Hollywood: Rock Of Ages

by Chris Solberg

  I ended up joining the band and eventually we landed a drummer as well. Because a kid that young could be into Guns N Roses made me confident that he was open to moving forward and not living in the past. I liked the idea of being in a band where you explored new options, even if it was a risk. This proved to be prophetic when we dropped the name Street Angel and parted ways with Dave Angel. We recruited a couple of more guys and adopted a 5 man Aerosmith-style line up which we called Point Blank. Our first gig was opening up for Ruby Slippers at Club Mirage in Mission Valley, which was the place to play in ‘88. Since Votel and Kiner were there, Cupkake invited them and Dave Angel up on stage for a couple of songs as a mini Street Angel reunion. That band held such a large reputation, that it helped our show even after they were no more! After the success of that show, it seemed like the big bands of San Diego were shunning us because nobody would let us play on their night. As a result, we formed up with a coalition of other bands who decided to shun the rock royalty and create our own line-up for club shows. Of course we got snide sneers from the elite clique, but we put our money where our mouths were by filling up Club Mirage with no outside help. No A-listers, no LA stars, just a few scrappy bands that pulled together and created some cool shows. We made it a mission to play as many of these gigs as we could, and had a blast doing so. With Cupcake, not only had a found a band, I had also found a wingman who wanted to move to LA as much as I did. And after a brief run of shows in Spring, in June of 1988, we moved to LA.

  Thou shall not steal - Cupkake

  Food! Now there was an item that I dearly missed and had taken for granted while growing up. When you live with your parents, food is just there. You don’t have to do anything except get your lazy butt off the couch and get it. Not in Hollywood. Not at the El Cerrito apartment complex. You had to fend for your food. It would disappear quickly. We had been living in Hollywood for approximately one month, when I became fairly good friends... well, no... good friends would not be appropriate, lets say acquaintances with a couple of geeks down the hall. To this day, I could not tell you their names, but these guys were Musician Institute students. Vinnie and I called them “mites.” I remember being at their apartment listening to these boneheads lecture me about music, and try to explain music theory to me. I did not give a shit about their conversation, I was simply waiting for them to start fixing some food. I was starving. I had been hungry before, but never like this. It was a Thursday night, and I had not eaten anything for the past two days. Somehow I blew my food money on an ill-advised trip to The Rainbow Bar & Grill and I was not going to be paid until the afternoon the following day. At that time of my life, I had a big appetite and I could not go without food for a day, let alone two days. You see, these “mites” had a free ride from their moms and dads. These guys could sit on their asses and play guitar all day, eat whatever food they felt like purchasing, drink bottled water, and watch cable television. I know it sounds bad, but if you were around when the “mites” were about to eat, they would usually offer some food. This is the only reason I would sit in the mite’s god awful, boring apartment. Well, on this particular evening, the “mites” were not hungry and obviously were not going to prepare any dinner. I saw Vinnie wander by their apartment, so I yelled at him to come in and join the fun. There was no fun going on, but I had to get him inside so he could assist me with my sudden plan. Vinnie reluctantly entered the land of boring people and after a few minutes, he pulled me into the kitchen and asked what the hell I was up to. Somebody in the apartment complex was cooking spaghetti sauce and the entire floor smelled like an Italian bistro. That was the final straw and I was going to eat tonight, whatever the cost. Vinnie knew that I did not want to be in their apartment, so I told him to figure out a way to get the mites out of the house for a few minutes so I could grab some food. Funny thing! Vinnie did not bat an eye when I said this to him. Without further question regarding my devious intentions, Vinnie walked out of the kitchen and into the living area infested with the mites. Vinnie must have been starving as well.

  I left the mites apartment and wandered down the hall. I came back to the mites house after a few minutes and noticed that somehow Vinnie was able to get them out of the house. Knowing him, he probably had them looking up at the sky while using a lot of scientific terms that sounded like he knew what he was talking about. I went through their kitchen cabinets and located some Prego pasta sauce and some old noodles that were dusty and partially opened. How in the hell do you have dusty food while you are on your own, with no job and living in Hollywood? Without any further thought, I took the pasta and sauce, and ran as fast as I could to our apartment, while obviously hiding something (pasta and sauce) underneath my shirt. During my dash to the apartment, I was praying not to get caught. Needless to say, Vinnie and I had a nice pasta dinner that evening. The whole time I was sure that somehow the mites would notice their pasta stash missing and make a beeline to our apartment. It would have been hard to lie while the windows were all steamed up from the boiling pasta and the apartment smelled suspiciously of marinara sauce. But I didn’t care, I was dead set on filling up with fresh spaghetti and it was the best tasting food I think I have ever had! I never thought in my life I would ever steal anything from anyone, and after I was full, a sense of guilt fell over me. Stealing is a sin, but I guess you do some extreme things when you are hungry, and at the end of it all, the mites never knew.

  Leon - Cupkake

  I did some pretty awful things in my life, but if God is going to punish me for my sins, he will probably re-incarnate me as Leon. Leon was a real odd fellow that I met in San Diego. Leon was a wanna-be guitar player that always reminded me of a troll that would live in a dark dingy swamp and terrorize small children. How do you become an associate of such a being?

  Answer: food and beer.

  Leon moved from San Diego to Hollywood right before we did. Vinnie and I loved Hollywood so much, but could not afford the price of the motels in the area. So we would sell our souls and stay with Leon every three or four weeks. This was a really tough ordeal however, because Leon was never a person to practice good hygiene. Leon smelled like an old beer can that someone had ashed a month worth of cigarettes into, mixed with dirty socks and rotting garbage. Leon was extremely short, his eyes were really far apart, and were droopy and half closed. He was shaped like a potbelly pig and constantly shook like a chihuahua. He had some type of disorder or alcohol withdrawals, I was never sure. He used the word “man” more than any person could possibly try. Almost every word would precede with “Ohhhh”, so his speech was really funny after you had a couple of cocktails in your system. Leon would say something like; “Ohhhh man! Ohh man Vinnie, we are almost out of beer man!” It was the funniest thing I have ever heard. Vinnie and I wanted to move to Hollywood bad, but we needed a home base to sleep. When I look back at the situation, I think we would have been better off sleeping in the gutters of Hollywood.

  Leon’s apartment building was located approximately one block from our future home, the El Cerrito apartment complex. Leon’s parents had lots of money and I think they paid him to stay in Hollywood, away from their home in San Diego. The apartment building that Leon was living in at the time was one of the newer buildings. For rock standards, it was a castle, but as far as I am concerned, the outside was just an “eminence front” to a garbage can. When you entered Leon’s apartment, you were lucky if you did not kick over a beer can or ash tray. There were always piles of chicken bones on the dining room table and pizza boxes stacked as high as the couches. Leon had a weird habit of eating bones like a caveman. If he ordered chicken wings or ribs from Raffalo’s, all there would be left were bones cracked in half with the black marrow exposed. No fat, tendons or gristle, Leon ate it all. The apartment itself was fairly posh with a nice balcony that overlooked Franklin. But add Leon to the mix and you end up with a disaster. The carpet was supposed to be light blue, but was now a dingy gray with black burn spots throughout the carpet. Various unknown food
stains completed the carpet’s look. The couch you could tell at one time was fairly expensive. It too, was similar to the carpet, disheveled and often wet from an unknown liquid. The kitchen area had top end appliances, but that did not matter. Rotting garbage was piled in stacks. There was just enough room to squeeze through the kitchen to the fridge and the sink. That was about it.

  Vinnie and I would arrive for the weekend at this dump Leon called home, and remove tons of trash to the garbage chute located no more than ten feet from Leon’s apartment. Why would he not just do this on a daily basis instead of living in filth was beyond me, but that was Leon. We would attempt to clean up so we could maybe stand to be there for more than one hour. You ask again; why would we put up with this mess? Food and beer! Leon was always loaded with money, I am talking hundreds of dollars were always stuffed in his pants. Various pockets would have wads of different bills, rolled into balls, folded in half, torn and some had cigarette burns. We kept Leon around to buy us food and beer prior to going out to the Strip. We never wanted to sleep at Leon’s house, so we would start partying with the chicks outside the Roxy and Whisky-A-Go-Go, hoping to find girls that had their own apartments so we could stay with them instead. Some days we were lucky, but most days we were sleeping on pizza boxes at Leon’s home.

  Vinnie and I would finally get the El Cerrito apartment which made us happy, but there was one small problem. Leon lived only one block away. Our apartment was always the party pad and Leon knew this. Leon was required to bring beer and pizza before he could be let into the building. We had lectured Leon about this rule and for the first six months he was pretty good about following the guidelines. As time passed, Leon would slip into a party without bringing any beer or pizza. We would badger him until he would call a local pizza company to deliver beer and pizza. Of course Leon would foot the bill, not us. Ohhh man!

  Leon’s appearances became more and more frequent and predictable. Vinnie and I were now established and had good jobs, and we no longer needed Leon’s services of beer and pizza. We avoided Leon’s phone calls and ignored him when he was at the front gate to our apartment. He was very tenacious and would not go away and I think he became very pissed at some point. Every now and again while we had friends over, he would try and sneak in the gate with somebody else. This was hilarious because most people wouldn’t let him in! Imagine a dirty troll shaking like a leaf wanting to enter your apartments. Would you let him in? Certainly not. Sometimes you would hear him blurting out obscenities at uncooperative tenants, and I believe Dominic went back out one time and slapped him around a bit.

  Dominic: “You don’t fuckin’ talk to me like that you little fuck!

  You hear me? Now fuck off you’s little fuck!”

  This of course blew his cover, but Leon was too dense to think that one out. Every now and then, he would be successful at getting in and barge in

  unannounced. This was becoming a problem. Worse, he would show up, walk in, not say a word to any of us, go into the fridge and drink our beer. Even if it was the last one on the shelf. He would drink it, say a few words and leave. I think he was trying to get us back for all of the times Vinnie and I had drank his beer and left, but this was unacceptable.

  It was a wonderful Saturday afternoon and we were enjoying a few beers with a few friends. The phone rang, and of course we were screening the telephone calls through the answering machine. We heard the unmistakable voice of Leon telling us that he was on his way over and he did not have any money for beer or pizza. We were speechless! Leon was pretty brave to announce that he would be over, but not bring us any beer. We all complained and agreed that today was not a “Leon day.” So how were we going to get rid of him? The evilness flowed and the idea came up. We removed all of the beer from the fridge and put it in the closet. We each grabbed a fresh beer which left none in the fridge. Perfect! Now we could sneak beers out of the closet and replenish our empties, and he would never know. Well, that was a good idea, but we took everything one step further. I grabbed an empty bottle and gave it to my old singer Porridge and told him to pee in the bottle. Funny, he did not hesitate or ask any questions. He attempted to pee in the bottle but could only fill in about 1/3. I decided to grab the bottle from Porridge and fill the rest with my urine. I will tell you this, grabbing a warm bottle filled with pee from my singer was gross! After the bottle was full, I grabbed an old bottle cap and placed it on top of the beer bottle full of warm urine. I tightened the cap and set it in the fridge.

  Leon was very predictable. We knew that he would come into the apartment, march over to the fridge and grab the last beer. I was a little worried because the bottle of pee was probably still close to 90 degrees. We all laughed and thought for sure that this will never work. Leon will grab the beer, figure out it is warm and put it back. But oh my god... we were wrong. Leon did waltz into the apartment, and did not say a word. He just passed all of us, greeted us with a small head nod and walked to the fridge. Sure enough, he grabbed the beer. At this point, if any of us would have looked at each other, we would have busted out with laughter. Leon twisted the top off the bottle and strange enough, it made the typical hiss noise that a fresh beer makes when you open the top. Leon tilted that beer 90 degrees until the bottom of that beer was facing the ceiling. Several bubbles began chugging through the bottle as I watched Leon take three big gulps of our urine. I lost it! I turned in silence and tried not to laugh. I could feel my face turning bright red from the emotions that I was capping inside my head. Leon abruptly pulled the warm frothy pee bottle from his mouth, smacked his lips and loudly stated,

  “Ohhh man! This beer tastes bad! Ohhhh Cupkake, come over here and taste this beer! Man! It is warm and has got no fizz!!!! Really man, you gotta taste it! It kinda taste like pee!!! Man it is a lot like..salty pee!!! Ohhh Man!! I must’ve got a bad beer!” Leon offered me a swig of the foul liquid which I declined. Taste it Cupkake, something’s wrong with it!

  Somehow I kept my composure long enough to have a short conversation with him. I could see the rest of the gang silently giggling to themselves as their backs were turned to Leon. I glanced over to Vinnie as his face was buried in the pillow on his bed. I could see his whole body bouncing with laughter, even though I could not hear him, I could tell he was bursting with tears. I could not hold back any longer, I tried! I really tried! I busted out with a laugh that could be heard down on Hollywood Blvd. Everyone else burst out with laughter as well. To this day, I don’t think I have witnessed anything funnier!

  Leon never caught on to what we were laughing about. He grinned and

  started laughing also. He had no idea what we were laughing about, because he repeated at least fifty times, “Ohhh man.what is so funny guys?” Poor Leon, I don’t think he ever knew.

  In the begining

  The Evolution of Chris Solberg 1983 - Cupkake

  At thirteen, I was looking for a way to become popular, and to rid myself of this horrible, awkward pre-adult, goofy persona. I was not fitting in anywhere in society, and I, without a doubt, had an identity crisis. I was in the Boy Scouts with a bunch of nerds... that did not help my image at all. What did the Scouts do for me? Well, I got my ass kicked by the “jocks” during lunch, or after school in the parking lot of Einstein Junior High School. It was 1983, and I began to grow my hair long because I thought it looked cool and girls seemed to like it. But few people thought this idea was great, because Disco was still in full swing, and the “Mod” look (jet black hair, black

  fingernails, shaved heads with the stupid bangs that hang across one eye), was becoming very popular. I really did not fit in at school at all. I began to really hate school! There was nothing smart, or rewarding about going to Einstein Junior High. The teachers didn’t care about how the bullies acted in school, and always seemed to be looking in another direction when some “bussed in jackass” from East San Diego, was throwing shit at the back of my head, or shoving chewed gum in my hair. I hung out will a small group of people that were consider
ed the “Rockers.” Our group was Pops Castro, John Boisvert, Tim Paxon, Shawn Waight, Steve and Mike Hamilton, David Farr, Danny Powell, Paul Poppleton and Melissa Fares. We were a harmless group that loved to hang out, listen to music, party, and not cause trouble. It was funny, because everyone, including the school counselors and teachers, thought that our little group of rockers were the troublemakers, while the “jocks” were the good, wholesome guys. They were the school’s little angels that never did anything wrong. Talk about judging a book by it’s cover!

  I went to my first rock concert in the spring of 1983 at the Fox Theater in San Diego and saw Motley Crue’s, Shout at the Devil tour. I went with my childhood buddy Mike Hamilton. Mike somehow talked my mother into letting me go to this devilish rock madness. In 1983, Motley Crue was not popular yet, but as their tour kicked off, they would become one of the bigger bands in rock history. Motley Crue was spitting blood, lighting things on fire, smashing equipment and blasting the amplifiers so loud, it was shaking the plaster off the walls. After I saw that concert, I knew exactly what I needed to do. It was all very clear to me now! I needed to play guitar and start a band. That should take care of everything. My mind was set and there was no turning back! I could finally be a cool guy instead of being lost, goofy, and out of place.