“We’ll make you a great deal, the owner is anxious to get a tenant in there.” the agent stated when I phoned.
I was interested. While still maintaining contact with many of the bands and assorted music business connections that I had previously developed, it seemed as though it would be relatively easy to bring business back into the place, probably with nothing more than a few phone calls.
Upon inspection of the property with the agent it was apparent that the place had become very run-down while sitting vacant, but that wasn’t enough to scare me off. Fixer-upper projects were my specialty, be it a piece of real estate or a rock band. I signed a lease on the spot.
Waking up in a cold sweat at three-am the next morning wondering just what the hell I’d gotten myself into, I realized that ‘I’m back in the music business.’ And just when things were going well…..
The venture initially seemed to come together quickly. I assigned a couple of carpenters from the house project to rebuild the stages and construct sound-proof doors in the various studios. A custom pay phone system was installed in each room, rigged with a strobe light that would flash when a call was incoming and could not be heard over the volume by the rehearsing band. My neighbor, Nate Greenberg was the manager of the then recently remodeled Shrine Auditorium in downtown Los Angeles and offered to donate their older trusses and par can lighting systems that had been replaced. “They’re just sitting there collecting dust, come pick them up, we’ll have to pay to have them hauled off anyway…”
The last missing pieces of the puzzle were the sound systems. I didn’t want something just adequate; I wanted the best in town. That too was luckily resolved one day when a gentleman who had heard the news about the studio being re-opened dropped in and offered to supply powerful sound systems for a small hourly fee to be charged only when the rooms were booked. It was a perfect deal, as were his systems. Large Cervin-Vega in-board and out-board speaker cabinets, power amps and mixing boards along with plenty of Shure microphones and stands.
Other arrangements were made to equip the lounge area with video games, pinball machines and a pool table.
Proudly, within only a month or so after taking the place over and lots of hard work, the newly named ‘Shamrock Studios’ had come together successfully and was almost ready to launch.
I heard a familiar voice from down the hall. “Michael, I always knew that you had the makings of a great slumlord!” Turning around, I saw Vince from S.I.N. walking through the front entrance, grinning.
“Vince. Where the hell have you been, man?” I had lost contact with him for a period and Doria had learned through Dana about the studio project. “Yeah, I know the neighborhood sucks, but check this place out; it’s state of the art.”
After a brief tour, Vince agreed. “You need some help around here Mike? I work cheap.”
That was a welcome offer. Not only would it be fun to work with Vince, but the one factor I had neglected to address was the actual staffing of the place. We got busy right away designing flyers and placing ads in the local music press. Vince asked me if he could convert an unused upstairs studio into a make-shift apartment. With the expensive equipment we now had on the premises I readily agreed, thinking that it would be a good idea to have someone living there full time. S.I.N, who by this time had changed their name to Jag Wire due to a successful trademark lawsuit brought by former bassist Rik Foxx, sat up shop and began nightly rehearsals.
Everything was working perfectly except for one minor detail… Save for a two day stage rental for a porno film casting call and a regular daily booking for a top-40 band that literary played the lounge at the airport Holiday Inn each night, we had no business.
Hours became days and days become weeks and despite our best promotional efforts, no sound stage bookings were coming in. With the ongoing rent, utilities and other overhead costs we were dying a slow and agonizing financial death.
“Vince, what the hell can we do to bring some money into this place?” I asked one day. Out of desperation, I had briefly thought about some sort of a drug operation, but remembering my first and last experience in jail with Bob over the poster incident, I quickly dismissed that stroke of genius.
Vince was surprisingly upbeat. “Well, there is this one thing that I’ve thought about, but I’m not sure you’ll like it.”
“Buddy, if it’s only a misdemeanor and not a felony, I’m all ears.”
“It’s only a misdemeanor. I think. Especially if we keep the minors out.”
“Are you talking about turning the place into a whore-house? I’ve thought about that already, Vince.”
“Sort of. Well not quite. Hear me out… You’ve heard about those all night after-hour parties the punk bands have been throwing in warehouses downtown?”
“Yeah, I’ve heard something about them. Raves they’re called right? I’m listening.”
“Michael, there’s no reason that we can’t do the same thing here, only we’ll do it with metal and bring in the Strip crowd. I’ve got it all figured out, we’ll open at midnight and charge a ten dollar ‘donation’ at the door. Then, we’ll give away all the beer and wine they can handle, that way we can’t be charged with selling alcohol without a license. Besides, at that time of the morning they’ll already be so fucked up from being at other clubs earlier that they can’t possibly drink all that much. We’ll close at six am and use the big sound system to power music to the dance floor that we can build in the rear lobby. All recorded shit, nothing live. Think of the cash we could bring in. Only three-hundred a people a night and we’ve got $3000, less a few hundred for some cheap booze. And, we can do it every Friday and Saturday. That’s $6000 a week, partner.”
“OK, Vince, so far I’m interested. You’ve obviously put a lot of thought into this, but what about the legal liabilities? I can think of a half dozen laws we would be breaking off the top of my head.”
Indeed he had put time into developing the plan. “If anyone says anything, it’s not an illegal night club it’s just a promotional party to generate business for the rehearsal studio. Any cop who would walk in would immediately see the long haired guys that’ll be here and realize it’s just a bunch of musicians getting drunk and partying, no real law against that. Besides, when was the last time you ever saw a policeman in this neighborhood? The L.A.P.D is scared shitless to come around here.”
“That’s true Vince, but what if the neighbors complain?”
“What neighbors? There’s not a green card within miles. Everybody’s an illegal alien and they’re sure as hell not gonna call the cops about some late night noise. ”
He was making a lot of sense. All greed aside, it wasn’t a terribly bad idea at all. Yet I still had some questions.
“If, and I’m just saying if we were to go forward, how do you suggest we promote this? We haven’t exactly set the world on fire with the stage rental promotions.”
“Just to get it started we’ll do the first night for free, no admission and I’ll pay for the booze. We’re booked into the Troubadour in a couple of weeks. It’s a Saturday night and the show will be packed, all we have to do is invite everyone in the audience back here and the word will get around town that this is the place to party after-hours. Trust me.”
I couldn’t argue with Vince’s logic what-so-ever and the idea of operating a profitable underground nightclub appealed to my renegade instincts. I didn’t have to think about it very long and but had only one condition.
“You know that guy Lyle that works security at the Troubadour, the big biker?”
“Sure, I know Lyle fairly well.”
“Vince, if you can talk Lyle into working the door and handling security for us, I say we do it.
Late that evening I heard the roar of a Harley Davidson outside the gates. I knew that Vince must had paid a visit to the Troubadour and sure enough, it was an enthusiastic Lyle who simply asked “When do we start?” as he walked into the studio office.
The Shamrock After-Hours Nig
htclub was now in business.
The task of building a crude dance floor in the large open area began immediately, as did construction of several dozen small cocktail tables which Vince topped off with floor length table-cloths he had bought at a downtown restaurant supply house. I saw a problem with that.
“They’re too long, man. We’ll need to shorten them otherwise we’re just inviting blow-jobs and all sorts of other shit underneath the tables.
“Well that’s the idea, Mike.”
I heard what he was saying. “Yeah, we want our customers to have fun here. Leave’em long.”
Opening night was beyond impressive. Despite a somewhat slow start earlier in the evening, by 1am after the S.I.N.-Troubadour show was over we were packed wall to wall and there was a growing line waiting outside to enter. Vince had predicted correctly, Shamrock After-Hours was a success. Everyone there was given an invitation to return the following Friday and Saturday nights, as they did en masse, along with many new faces as the word of mouth spread through Hollywood about the new ‘pleasure dome.’
As the weeks went by and the crowds kept growing, it was a great feeling not having to hide from the landlord or screen calls to avoid other creditors as I was finally able to pay the rent and expenses on time. Of course, hiding the club itself from the Police was always a concern and although we somehow managed to do it successfully, we agreed to keep an emergency cash fund in the office safe to be used to bail our asses out of jail in the event of a raid.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“The fucking wiring in this place sucks shit. Feed me some more wire Billy!”
I was in the filthy overhead crawl space of the studio, trying to avoid the rat turds, (as well as the rats) attempting to patch up an electrical circuit that had been fried from the previous weekends club-night overuse of the dance floor sound system. Given the condition of the cables, I was surprised the place was still standing and not in smoldering ashes.
Then I was paged.... “Hey Mike!” It was Joey yelling from down below.
“What's up man?”
“Some dude's here to see you and wants to talk to you about rehearsal space.” Considering the continuing sorry state of the studio's sound stage rental business, I was more than happy to sliver my way through the needles and heroin-emptied balloons that had somehow (in all fairness, prior to Shamrock) been deposited in the attic to hopefully sell someone on our rehearsal paradise.
Joey met me at the bottom of the ladder. “He's waiting in your office.”
“Cool, thanks Joe.”
“Uhhh Mike,” He tapped me on the shoulder as I turned. “By the way, I really need to talk to you about something later, it's real important.”
“Sure, no problem, let me see what this guy wants and then we'll talk.”
Walking into the office, a young guy with long curly blonde hair was seated in front of the desk. “Hi, I'm Mike, I hear you need some rehearsal space?”
Shaking hands, he introduced himself as Steve. “I've heard about you, you're the Mötley Crüe guy aren't you?” My answer was the stock, “Yeah, but that's a long story.”
“Cool studio you got here man. I was at last Saturday’s party.” Smiling, he continued... “Got laid in the restroom, too.”
I had to ask “Our restroom? This one?” thinking this dude must’ve been really horny to venture into that toxic cesspool, no matter how hot the babe was.
“Yeah, I was pretty wasted.” He went on to tell me that he was a drummer and his neighbors were complaining about him practicing in the apartment and that the landlord was threatening to evict him.
“And... I haven't paid rent in three months either, do you happen to know if he can throw me out?”
I didn't have to call upon my real-estate background for the answer to that one.
“Well, yeah he can throw you out.”
“Mike, I wanted to ask you something. Do you need some help around here? I was wondering if I could do some chores in exchange for rehearsal space when one of the studios is empty. Even 3 o’clock in the morning, doesn't matter to me.”
I told him that 3 AM was actually one of our busiest studio rental times on non-club nights. “Early afternoon would probably be best.”
The offer of some additional manpower came at a good time. Vince, Joey and Billy were a great help around the place and very dedicated, but they were scheduled to go into the studio in a few days to start work on S.I.N.s first full- length self-produced album, and I didn't have the cash to actually hire replacements.
“OK, that makes sense. We have a deal. Bring your drums down and make yourself at home.”
Steve grinned from ear to ear. “Thanks man! I'll do anything around here, sweep floors, and take out trash, whatever.”
I thought I'd test him…. “Well, if you're brave enough you can start with the restroom. I think you know where to find it” I said with an evil grin.
He didn't hesitate. “Where's the mop?”
I choked back a laugh. “Uhh... we don't really have a mop, we generally just use the fire hose.”
“No problem, I'll do it right now.” This Steve guy did have a great attitude.
I was curious... “By the way, what's your last name?”
“Adler.”
“Adler?” I asked if he was related to Lou Adler, one of the Rainbow/Roxy/Whiskey owners.
“I wish!”
“Yeah, me too. Are you in a band Steve?”
“Yeah, we're playing the Troubadour in a couple of weeks. You should come down and check us out. We’re opening for Kix.”
“What's your bands name?”
“Hollywood Rose.”
Another adventure was about to begin.
“Mike, can I please talk to you now?” Joey seemed visibly upset when he walked through the office door, beer in hand. Of all the alcohol most of us consumed there, it was the first time I'd seen him drink during that early in the morning.
“Sure, but can you grab me a cold beer out of the fridge first? I hate to see you drink alone.”
As I popped open the first of the day, I invited Joey to have a seat at my desk.
“Mike aren't you a lawyer?”
I laughed sarcastically. “If I were a lawyer would I be here running this shit-hole? But, I know that's a popular rumor around town. I did work for a law firm for eight years, but in their real estate division, not the legal end. Why, what's up?”
“It's RATT. Out of the Cellar just went platinum. Percy and Crosby are refusing to pay me my royalties for Wanted Man and it’s on the Weird Science movie soundtrack. I want to sue the bastards. It's a hell of a lot of money Mike and I'm fucking broke.”
I was about to say ‘join the club’ but upon seeing the tears welling up in his eyes, I knew it wasn't a good time for any kind of a smart-ass remark.
“Well, any amount of money is a lot when you're broke Joey, but I really don't know much about how the whole royalty thing works to be honest. We had some issues with Kim Fowley on the Leäthür ‘Too Fast for Love’ release but Coffman pretty much handled that, at least as far as I know. I’ve lost contact.”
He then asked if I could find him an attorney.
“I'll see what I can do Joe. I know Sterling doesn't specialize in that type of thing but I'll ask him and see if he can recommend somebody that can help, maybe one of his lawyer friends. Matter of fact, I have to see him in an hour or so, I’ll check with him on it for you.”
Then upon realizing that ‘my dog was not in this fight’ I was open with him. “Problem is Joey, that's about all I can do for you. I know Percy and Robin fairly well and really hate to get in the middle of this.” And then I told him not to worry.
“Not worry? Man, I don't know how I'm gonna eat tonight!” Despite the calming effect of his second beer of the morning, he was still shaking.
“You'll eat just fine, Michelle’s up at my place right now cooking up a big Italian dinner for all of us, her treat. She’s working all day on it and said it'll be ready
around seven. She'll bring it down here. Remind Vince and Billy.”
“Thank God!” Joey exclaimed as he walked out the door.
Survival in early ‘80s Hollywood was becoming a day to day quest for all of us. Despite the cash that was coming in from the club nights, the overhead was sucking up most of it. The rent, utilities and repairs on the seventy year-old, twelve-thousand square foot building were large. Not to mention my personal monthly expenses. A new fancy apartment in the Hollywood foothills, the mortgage payments on the still unsold Benedict Canyon estate and none-the-least of which Dana, who was becoming more and more high maintenance. I had recently come to the sad realization that I had hooked up with a cute little Hollywood Rainbow Bar and Grill rock goddess and turned her into yet another spoiled Beverly Hills princess through my generosity. Porsche watches, gold ankle bracelets, Gucci purses and shoes, fancy restaurants every other night and lots more. It was no wonder that I was near broke myself.
Later that morning my kidneys needed to get rid of the beer. I hardly recognized the restroom as it was gleaming and spotless.
“This is unbelievable, Steve. Good job. Why don't you go get your drum kit and be back by seven? We've got some good food coming in tonight.”
“Food? Wow!”
He was thrilled. I had to wonder when the poor guy last ate.
“Can I bring a couple of friends? They’re kind of hungry” he said with a sigh.
I said “Yeah, OK...Sure, why not…..” At the time I didn’t mean that as an invitation to have half of Hollywood move into the studio, but I was to find out the next morning that’s how it was taken.
Metal, Madness & Mayhem - An Insiders Journey Through The Hollywood 80s Page 14