It had only been a couple of hours since I was aiming a gun at some drug deranged asshole’s head and squeezing the trigger, however slightly. I didn’t really want to discuss a vacation at the moment.
Upon second thought maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Vince, Lyle and Joey could handle the studio and club for a few days. As Axl, Steven and Slash were virtually living there, I knew they wouldn’t mind pitching in and helping out too.
“OK, let’s just do it. We can make the arrangements next week. Let’s go home.”
I actually was not dreading the next night as much as I expected. No matter what happened I figured that it couldn’t be as bad as the previous evening, the infamous Friday the thirteenth.
My only real concern was Doria and Vince. For whatever reason I didn’t feel right telling him what I had seen as in fairness to Doria he was often doing the same thing with numerous rock babes including his karate student and this was after all, Hollywood.
I did however want to make peace with Doria, especially as she was Dana’s best friend.
Although I decided to just ignore it and act like nothing ever happened, I asked Dana to be sure and invite her down for the night, which she did.
Sure enough, Saturday night Doria was there quite early prior to opening wearing a very sexy pair of red and white striped spandex tights, joining some friends of hers on the lounge couch.
Vince, Lyle, and I were relaxing, having our first JD shots of the night outside of the front entrance prior to opening the club.
“Hey Lyle, I heard Mike found some slut fucking the shit out of some guy in studio B last night!” Vince said laughingly. “Who was the tramp?”
Lyle was unaware that Doria was Vince’s long time lady.
“She’s the one right there on the couch.” Lyle replied. “The black-haired whore with the red and white spandex.”
I saw the blood rapidly leave Vince’s face.
I then saw Vince rapidly leave, running down the alley. That would be the last time I saw him for the next three days.
“Did I say something wrong?” Lyle asked innocently.
“Forget it Lyle. I’ll explain later….”
We ended up having a great crowd that night with no real incidents, at least by the previous night’s standards. I was slightly encouraged that my ‘Shamrock After-Hours Club’ might continue after all, as long as the cops stayed away.
The high point of the evening was when my new found friend Denny Terrio stopped in to say hello and party with us. I had met Denny at Al’s Birthday party at Viola in Beverly Hills earlier (the same night I had met Dana) and frankly, didn’t like the guy at first glance. I had a pre-conceived notion that he was a just a disco-era prince, riding on the some-years-prior success of Saturday Night Fever with his Dance Fever TV show.
I was very wrong.
Once I got to know the guy we became instant buddies. While I was under the impression that he had all the girls in town (at least the ones that the rockers didn’t have) I soon found out that he indeed had all the same problems and heartaches as every other guy. We ended up spending a lot of time together drinking, bitching about women and ‘powdering our noses.’
Denny and myself enjoying just another Shamrock night in ‘80s Hollywood. My eye was on the money.
Denny became yet another Shamrock regular and began bringing his other celebrity friends… Heavy-weight boxer Ken Norton, Morris Day from ‘The Time’ who was currently on top of the charts from the Purple Rain soundtrack, as well as assorted Prince protégé ladies such as Vanity and Sheena Easton. Eddie Murphy, whose Beverly Hills Cop had just been released even graced us with his presence. (Actually he was a very nice guy, unfortunately the same couldn’t be said about his bodyguards).
Despite the ghetto-like East Hollywood location, the filthy conditions, no real parking not to mention the near-lack of restroom facilities, our illegal nightclub operation which had evolved out of financial desperation had become a very popular celebrity after-hours hangout. It was, temporally, the ‘place to be’ at 4am.
Hard rock had suddenly become chic and in retrospect, it was fun watching rich and famous Hollywood stars partying with the then-starving (future) Guns n’ Roses in a slum.
Overall though, the club was becoming too big and successful for my own legal comfort. Through the popularity of the venture we even changed the neighborhood demographics. ‘Gold Diggers,’ a tiny strip bar located immediately next door to our entrance gate had always had a mostly Hispanic clientele that featured primarily Vietnamese dancers. As ‘Shamrock After Hours’ was not open Sunday through Thursday, a growing number of the Sunset Strip regulars began to hang out there when we were closed on those days. Where there are long-haired musicians there are hot women, and it wasn’t long before more than a few of them were hired by the owners as topless dancers, replacing most of their long-term ‘ladies’.
The gated alley to Hollywood Babylon.
5634 Santa Monica Boulevard.
Doesn’t look like much now but most of Hollywood’s rock elite or ‘soon-to-be’ elite passed through them in 1984. Gold Diggers Strip Club is on the left.
For a brief moment I actually considered applying for a State liquor license and turning Shamrock legit, maybe creating another Rainbow Bar and Grill type nightspot out of this dump. Then reality set in. The only reason we were so packed every Friday and Saturday at least at this location was simply because we were illegal, serving alcohol until six-am or later. It would never work if we adhered to the rules of the State Alcohol Board and stopped serving at two-am like every ‘real’ nightclub.
Besides, we would have had to rebuild the restroom pit. According to a plumbing contractor friend, that would have cost more than the entire building was worth.
‘Fuck it’, just ‘get the cash and have fun as long as it lasts’ I decided.
Within a couple of months a new after-hours club emerged nearby in a run-down hotel on Highland Avenue. The ‘Zero-Zero.’ Rumored to be owned by my old Mötley-days acquaintance David Lee Roth, they had a slight twist to circumvent the alcohol laws. It was a late night-early-morning ‘art-show,’ charging admission to the ‘gallery’ and giving away free beer and wine. It was clever, and they did draw a crowd but never really affected our attendance. Although I was concerned about the competition at first, apparently there were enough after-hours partiers in Hollywood for both of us.
It would be a few years later that I did happen to confirm that indeed the Zero-Zero club was a Roth venture he allegedly started more out of a personal entertainment value than for financial rewards.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Some people you just simply hate on first sight. Some people you hate even more on second sight. This guy was one of them, an arrogant asshole who just waltzed into my office one day without so much as even introducing himself. He immediately started telling me that I was doing this wrong and I was doing that wrong and the studio sucks and there are nicer rehearsal facilities around town at better prices and on and on and on.
I was about to throw his ass out thinking he was just another mental case that was mad at the world, but I was really curious as to what his point was.
“Excuse me, but who the fuck are you and what the hell are you doing in my office?” I asked.
“I’m Jani.” (This was not Jani Lane from Warrant) “I was with Detective” He answered curtly. “I presume you’ve heard of Swan Song Records? Maybe you’ve heard of Led Zeppelin?”
As he didn’t have an exclusive on the asshole franchise I replied “Led Zeppelin? The name rings a bell. They’re from England, right?” My sarcasm only made his rant intensify. The thought that this jerk must have blazing hemorrhoids or something else severely bothering him came to mind.
“Yes, they’re from England.”
“Thanks for that bit of information, now what can I do for you sir?”
So how much?’
“How much for what Jani? Or is it Mister Jani?”
&nbs
p; “Jani’s fine. Rehearsal time and storage space for my bands equipment.”
Although we were still desperate for business I just wanted to get rid of him and quoted a highly inflated price for multiple bookings to be paid in advance in full, reminding him that we don’t provide storage space for equipment. “Too much liability, we don’t have insurance for storage.”
“Well, without storage there’s no deal. He answered. We can’t load our shit in and out every night.”
I didn’t bring up the fact that everybody else did and considering how quickly he accepted my offer, I relented. “Look, we’re remodeling studio D, the small one as a drum room. If you want you can stash your gear there for a while, at your risk.”
“Fine, we’ll start tonight.”
“Some money please?” He didn’t hesitate but pulled out a large roll and peeled off seven one-hundred dollar bills which he tossed across my desk.
“There” he groaned as he turned and abruptly walked out the door.
“Nice doing business with you,” I mumbled under my breath.
I knew this guy was going to be trouble.
It was only a couple of minutes until I had another visitor. “Hey Lyle, this is a pleasant surprise, what brings you around during the week?”
“Need to talk to you about something, Mike. By the way who’s that dude that was just in here I saw walking out?”
“Nobody Lyle, he’s just a new rehearsal booking. Why, do you know him?”
“No. Just seemed like a jerk. Bad vibes, man.”
I had recently developed a great amount of respect for Lyle’s street instincts. “Yeah, I got that feeling too but he paid me. What’s up?”
Lyle proceeded to tell me that he wouldn’t be able to work club nights for the next Month. “I can’t go into details, but basically Reagan has called up my old team for retraining. It’s all voluntary but I agreed to do it. I miss the SEALs and I want to see all the new weapons technology. Cool shit that we didn’t have in ‘Nam. I’ll be out of touch for awhile.
Although I certainly understood his decision, I was nonetheless disappointed that he wouldn’t be around. I had come to rely on him not only as an excellent doorman and bouncer, but as a close friend and personal security, or more specifically, ‘muscle’ when necessary.
“Well best of luck, Lyle. The only problem is that I’m going out of town for a week and I was really counting on you to keep an eye on things around here when I’m gone. When are you leaving?”
“Not for ten days. I’ll be here for next weekend then I’ll report to Coronado Naval base on Monday, don’t worry.”
As usual, he wasn’t about to let me down.
The more I thought about Dana’s idea to get away for a week the more I liked it. I had overdosed on everything that was Hollywood and was ready for a break, hoping I’d come back with a fresh attitude towards business as well as a renewed personal relationship. She had described her parent’s place as ‘rustic’ in the woods outside of Seattle. It sounded like a nice change and after all, I would only be missing one weekend’s club nights. The club could survive. I hoped.
A quick call to a travel agent and the reservations were set.
Hollywood withdrawal symptoms were occurring even as we were on the way to the airport. Hitting the bar immediately after checking in at the ticket counter I again asked if she was sure that she wanted to risk leaving everything behind for a week.
“Relax, it’ll be a blast. Everything will be here when we get back honey, just the same.”
Maybe ‘everything’ but I wasn’t so sure about myself or the club/studio surviving, even for seven short days. It was easy to play the mental game of ‘what if this’ or ‘what if that’ happened while I was hibernating to the Northwestern woods.
I had thought lost luggage only happened in the movies. I learned that theory was wrong upon arrival at the Seattle-Tacoma airport.
“Don’t worry about none of that kinda shit, son, I got plenty of clothes you can wear,” my potential Father-in-law reassured me through all of his six teeth as we walked out of the empty baggage-claim area.
“Thanks. … I think.”
It turned out that the bib overalls and plaid shirts were actually rather comfortable, especially as I had nothing else to wear and they did fit in very well with the dress-code at the down-the-hill saloon that I was taken to every night. It sure wasn’t the Rainbow.
I missed Hollywood severely and it wouldn’t be but a couple of more long days wondering around in the Washington State forests before I had a call from back home.
“Michael, there’s a major problem here.” The word of a major problem or not it was nice to hear Vince’s familiar voice.
“What’s up man?”
“It’s those guys with Jani’s band. I knew they were going to be trouble when you rented the sound stages to them.”
“Yeah, I know they’re always whining about something. What’s their fucking problem now?”
“They claim an effects pedal board was stolen and the guy is demanding that we pay for it, what should I do?”
You tell him to go stick his dick up his ass and get his Goddamn shit as well as his band out of our studio. We don’t need him or his asinine problems. Better yet Vince, I’ll just tell the asshole myself face to face as soon as I get back. It’ll be a pleasure.”
Geez….
Another day, another call from Shamrock. “It was all a practical joke the bass player was playing on the band, everything’s fine Mike.”
That’s great Vince, real nice. How old are these guys?”
Although time doesn’t exactly fly by in rural areas, especially for someone who has spent their entire life in large cities, the day of escape finally arrived. Despite a major mood on Dana’s part during the flight home for some then-unknown reason, it was great to be airborne and in route back to my world.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
It was readily apparent that things at the studio/club had gone to hell in a hand basket while I had been in Washington for the previous week and now was the time to get the place back in order post haste.
I began the office meeting asking only somewhat in jest if anybody had died or been arrested at the last weekend’s club nights. Relieved that the answer was no, I continued by sternly announcing a fact that we all were already aware of. “This place has become a rock ‘n roll shit-hole flop-house and we’re gonna clean it up starting RIGHT NOW!”
I handed Vince, Billy, Joey and Michelle each a sheet of paper and a pencil and with a simple question. “How the fuck many people are living here? How many people have moved in since I’ve been gone?” quickly adding “Don’t tell me, just write the names down silently.”
The huge old building’s second floor was hardly ever used for anything and there were enough small rooms where familiar faces could simply sneak in and set up house-keeping virtually unnoticed. Or, even through the holes in the roof.
The length of time they took to finish their individual lists started to worry me. Finally after a few minutes my little rag-tag studio staff handed them over.
I read the names aloud. Vince, Billy, Joey and Michelle, (All of whom I knew about of course.) Steven Adler? Although I wasn’t sure, I had assumed he was crashing there but was none-the-less welcome as he did earn his keep with odd jobs around the place as he had promised. Axl, Duff, Izzy and sometimes Slash?
“They have no place else to go Mike,” Billy popped in.
Michelle added “What about Rick, nobody wrote him down.”
“Who the fuck is Rick?”
Vince took the ball. “Oh, I forgot to mention that to you Mike, he’s a sound engineer from Tennessee who just got into town and dropped in a couple of days ago. Needs a place to stay for awhile and offered to do the board work and set levels for us when bands come in to rehearse. I thought we’d try him out.”
I was about to ask Vince if Rick had a pregnant Sister with generic and a David Lee Roth obsession but before I could Joey
added “I guess we should tell Mike about ‘Rainbow’ too, guys.”
“O.K., I give up, who the fuck is ‘Rainbow? Dio and Blackmore have moved in?” At that point it wouldn’t have surprised me as anything was possible. Shamrock had become the Twilight Zone of heavy metal.
Everyone there stammered and hesitated. “Probably best just to show you,” Joey said with a resigned tone to his voice, leaving the office. It was only a few minutes until I heard the pitter-patter of little paws coming down the creaky stairs.
I was then formally introduced to Rainbow who was a beautiful red female Doberman puppy that had wandered in the previous week, hungry, dirty, cold and lonely. I related to her.
“We thought you might make us get rid of her man, or take her to the pound or something so we’ve been keeping her upstairs” Vince said.
“Get rid of her? Hell no Vince! She’s beautiful; we can use a fine dog like her around here. But why did you name her Rainbow?” I asked curiously.
“It was Joey’s comment when I first found her,” Vince laughed. Joey had said “Vince, that’s a better looking dog than the ones I’ve seen you bring home from the Rainbow.” That made sense.
It was an easy decision for me. “O.K, no vote there, Rainbow stays, but somebody please get her some food, she looks hungry.”
“And speaking of looking hungry, what about these Hollywood Rose guys, I mean, they’re nice enough and all and they really don’t get in the way around here but Goddamn it I’m giving them not only free rehearsal space but living quarters as well and every fucking day they’re hitting me up for money for Burger King. They’ve gotta stop that shit if they want to camp here forever.” My rant went on. “I get hustled for ‘spare change’ in my own fucking studio more than I do walking to the 7-11 for cigarettes. Somebody talk to them or I will.”
Metal, Madness & Mayhem - An Insiders Journey Through The Hollywood 80s Page 18