by Tex Perkins
He jumps in front of me and says in a threatening tone.
‘You got dem on your FEET motherfucker! Now gimme ma money!’
The big easy huh? Try harder dipshit.
After we’re done with New Orleans, we have a conundrum: what do we do with this fucking car? This magnificent vessel that has taken us across the greatest country on earth?
I know! What about if we drive over to Houston and give it to my old Thug buddy Lachlan McLeod who’s living there at the moment? It was only about five or six hours drive so the plan was that we’d do that, give the car to him, then fly to LA and catch a plane home to Australia.
A plan. A good plan.
We arrived in Houston pretty late at night and the flight the next morning was fairly early, which made sleep an inconvenience. So we asked Lachlan and his girlfriend Stacey Rae if they thought they could help get us something to keep us up until the flight at around 7 am the next morning.
Looking for trouble.
They suggested we could get some crack from the gangs down at the supermarket car park as they are ALWAYS there. I was only thinkin’ coffee but hey . . . So we think about this for three seconds and decide hmmm . . . okay, we’ll do that. Let’s give it a shot. We’re leaving for LA the next morning so it’s not like we’re going to get hooked on crack in the next six hours, is it? Plus it felt like the tourist thing to do.
Things to do and see in America.
See the Statue of Liberty.
Visit the Grand Canyon.
Score some crack. I’ve heard it’s all the rage over here. Quite moreish apparently.
Next thing you know we’re driving down to a desolate shopping centre. We turn into the car park and just wait – FOR SECONDS and then BANG – NWA are all over the car. And they’re not just around the car – they’re in the car, heads in all the windows saying, ‘How you doing man?’ and we’re all ‘Very well thank you’ while Stacey Rae is doing the deal. When the deal is done it’s a quick thank you and off we drive into the night.
Lachlan opens up the purchase when we’re out of range and sighs, ‘Oh shit, It’s just SOAP. They’ve sold us soap.’ Damn!
Stacey Rae is not happy. She says in this classic Texas twang, ‘I’m not letting that happen in ma hometown. That’s just OUTRAGEOUS. It’s downright rude. I’M GOING BACK TO TEACH THOSE BOYS A LESSON.’
Wait just a minute there, Missy!
We try to explain that it’s fine. Shit happens. Let’s just leave it. ‘Really, Stacey Rae don’t worry about it.’
But she’s driving. She’s already turned the car around and before I can physically restrain her we’re back at the car park and she’s out of the car and heading in the direction of the dealers and waving her finger at them with this ‘How dare you’ attitude.
Me? I’m waiting for us to get shot.
I say to Robert, ‘GET IN THE DRIVER’S SEAT. DRIVE OVER THERE. LET’S GET HER AND GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE.’
By the time we get to Stacey Rae it’s all looking very, very heavy. Stacey Rae is making a forceful consumer complaint to a crack-dealing gang leader and his minions are swarming all over the car, heads in the windows saying, ‘Give us a beer man’, so yes sure, we give them some beers.
Suddenly it all turns very nasty. Cruickers gets a beer bottle broken over his head. I’m in the back seat, suddenly a knife appears through the window and comes up tight under my chin. Instinctively – with a knife against my precious vocal chords – I manage to pull out my wallet and hold it up. Instantly the whole situation ends and they vanish with the new eel-skin wallet I’d just bought at the markets in New Orleans.
So we leave with no drugs and no money and no wallet. I was fuming. ‘How are you still alive?’ I angrily inquire of Stacey. ‘That was the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen! If you think that kind of thing’s a good idea, why the fuck hasn’t someone ended you by now?’
Next thing I know we arrive at some dude’s house. They’re having a small party – there’s music, booze and lots of sweet cousin cocaine. Why the fuck didn’t we just come straight here? We end up telling the story of our night to the nice folks there and the guy whose party it is takes it all in then beckons us into his room and opens up a drawer full of handguns.
See, he and his mates are all fired up about this experience we’ve had and now they’re talking about a plan of going back there in a different car and then when the guys in the gang come over going BANG, BANG, BANG and shooting them all in the kneecaps and then driving away.
I’m thinking, Well, this is what happens in America.
There was actually a minute when it SOUNDED LIKE A GOOD IDEA.
I never did try crack but I certainly got a taste of the whole American saga of drugs, gangs and guns. This guy with the handguns was really prepared to facilitate us getting revenge for a drug deal gone bad. It made me realise that if you don’t have a minute to pause and reflect then shit can happen. And very quickly. It’s what can – and does – happen all over America every hour of every day.
DOG BLESS AMERICA.
FROM THE BELLY OF THE BEASTS
THE BEASTS OF BOURBON / 1993
Half live album and half outtakes and rarities, this has some great stuff and some real pieces of shit as well. Interesting live recordings from the mid-’80s document the fact that Stu Spasm, Brad Shepherd and Graham Hood were briefly in the band. There are better AND worse versions of various songs from the first 10 years of the band. But a few gems are hidden in the rubbish tip of an album that this is.
RECORD LABEL: Red Eye
CORE BAND MEMBERS: Tex Perkins (vocals), Spencer P. Jones (guitar), Kim Salmon (guitar), Brian Hooper (bass), Tony Pola (drums), Brad Shepherd (guitar), James Baker (drums), Stu Spasm (bass).
IGGY
I love Iggy Pop.
For me, the first three Stooges albums are like masterclasses in primal rock’n’roll.
All three are distinctly different from each other, and all three are absolutely vital. The Stones have more great songs but Iggy is where I live. Deep down, everything I do has a little Iggy in it.
I first met Iggy Pop at the 1993 Big Day Out. That second Big Day Out just had a really special feeling about it. In later years there remained a great vibe among all the Australian groups on the tour, but ’93 was the only time I observed Australian and international groups hanging together and having fun. Nobody was acting like ‘rock stars’ and the cool people dropped their guard a bit – even Nick Cave. I mean, on one of the days between shows I went to Magic Mountain in Adelaide with Kim Gordon and Lee Ranaldo from Sonic Youth, the boys from Mudhoney and Michael Franti from Spearhead. All of us riding the waterslides down at Glenelg for the afternoon and laughing like kids. It was great.
But Iggy was special.
The Beasts Of Bourbon were doing the Big Day Out sideshows with him that year so we saw quite a bit of him and his band. It was a particularly good time to see him as he had a great band and played a lot of early stuff, mostly Stooges. He had an odd habit at the time, of doing half the show with his pants around his ankles. It was strange as it restricted his movement, waddling about when he wanted to move, big dick and saggy arse swinging.
My favourite memory of that tour was driving back to Sydney after the show in Canberra and stopping at one of those servos on the highway. As we rummage through the fridges and shelves for pies, chocolate bars and cigarettes in walks Iggy, who joins us in our hunt for quality late night on-the-road snacks. We discuss our various tastes and tolerances. THE ART OF EATING SHIT ON THE ROAD.
A few months later The Cruel Sea were in America playing, of all things, an afternoon spot at CBGB. It was a showcase – a record company and media gig – but still a show, even if the idea of playing CBGB on an afternoon still sounds a little strange.
Our sound check had resulted in the PA system ceasing to function. Seriously, by the time we were meant to go on stage there were no monitors and no vocal PA. Faaarrrck.
Then, just before w
e were meant to go onstage, someone from the venue comes back and asks if I can come to the front door. They need me to come and see if I know ‘a dude’ who’s turned up and asked to get in even though they’re not on the guest list. So I go out the front and there at the door looking meek and mild with hopeful puppy dog eyes is IGGY POP and his wife.
IGGY FUCKING POP. Just let that sink in.
I’m still staggered that Iggy could come to a place like CBGB and no one working there recognises him, let alone that they’re actually questioning whether they should let IGGY POP in or not?! This is CB fucking GB’s! Wasn’t Iggy backstage every night getting blow jobs during the ’70s? Or giving blow jobs? I can never remember which.
Either way there should be a fucking shrine to him somewhere in this dump.
That night at CBGB in New York, 1993.
Iggy explained to me that he’d read about the show in The Village Voice. It would have just said something like, ‘4 pm – From Australia, The Cruel Sea’.
I can’t remember even telling him I was in another band called The Cruel Sea, as I was in the Beasts when we met.
So to the door ‘person’ I explain that YES, it is okay to let Iggy Pop into the CBGB gig.
Maybe I shouldn’t have. It was fucking terrible. The PA never got working so I had to go around physically from table to table and sing to people who were within earshot.
I never go down without a fight.
NEW YORK
A few months later in New York, our manager, Wendy Boyce-Hunter, was talking to record companies and even though I didn’t really need to be there, Kristyna and I had tagged along.
Wendy was in contact with Sonic Youth’s management, Gold Mountain – and before I knew it Kim Gordon and Thurston Moore had invited us around to their apartment.
We hung out for a while until they said they were going to a Saturday Night Live filming where Nirvana was performing and did we want to come along? I wasn’t going to say no. This was Saturday Night Live in late 1993 – the height of the show.
So we cruise down to NBC studios where our names are on the guest list and head upstairs and go backstage. There are the Red Hot Chili Peppers, J Mascis from Dinosaur Jr. and what seems like everyone else in the top echelon of the cool rock’n’roll scene at the time just hanging in the hallway. That’s what made it even more awkward, people weren’t in some green room drinking beer and eating barbecue Shapes, they were all just milling about in the hallway. But I guess this was Nirvana on Saturday Night Live at the height of their fame. If you’re a person that likes to be seen to be where it’s happening this was where it was happening.
We follow Kim and Thurston into a dressing room and there’s Nirvana, all sitting around looking nervous. Courtney Love is there too, of course, fussing like a mother hen – ‘You’re not wearing that on TV, Kurt.’
Outside the stars are filing by. Charles Barclay and RuPaul, Dana Carvey and Mike Myers, Adam Sandler and Chris Rock.
For fuck’s sake . . .
I felt extremely uncomfortable. I realised that I was out of my league, that I wasn’t one of these people. I really don’t belong here... Nice as it was for these people to invite us along, it was all too much. Sonic Youth may be able to cruise through these situations but I shouldn’t be here. If I was Nirvana I wouldn’t want me here.
Nirvana played and the whole show finished and Kim and Thurston invited us on to another party. But I had to get out of there. These were the most famous rock people on the planet at that time and there I was with them. I’d been invited and accepted by these ultra cool A-listers but I’d never felt like more of a jerkoff B-grader in my life.
So instead of partying with the kings and queens of grunge, instead of rollin’ with rock’n’roll royalty, Kristyna and I excused ourselves, muttered something about jet lag, caught a cab back to the hotel and watched a Twilight Zone marathon on TV.
Looking back this was probably interpreted as rudeness or arrogance, but I was quietly freaking out. They say you should never meet your heroes. I’ve met people whose music I’ve loved for years and when they turned out to be dicks I couldn’t listen to another note. The top of the mountain is weird and uncomfortable for me. There’s just too much pressure up there. You’re too exposed. Everyone’s watching. Your inner dialogue says DON’T FUCK UP. I realise that sounds paranoid, but it’s true. I was already feeling the downside of success and had done pretty much as soon as it arrived with The Cruel Sea. That night in New York at Saturday Night Live I felt like I’d walked into a living rock magazine and it just felt way too weird.
I was the wrong guy at the right time.
Maybe Kurt felt it too. Six months later he was gone.
THE HONEYMOON IS OVER
THE CRUEL SEA / 1993
I think this took, I dunno, let’s say three weeks to record, maybe a little more. Tony really squeezed this one, tweaking and fiddling for days at a time on one song. (I can’t stand the gated reverb on the snare drum.)
It was designed to sound good and get played on the radio and that’s exactly what happened. Five ARIA awards and a quarter of a million sales, this thing was very popular. But unfortunately the title was particularly prophetic. The honeymoon WAS over – not with the public or the critics; we had fallen out of love with ourselves and each other.
RECORD LABEL: Red Eye
CORE BAND MEMBERS: Tex Perkins (vocals), Danny Rumour (guitar), Jim Elliot (drums), Ken Gormley (bass), James Cruikshank (keyboards/guitar).
THE HONEYMOON IS OVER
Nirvana’s arrival had marked the end of the old guard.
All those established ’80s bands had had their time and the music industry was noticing the old stuff wasn’t selling as well anymore and there was all this other fresh meat around.
The Cruel Sea were fortunate to have come along just before this revolution happened, and when it did grunge was what the record companies were trying to sell. The Cruel Sea were very definitely not grunge but we fitted in at a time when an independent band playing good music could actually pull crowds and sell records.
So in those early ’90s everything was coming together for The Cruel Sea. We’d been touring everywhere and steadily building up crowds. The line-up was settled and the band was playing great, with all the trappings of a group on the move – a manager, a record company, great album and show reviews and a fast-growing fan base.
With everything solidifying I’d started to see the potential of the band to do the mainstream thing. There were a few records around at the time – Lenny Kravitz’s Mama Said and Diesel’s Hepfidelity – that weren’t so much an influence on our music, but that had got me thinking that if records like that can get played on the radio then why the hell can’t the music of The Cruel Sea?
On a grassroots level every time we went out and played I could see the momentum picking up and the band getting bigger. I never really got thinking about whether I actually wanted real success. Or what success actually might mean to me. When you make music you naturally want people to hear it, and to my way of thinking at the time, the more the better.
But believe me, somewhere in that process there’s a line you cross. And when you cross that line and it goes to that next level, boy, you better be ready for it.
By the time we got around to recording The Honeymoon Is Over, we all kinda had the attitude that this album was gonna do the business. We as a band, along with Tony Cohen, were trying to get people to embrace what we were doing, rather than saying, ‘This is our sound, take it or leave it.’ We were making appealing music that we liked. So why shouldn’t others?
By now I’d worked with many different people and used many different writing techniques. But the most tried and true for me had proved to be adding words to existing music as I had from the outset with Cruel Sea instrumentals inspiring the sound of the words. Working that way, I heard the music with fresh ears and it spoke to me on an instant and emotional level.
Where does this music take me?
&
nbsp; What does this music want me to say?
How can I serve the song?
That’s the bottom line for me. Because I’m not someone with a burning need to SAY SOMETHING. I honestly don’t know what is going to be said when I start writing a song. I simply get a sniff and then chase that rabbit wherever it goes. For me, that’s the fun of it.
Writing songs can also be like writing jokes. I love a good punchline or one-liner.
The song ‘The Honeymoon is Over’ is all based around the lines:
Gonna send you back to wherever the hell it was you came
Then I’m gonna get this tattoo changed to another girl’s name
Before we went into the studio to record, I had met a bloke that had gone through this very dilemma. What to do with the old girlfriend’s name written on you after she’s not your girlfriend anymore and you now have a new girlfriend who wants HER name there instead?
I thought that scenario was pretty funny and so that was the beginning of that song. Before the music, even before the name of the song, that line was enough to give me a sniff.
TEX, DON & CHARLIE: YEARS OF THE ROOSTER
The first time I saw Charlie Owen play guitar was the night we met in Stockholm in 1991.
The Beasts Of Bourbon were playing a double bill with Rob Younger’s band The New Christs and Charlie was his current axe man.
I stood in the audience and watched this guy play incredibly soulful rock’n’roll guitar. It seemed like he was playing lead and rhythm guitar at the same time. I was impressed.
But I was foolish enough to walk back into the Beasts’ band room and say to my guitar-playing band mates, ‘I think he might be the best guitar player I’ve ever seen!’
I said this out of enthusiasm, not thinking of how my statement would go down and who I was saying it to.