Tommyland

by Tommy Lee

  Losing when I knew we could have won wasn’t the end of the insults of course. My record company at the time, MCA, pretty much went out of business. In the late nineties, all the labels were folded into massive conglomerates that control almost all the music that is put out today. It happened fast, people were fired, no one gave a fuck about the stuff or a lot of the artists, and when the lights were shut off at MCA, guess who got slapped with the lawyers’ bill in the summer of 2003? Yep. Whatever. I’m glad I had a cold bottle of Jäger on hand that morning. As a famous German philosopher* once said, “What does not kill me makes me stronger.”

  15 STATE OF SOCIETAL DEBT

  a.k.a.

  ANGER MANAGEMENT AND COMMUNITY SERVICE

  One condition of my release from jail and probation period was that I immediately enroll in anger management classes and complete 450 hours of community service. I’m not complaining about it, even though it wasn’t easy and at the time I thought it was more than I deserved, considering that my peers in anger management had committed seriously violent crimes and done damage to themselves and others that I couldn’t even dream of. Looking back now, that doesn’t matter: I learned a lot about myself and that’s all I care about.

  Now for those of you wondering about anger management, or those of you about to start anger management (What up, Jack White?*), I’ll tell you as much about it as I can. There’s a verbal bond you make when you join an anger management group that swears confidentiality over everything you and your group share. I can’t tell you what was said but I can tell you that the meetings were weekly and lasted two hours. Mine took place in downtown Los Angeles at 6 P.M. and I was convinced that they were scheduled then so that all the members were completely irritated and full of road rage by the time they walked in the door. For anyone who is lucky enough to have never been caught in rush-hour L.A. traffic, let me tell you, it’s like trying to swim laps in the La Brea tar pits.

  Here’s the drill: If you show up late, you don’t get credit for the class, which made that car ride even more of a test of your temper. Being late was great—you could leave if you wanted to, but that wasn’t going to help you at all. I was late a few times and I always stayed, hoping to get credit for good behavior. I never did, and that made me really fucking angry. Thank God I was learning how to deal with that.

  I had to log fifty-two hours of anger management in all. That would have taken me twenty-six weeks, which is roughly six and a half months if I weren’t constantly called out of town for work. With my schedule at the time, playing on the Mötley Greatest Hits tour, recording and touring with Methods of Mayhem, and then recording and touring my solo album, Never a Dull Moment, it took me three years to graduate. And that made me really, really fucking angry. Thank God I had learned enough about powerlessness by then to let it go. He had become my new best friend, Mr. Powerlessness. We still hang, we converse, we know each other well. And we’re sure not to spend too much time together—just enough.

  I also got another gift from the program: the inspiration for the song “Anger Management” on the Methods of Mayhem album. It’s still one of my favorites to play live because it’s really heavy and it’s therapy. I always feel better after I play it because it embodies the best way to get my anger out: doing something physical and expressing my anger constructively. It brings me back to the time when I couldn’t control myself and allows me to see all over again how I’ve changed. And that makes me really, really, really fucking happy! Woo-hoo!

  I finished my 450 hours of community service in 2003, completing all the conditions the court had demanded of me, and after almost five years, it ended the terms of my probation. And that made me really, really, really, really fucking happy! When you’re on probation, you must show up in court with your lawyer before the judge for progress reports every three months. I was surprised and glad that last day because after some legal maneuvering by my lawyer and support from Denise, my probation officer, the judge reduced my sentence from a felony to a misdemeanor. I’m glad he did, but I have to tell you that being a felon for a while has its benefits. Before my sentence was reduced I got a note in the mail requiring me to appear for jury duty. I mentioned it to my lawyer, Barbara Berkowitz, asking her the proper procedure for rescheduling something like that. My legal guru just laughed at me for a full minute and said, “Tommy. Sweetheart. Hello? You are a felon. You are not allowed to do jury duty. You know how they ask you if you have a record or if you have any prejudice against the legal system because you’ve been to jail or accused of a crime? Well, that’s you. And enjoy it, because that is the only break you get for being a felon.” Oh, well, I’m a felon no more. Still, I’ve got this strange feeling that when I show up for jury duty as a nonfelon, I’ll be one of the first ones to be booted out of the jury pool.

  Being a felon had that one perk, but community service had a lot of them. I did charity work like giving away clothes to the homeless in the wintertime and serving food at a few missions during the holidays, and I also worked with Magic Johnson at Christmastime giving away gifts to kids who wouldn’t have gotten any otherwise. We were at his movie theater in L.A., where there were movies for them to watch while we served them ice cream and popcorn. The appreciation in their eyes was amazing to me. I had helped adults who had fallen on hard times before and that was one thing, but witnessing the happiness in those children’s eyes was something else. They were truly, truly grateful and it warmed my heart. I also did some clerical work for CAAF—Children Affected by AIDS Foundation, the American Cancer Society, and the ALS Foundation. Picture me in an office. Let me tell you, I can input information into computers pretty well now, and I know my way around a photocopier—I made hundreds of leaflets and letters in addition to stuffing envelopes. The whole time I thought about Rob Schneider on Saturday Night Live, playing the Makin’ Copies guy.

  When I was on the Never a Dull Moment tour we did a show in South Korea, and while I was there I wanted to do something to give back to the incredible people in our armed forces who live their lives so far away from our country. I’m so grateful to those men and women out there protecting us that any way I can give back is the least I can do. I inquired about playing a show for them on the base, but they really weren’t set up for that. They decided that they’d just have me pay a visit instead. When we got over there though, the political climate in the area had grown dangerous and civilians weren’t allowed on the base.

  Since I couldn’t tour the facility in South Korea, the military diverted me to Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. It was incredible to be in such a historical place, where I was allowed to stay in the admirals’ quarters, and let me tell you, those big-cheese brass cats live large: Their rooms are like phat-ass hotel suites. During the few days I was there, I was taken on tours of different ships and nuclear submarines, and I met a bunch of really cool servicemen and women. I loved talking to them and learning about their day-to-day life. I was so happy that some of them had copies of my CDs, that I could sign stuff for them, and that what I do had touched them in some way. Seeing a lot of them standing there with my music in their hands, whether it was Mötley or my solo stuff, really moved me: My music had meant enough to them that they packed it in their bag before they left home. To physically see that something I was part of was also a part of them, whether it inspired them, reminded them of home, gave them strength to get through the day, or just pumped them up to be out there serving our country—fuck, that was an honor. It meant the world to me. In some strange way, I felt like I was a part of their experience and I was proud—I somehow felt like I was fighting with them.

  I’m lucky enough to say that I really saw the ins and outs of how a military base and all the ships in our navy work. There were certain rooms I wasn’t allowed to go in, but I saw the torpedoes being loaded onto the submarines, the control rooms—everything. I looked through the periscope and that thing is so powerful, you can see anything, in full detail, from miles away. Picture the biggest zoom lens you can buy as a consumer an
d you’re not even close. All I can say is that the control rooms look all green and full of flat screens like they do in the movies. I couldn’t believe that some of these people live underwater for six months at a time. There’s only so much room in a submarine, so the crew shares beds and they have to sleep in shifts. And they don’t sleep on what I’d call a cot—their beds are more like fold-down shelves with blankets. I can’t thank them enough for being out there doing what they do, so I’ll thank them again: Thank you! It was an overwhelming day: I was in awe of everyone I met and everything I saw.

  I was blown away by all these young kids, just out of high school, willing to give their lives to protect the rest of us. I met young married people who are both in the navy, stationed on different ships, and are apart for six months or more at a time and communicate through email—and can’t tell each other where they are because revealing their coordinates is a high security risk. At one of my progress reports, we informed the judge I had done that tour and I almost felt guilty when he counted it as a few days off my community service. To me, it didn’t feel like work at all; it was a privilege.

  I learned to feel the same way about the work I did with the Tree People. It’s an organization that replants trees and plants up in the mountains in the Hollywood Hills, as well as picks up trash in parks, sprinkles fertilizers, moves mulch, digs ditches, and does whatever it takes to maintain the greenery on public land. There were days when I didn’t want to go out and get all dirty, but by the time I got there, I’d always be really glad I was there. I love trees, so the chance to have quiet time in nature, working with my hands, caring for the earth, and giving back to the universe in some small way, felt right. I learned a lot about native foliage in California, pines, oaks, their root systems, and all the plants that make up the ecosystem. It did wonders for my mind. I told all my friends how great it was and sometimes people like TiLo, the rapper from Methods of Mayhem, or Gerald, my life coach, would come with me and put in four or five hours. Those hours outside, digging in the dirt, were essential to my healing and growth. It was meditation for me and I need that in my life. I wasn’t mad though, when my internal monologue was interrupted for the right reasons. We were usually working in parks where I stood a really good chance of spotting a hot girl walking her dog. Reflection is great, but nothing makes my day brighter than a hot girl strolling by in warm weather.

  16 STATE OF MUTUAL APPRECIATION

  a.k.a.

  TESTIFY! TOMMY TESTIMONIALS

  The following opinions were gathered from a wide array of famous and nonfamous individuals who have inspired me. Some know me personally, some don’t. Some will never know how they’ve touched my life through what they do.

  Thank you to those who testified on my behalf. And to those who didn’t, eat a hot bowl of dick. I’m going to list everyone whom I wanted to hear from, because all of you who aren’t in this business called entertainment need to know how much bullshit goes on. There are concentric circles of publicists, managers, agents, and little people with big egos who have nothing better to do than cock-block to feel important. We asked everyone on this list to offer between one and one hundred words that came to mind when they heard my name. The excuses you’ll read about why their client wasn’t available are retarded! It’s comedy to me, so I’ve included all of it, with my comments, for your reading pleasure.

  Trent Reznor: Tommy is the definition of a fucking rock star. Charismatic, charming, volatile, somebody you want to invite over but might stain your carpet, a great guy and a fucking great drummer.

  Pink: Tommy Lee is one of the fuckin’ hottest musicians left. He’s managed to stay above the tides; he’s an awesome fuckin’ drummer...and he’s hot.

  Check this out, people. Here is a direct transcript of a conversation between my writer, Anthony, and Mike Tyson’s secretary, who he said sounded like she had been enjoying the senior citizen discount at the movies for years now.

  Larry King: Tommy Lee is an American rock legend. He’s highly talented, always controversial, and there is no doubt you pay attention when he enters a room. The real question is, Would he bother using the door?

  Pharrell Williams of the Neptunes and N.E.R.D.: He’s a great drummer with a lot of style. He keeps his chops up in terms of technique and his style in drumming; his chops are very sharp. Also, “Pour Some Sugar on Me” can be played in the middle of any hip-hop party. I love that.

  MAN, THAT’S AWESOME THAT PHARRELL PAID RESPECT. I’VE ALWAYS LOVED HIS SHIT, EVER SINCE “WHEN DOVES CRY.”

  OH, WAIT, MY BAD.

  PHARRELL IS THAT PRODUCER GUY FROM ATLANTA WHO DATES JANET JACKSON.

  THE LITTLE GUY, RIGHT? DISCOVERED KRIS KROSS. NICE.

  THANKS, BRO.

  I’d like to apologize for meeting Steve-O from Jackass when he was an impressionable eleven-year-old. When I see footage of him snorting wasabi, blowing chunks, or regurgitating a goldfish, I feel guilty and somewhat responsible for creating this monster. Without further ado, here’s Steve-O:

  HOW TO MEET YOUR FAVORITE ROCK STARS

  by Steve-O

  I was eleven when I got my first Mötley Crüe album and it seems like, ever since then, I’ve had a major fascination with “sex, drugs, and rock-and-roll.” When I was twelve, I had my walls covered strictly with Mötley Crüe posters and I devoted art projects at school to re-creating Mötley Crüe logos. I was thirteen when the Crüe came to my town (Toronto at the time) on the Girls, Girls, Girls tour, and, the day before the concert at Maple Leaf Gardens, I saw on the news that the band was in town and had gotten into some sort of trouble. It immediately occurred to me that they must be staying in a hotel, since the concert wasn’t until the next day. I decided to find out what hotel they were at. I figured that the band members wouldn’t check in under their own names (assumed or given) and guessed that they would check in under the name of their manager. A check of every album sleeve revealed only one name for their manager and no separate names for a tour manager. The name was Doc McGhee and, as soon as I knew that, I began to call every hotel in the yellow pages, starting from the very top of the list. My mom was in the kitchen, where I sat on the phone, and she was complaining that I was tying up the phone line too long. My father was watching a football game in the living room, but he had never seen his son so motivated and committed to accomplish anything, so he told my mom to back off and let me continue my mission. I sat there calling hotels for, literally, hours. It turned out to be a number at the bottom of the pages-long list that patched me through. This guy answered the phone and I asked if he was Doc McGhee. He told me that he was Doc’s brother, Scott, and before he could say anything else I blurted out, “As in Mötley Crüe!?!” Slightly frustrated, Scott asked me how I got the number. I explained to him what I had done, I truly sounded like a little girl on the phone, being that I hadn’t even hit puberty yet. When I got done telling Scott what I did, he told me that the Crüe had taken a bus to Ottawa for that night’s show and that he was impressed by my initiative. About the Maple Leaf Gardens show, he asked, “How’d you like it if I put your name on the list for a couple backstage passes and tickets? I can get you in the fifth row.” There’s no explaining how stoked I was at that point. That was October 24, 1987.

  My dad wouldn’t normally have been so proud to take me to a heavy metal concert, but for the passion of my efforts that got us there, he really was and that made me feel great. When we got there, we waited in line with all these photographers and reporters for our passes—it was awesome. Sure enough, I was on the list and we got everything Scott had promised. The concert was rad. I especially liked the beginning of the drum solo with the cool drum kit, when Tommy Lee’s beats were timed with Nikki Sixx’s gulps of Jack Daniel’s. Nikki drank like fuckin’ half the bottle and poured the other half on the crowd; it was so rad.

  After the encore, the arena emptied quickly, but I wasn’t going anywhere. My dad and I had to wait for a while to be allowed backstage but when we were, Nikki Sixx was one of the f
irst people I saw. Maybe they told him there was an extra stoked kid he should talk to, because it seemed like he came straight to me. I talked to him for a minute, got a couple of autographs, and my dad took a picture of us. Then I saw Tommy Lee and he seemed as stoked as I was, he hung out with me for a while, even after signing autographs and taking a photo. It was the best. We hung out with Scott McGhee too. My dad and I were actually the last people to leave. Vince Neil walked out of a private room and right past us, without a word, right before we left.

  The next day I got sent home from school to change my Mötley Crüe concert shirt; I was proud of that. I was proud of everything about meeting Mötley Crüe. There wasn’t anything I really wanted to ask or say to them, but meeting them changed my life forever. It sounds gay, but meeting Mötley Crüe taught me that I can accomplish anything I set my mind to. It doesn’t matter what you want, it simply matters how fuckin’ bad you want it and that you never stop going for it until you have it.

  Tommy,

  Thanks for asking me to give a testimonial for your book. We met in 1987 and it changed my life forever. I always say, “Mötley Crüe isn’t a sound, it’s an attitude.” You were my hero because you behaved horribly badly, not because you’re a great drummer. One night, when I was out on bail and facing eight years in prison, I was doing tons of cocaine, alone, and I amused myself by trying to track you down again. I posted a message on your message board or something and you wound up writing back to me. That was really fucking cool too. You could honestly say that I was contacting you for advice on my felony charges, but really I just wanted to get my mind off of them. You wrote me back and told me, “Dude, you’re in almost as much trouble as I’ve been in.” And that was the most rad email ever. I wrote you back with, “I don’t know if that makes me feel better, or worse, but thanks man!” Since then, every time either of us has done something really funny, we’ve emailed each other about it and that’s really rad too. That’s about all I can give testimony about—let’s get off our asses and film some legendary shit together so we can write more cool shit. Thanks bro,