A Stray Cat Struts

by Slim Jim Phantom

  From 1979 to 1985, I can never remember a serious band meeting type of discussion in the Stray Cats. When we reformed in 1988, we had a few talks, but nothing too serious. It’s a real New York trait to not talk about anything personally uncomfortable or serious. It spans all types of people and I think is a regional phenomenon. The eight-hundred-pound gorilla is a common guest at many dinner tables in New York. Reforming seemed like the obvious thing to do, so we did. The three of us are still, at the end of the day, instinctual guys, the others even more so than I am. I was thrilled, and it was one of those rare times in life when you really know your life choice is the correct one in that exact moment. There was no doubt for me in this instance. It all happened when we started communicating a little, and we reunited without much fanfare or “I love you, man” moments. I think some of our best work was in this time period. Any live performance that I happen upon is blazing and musically a bit more sophisticated than the performances from the early 1980s. We made a groundbreaking album with Blast Off. Dave Edmunds was back in the producer’s chair. It holds up against anything today. We were upset when it didn’t do better in the charts. We expected to pick up right where we had left off. We left EMI and did two more albums without the chart or radio success we were looking for. Nile Rodgers, who I became close with, produced one. It was during the making of this record that I quit drinking. The live shows were always strong, and in Europe we did big festivals.

  I find the other two guys to be more similar than either of them would like to admit. They are both concerned mainly with having their own names on the marquee. Besides the Cats, neither of them has ever been in an equal band situation. I’ve always preferred the band/gang mentality; maybe it’s part of being the drummer. Most drummer guys I know have similar feelings. I’m not an elevated Zen guy. I’m still the “youthful and hotheaded” guy that Harry Dean told me I was. I’ve acquired more calm along the way, but it’s still New York peeled nerve right below the surface. It may be deeper now, but it’s still there. I did quit drinking and drugging about twenty-five years ago. There was no spectacular last flameout; I just hit the wall and couldn’t do it anymore. Ten years of constant partying and maintaining a buzz had worn me down.

  When I bottomed out, I knew it; it was very clear, and it wasn’t that hard to continue not drinking after the initial first month or so. Now I don’t know another way of life. I’ve accidentally developed some life skills and don’t get wound up in traffic. Sometimes I wonder how I got along. I did have my adventures in partying and kept up with the best, but I am ultimately happy that I got out when I did. I could not have done the things I’ve done since if I had continued drinking. I sometimes think I wouldn’t have made it to thirty, but I had my fun and got out with no lasting mental or physical damage.

  With no intended irony, I had my last drink, by myself, at On the Rocks in September 1990. In one last drunken act of choreography, I fell down the stairs, hit the door handle on the way down, and rolled into the street. The next day, I didn’t drink. I called a rock-and-roll buddy who I remembered didn’t drink and still seemed to have fun. I stopped going to bars and, after a month or so, knew I couldn’t do it again. My life changed for the better. I have experienced every type of setback in sobriety, but I do believe that if I continued the way I was going, I wouldn’t have been able to handle any of it. Regular, everyday life is hard enough, as it is for everyone I know. There have been breakups with bands and girls, financial highs and lows, broken bones, and broken hearts, but these too will pass. There is the chance of not even making it that far. It doesn’t have to be a health issue. Drinking and drugging puts you in strange places and situations that you’d not normally be in. You can only roll the dice so many times before you crap out. I would’ve walked in front of a bus or driven off the side of Mulholland Drive or slipped in the shower. A few partying acquaintances fell by the wayside, but I’m still friends with 99 percent of the people that I was friends with when I drank, plus a few new ones; a true pal is a true pal.

  The Stray Cats have gotten back together a few times and have had real positive reactions to the gigs—a 2004 European tour that saw us sell out Brixton Academy in London twice, the Zénith in Paris, the Heineken Music Hall in Amsterdam, and the Helsinki Ice Hall in Finland, where we set the single-night house record for merchandise sold. I saw these as triumphant returns to the world capitals that we had played and conquered in the early 1980s. Maybe now we could get paid and not sweat the small stuff. We could enjoy a more relaxed time with just a great show to be concerned with. In the past, we had TV and radio station appearances on the day of the show, harder travel, and constant partying to worry about. We really did cause a stir both onstage and offstage in these places.

  A USA tour in 2007 with ZZ Top and the Pretenders was the best summer anyone could remember. Hootenanny in LA in 2003 was an affirming show, as we headlined the biggest rockabilly-themed festival at the time in the USA. TJ, Madison, and the other Stray Cat kids were all at these shows, and it was great seeing them all grown up and hanging out together on the side of the stage during the gigs. This whole event had sprung up around the scene we had created. An oversold Orange County Fair in 2009 was a memorable one for the band and fans. This was the last time we played a show in California. I thought a sold-out tour of Australia in 2010 was the beginning of a more frequent reunion that would happen when the offers and everyone’s schedules matched. I never thought we were going to make a new record or start a third part of our career; I know that ship has sailed, but I did think we could take the whole thing out every few years. There is a brand-new generation of rockabilly fans, and we are still the best. A new counterculture has blossomed in our absence from regular touring. There is a big hot-rod, 1950s-based lifestyle scene out there on every continent. Other bands and promoters have stepped in to fill the gap, and a few do very well at it. I firmly believe the Cats have always been and continue to be the main inspiration and best representation of this movement. We did the heavy lifting and made it safe to bring this music and style back into the mainstream. Now it should be easier to benefit from all that hard work, but that has not been the case. We have still been unable to fully commit to a new project.

  It’s come close a couple of times. The 2004 Rumble in Brixton is a perfect concert captured on film. We recorded one new studio song for the release of the DVD. We didn’t promote it enough or give it a fair shake. I was into going for it. There are many reasons we didn’t that are unimportant. I think it’s always there if we want it. Like the original artists we looked up to and were influenced by, we have become timeless. The Stray Cats name, logo, and legend are strong. No other rockabilly band from the last forty years has become a household name.

  The other two do not get along, and there is no communication between them. I have always been in the unenviable position of being close to each of them individually and always trying to be the peacemaker. I think now, more than ever, the need to be friends with someone in your band is unnecessary. We have traveled separately for a long time, and besides doing the gig, we don’t see a lot of one another, anyway. There has never been a problem on the stage, and at this point, everybody in the audience loves it, and we have nothing left to prove. There is precedent with many other acts, and from my experience, no band that stays together goes to lunch or hangs out. There is the common bond of the history and legacy of the band; I think that should be enough. Anything else is personal, and at this advancing stage of my golden years, personalities do not enter into it. We should be reaping a little of what we sowed thirty-five years ago. I think the hard part was finished a long time ago. One member = one vote; this is just my feeling. Maybe someday we’ll get three out of three votes and do something fun and important. I hope so—that’s my vote.

  23

  Full Circle

  Looking up, I noticed I was late. The lyric from the song was stuck in my head. I had just gotten out of the shower; Christy and I were toweling off. We had a gig with Hea
d Cat at the Roxy that night, and the sound check was looming. I had to pack a little bag and get out of the house. Christy had to get ready, and I had learned a long time ago that you cannot rush a woman getting ready. Another line from the same song was telling me that I still had to drag a comb across my head. TJ was helping me, but I was bringing the drums in my car. Trying to save a few bucks on the cartage of the gear seemed like a good idea at the time. Luckily, I had loaded up my car in the morning.

  I still had an hour of Game Show Network watching with Harry Dean ahead of me. I had it all timed out. I would get ready while keeping an eye on the TV in the mirror. I could do it all over the speakerphone and use the hair dryer only during the commercials. Harry would not appreciate anything less than my undivided attention during Chain Reaction. The fallout for nonparticipation on a weekday while I was technically in town was not worth it. I operate well in a slight state of chaos and am able to multitask, so I can handle it. I do understand that the situation is self-imposed, but at this point in life, this wackiness is my reality. Of course, I can just say no to anything at any time, but it’s easier to just go along with my own quirky life than to try to change the details. I get a legitimate pass from Harry Dean if I’m actually out of town. The choice between being late for the sound check and facing Lemmy or ducking out early and missing a game show session and dealing with Harry Dean is a no-win situation. The gig is, of course, more important, but I try to accommodate everyone, and I’m still flattered that these are my biggest problems.

  What I really wanted to do most was relax a little after shower time, but you can’t have everything. I had already not gone on my daily hike in Franklin Canyon with Steve Jones, Billy Duffy, and Jimmy Ashhurst. They were very understanding. My little dog is our de facto mascot. He was disappointed. The daily midmorning constitutional through the hills is the highlight of his day. Being a vintage TV enthusiast (addict) with thousands of hours of my life invested (wasted) in reruns, I’m still thrilled every day to walk along the pond and trail where the intro for The Andy Griffith Show was filmed. It never gets old for me, and hiking it with a few true pals whose records and gigs I still enjoy makes it even better. A good lunch in Bev Hills or WeHo and back home in time for the Game Show Network with Harry Dean, which takes me right up until it’s time to tune into MLB.com for the Yankees games during baseball season. Every now and then, I need to go and play the drums to keep this idyllic lifestyle going. One hundred years later, doing it with Lemmy at the Roxy was a pretty cool, truly fun, street-credible, and legit way to pay the bills for a month. If Division Avenue and Merrick Road in Massapequa were the crossroads and the devil had asked me to sign on the dotted line, telling me that in exchange for my eternal soul, this would be my life in rock and roll, I would have signed right then and there. I have no regrets. I would’ve liked a little bit more money, but it wouldn’t really change anything. I don’t believe in that hocus-pocus stuff, anyway.

  The problem with local shows is that it’s hard to be in the on-the-road mode. When I’m on the road, it’s a little easier to tune out everyday life and concentrate on the show. Anyone in a band will tell you the same thing. There are always a few scattered guests in every town, but when you’re playing where you live, it’s usually the deep gang members that come to the shows. My real pals don’t insist on having their hands held, but I put a little pressure on myself to make sure that everyone is taken care of as well as can be in the situation I’m in. TJ is very helpful with this. He’s grown up in this life and knows the drill. I moved off Sunset Strip a few years ago, and for those who know LA, just a few miles at the wrong time of day can mean an hour’s worth of extra driving. I’m in Beverly Glen now; we could’ve walked to the Roxy in the past, but now, even knowing a few shortcuts, it’s a pain-in-the-ass drive if you leave ten minutes past the optimum time. So I was late to the sound check.

  “Slim, can you please give me the full hour today?” implored Harry Dean.

  “I’ll try, Harry, but I’ve got this gig at the Roxy tonight with Lemmy. I have to get to the sound check; it’s just today,” I harriedly answered.

  “Lemmy? Who’s that? Anyhow, the Roxy is only ten minutes away!”

  I didn’t want to get into the whole thing of explaining Lemmy to the one guy in the world who doesn’t know who he is, and it’s true that the Roxy is only a ten-minute drive, if you don’t leave Beverly Glen at 4:00 P.M. I just did the whole hour over the speakerphone while frantically getting ready.

  We went down Deep Canyon to Benedict, cut through on Lexington, a few blocks on Sunset, and a quick left onto Foothill to get up to Doheny Road. No matter what, between 4:00 and 7:00 P.M., when you run back onto Sunset at Doheny Road by the old Hamburger Hamlet, it takes fifteen minutes to go the block and a half east to the Roxy. I got a few calls from TJ that Lemmy was upset that I was late. He still lives across the street. I know I’m in the wrong, but if it comes down to it, my excuse is ironclad. I’ve gained calm in traffic over the years, and I know it’s only a sound check and that the gig is four hours away, but a little rock-and-roll anxiety still lingers in my bones. It’s ingrained early in a musician’s life that being late for the gig is the worst of all behavior. The Cats rarely, if ever, did a sound check. I know that Lemmy is old-school rock and roll. Even if it’s just a quick line check, he likes doing it, and this was a real gig. Christy is a very chilled California girl and is a perfect counterbalance for my naturally slightly stressed New York state of mind. I’ve done a hundred sound checks with Lemmy, and it’s always the same. Watch the excellent documentary done by Wes Orshoski about Lemmy’s life and you’ll see a classic Motörhead sound check scene. It’s the same with Head Cat. It takes loud to a new level, and he inevitably tells the soundman to take out all the bass of the lead vocal. We run a song, maybe half of a second one, and we’re done. It’s timed out perfectly to make sure that I can’t go back home and will have to spend three hours hanging around the dressing room at the Roxy.

  We go next door to the Rainbow, where we’ll hang out. Lemmy will sit in the back of the outside bar, smoke, and play the video games. I’ll say hello to everybody, sit with TJ and Christy, and have my one thousandth bowl of minestrone soup. I’m grateful for the gig. At that point in his career, Lemmy didn’t need to do club gigs with me, but he loved rockabilly music and knew these songs inside out. We got a special sound when we mixed his style of bass playing with my drumming, and when you added Danny B’s ace guitar playing and a long, strong friendship, a certain cool sound happened when we played together. We tried to find a few good gigs every year and make them special events. We always talked about doing more and about doing another album. Every musician also welcomes a little bit of extra bread. Sadly, late last year, Lem hopped the bus to the great gig in the sky. He was the last of a breed. I’m happy that I knew the guy the way I did.

  The gig sold out and went off without a hitch. There is a type of rockabilly magic that happens when talented, big-personality guys do the music they really love. I have been fortunate in that I’ve had the chance to play this music my whole life. The cats like Lemmy, who are well known for doing other types of music, really embraced the chance to do the old rockabilly numbers.

  Being the drummer, I’m always faced with the reality of the “who else” question. Everybody loves me, but they want to know who else I’m bringing along to the gig. I’ve been lucky with the who else, but it’s tough to constantly deal with it, and I become frustrated. Starting with Brian and Lee, I’ve continued to meet, become friends with, and work side by side as equals with some of the finest musicians and characters in our business, so necessity is the mother of invention in my case. Whether it’s Lemmy or Captain Sensible, Earl Slick or Glen Matlock in a band situation, and George Harrison or Carl Perkins on very special occasions, I’m genuinely honored.

  Steve Jones came to the gig, and I appreciated him going out because I knew he’d rather have been home watching oldies TV. True pal, fellow Irish New Yorker, deep
gang member, and House of Pain founder Danny O’Connor was there, too. Billy and Jimmy were in the audience. We missed hike club that day, but we got together at my gig. I was flattered by these cats coming to my gig.

  I went with Christy and TJ to On the Roxy after the show, and we hung out with a few friends. I was a little quiet as I wondered to myself if this was a full-circle moment or a stuck-in-a-rut, never-moved-ahead moment. I had feelings that were beyond the standard déjà vu moment. I ultimately decided I was grateful to be surrounded by my son and a superhot girlfriend, after having played a sold-out show of the music I love with a rock star pal. Besides wishing that the Stray Cats were playing the next night at the Palladium, I couldn’t think of a better situation. Hopefully, that will happen again, but I’m satisfied with what we’ve achieved, the legacy we’ll leave, and the fact that it’s allowed me to live this charmed life.

  At the risk of being psychoanalyzed, I needed to do something that was just mine. The stories involve other people, but I don’t know of anyone else who has assembled the same cast. Some of these adventures happened a long time ago, and sometimes it feels like it happened to someone else. I’m too old now to be consciously cool, to be cool on purpose; I’ve got to hope enough of it has rubbed off on me and I can cruise, a little bit easier, into the sunset. These are the only clothes I have.

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to Dana Newman, Stevie Salas, Eric Gardner, Glen Matlock, Bill Wyman, Ian Kilmister (RIP), Dickie Harrell, Charles Connor, Captain Sensible, Fred Armisen, Steve Jones, Paul Cook, Linda Ramone, Darrel Higham, Harry Dean Stanton, Jello Biafra, Gary Schwindt, Dixon Mathews, Peter Golding, Lloyd Johnson, Danny O’Conner, Jim McSorley, Mike and Jules Peters, James Chippendale, Stash, Jimmy Ashhurst, Frankie Madeloni, Bernard Fowler, Charley Drayton, Glenn Tilbrook, Nick Harper, Cy Curnin, Jerry Schilling, Carmine Appice, Chris Cheney, Chuck Labella, Clem Burke, Danger Ehren, Billy Duffy, Shannon Foley Henn, Dizzy Reed, James and Maureen McDonnell, Doris Tyler, Duff McKagan, Ed Begley, Jr., Elliot Easton, Eric Dover, Faith Cowling, Garrie Renucci, Vincent Gallo, Gary Haber (RIP), Gerry Harrington (RIP), Gilby Clarke, Glenn Palmer, James Fearnley, Jamie Evenstad, Bobby Sands, Mim Scala, Jamie James, Jeffrey Baxter, Jeff Stein, Jody Carson, Phil Carson, Matt Sorum, Michael Des Barres, Michael Lustig, Chris Monk, Andy Halligan, Mark Halligan, Dave Phillips, Brent Barnett, Jamie Henry, Ben Davies, Joe Testa, Kirsten Matt, Mick Jones, Topper Headon, Muddy Stardust, Murphy, Nick Curran (RIP), Danny B. Harvey, Chrissie Hynde, Martin Chambers, Pete Farndon (RIP), James Honeyman-Scott (RIP), Peter Stormare, Phil Bennett, Phil Doran, Bob Rech, Anthony Bettencourt, Kim Graham, Chris Schiflett, Rami Jaffe, Jack Gray, Rhoda Neal, Stiv Bators (RIP), Rob Kirkpatrick, Steve Bonge, Jeanne Marie Giulianotti, Robert Matheu, Robin Wilson, Julien Temple, Ronnie Starrantino, Ryan Roxie, Spider Stacey, Stefan Adika, Stanley and Naomi Drucker, Andy Gershon, Boz Boorer, Terrence McDonnell, Josh Richman, Steve Luna, Virginia Karras, Steve Mona, Stuart Ross, Supla, Sonny Burgess, Robert Plant, James Rippetoe, Steve Strange (RIP), Michael Siddons-Corby, Wanda Jackson, Wendell Goodman, Susan Wiesner, Tayloe Emery, Franklin Canyon Hike Club, Jeff Porcaro (RIP), Teddy Zigzag, Tim Polecat, Tim Medvetz, Todd Singerman, Twiggy Ramirez, Lynn Swanson, Vic Firth (RIP), Fred and Dinah Gretsch, Wende Valentine, Jake Norton, Smutty Smith, Gerry Laffy, Dave Edmunds, Willie Nile, Victoria Sellers, Nicholai Adler, Lisa Socransky-Austin, Joe Sib, Tony Sales, Mark Fowler, Billy Zoom, Lee Rocker, Brian Setzer, Claudine Martinet-Riley, Ian McLagan (RIP), Ronnie Lane (RIP), Gavin Cochrane, Bobby Startup, Derrick Unwin, Joel Brun, Bob Roberts, Dennis Cockell, Steve Ferrone, Quentin Tarantino, Michael Madsen, Scotty Albenesius, Peter Joseph, Melanie Fried, Christy D’Agostini, Karlyn Hixson, and everyone at Thomas Dunne Books.