’t believe it. I had lost my closest friend. And of course it wasn’t just devastating to me but for a whole circle of friends that Jen was the center of. Her death was tragic and shockingly avoidable. I always imagine what could’ve been for her because she really was a special person, a rare human, and I still miss her.
I was devastated by Jen’s death, but I knew I couldn’t let it slow me down. If she found out that happened, she would have let me have it. Fortunately, the stability of a day job with The Rock Show and the ability to save some money set me up to the point where I was excited about going back in the studio with Anthrax to work on another record.
Once again, we had to find a guitarist before we started tracking. Paul Crook did a great job playing with us for almost seven years. He was a sick guitarist and a good friend, but for some reason we never made him a member of the band. We just couldn’t commit. We even did photo shoots as a four-piece; I guess we never considered him an actual member, which sucked. Maybe we always felt like he wasn’t really the guy. Granted, it was the worst period of time in our history business-wise, so he was better off not being a member of the band. He was too good of a friend to put through that hell. So around late 2001, when we really started focusing again on writing new music, we decided we needed to find a new guitar player. Someone who was aggressive and felt “Anthrax.”