Hollywood: Rock Of Ages

by Chris Solberg

  Next door was Freedom Guitar where Cupkake worked for a while. Before gigs on the strip, we’d pull over on Sunset like we were stopping at Jack in the Box and I’d run inside for a handful of picks on the house. There was a guy who worked with Cupkake named Larry. Larry’s claim to fame was that he was Robbie the Robot in the sci-fi movie Forbidden Planet. But that movie was filmed in the 50’s and Larry didn’t look old enough to be in that. Later I heard some story of how he wasn’t in the movie, but was somehow licensed to wear the robot suit to conventions and sign autographs. I liked the guy, but he used to give me puppydog eyes which made me jumpy. Cupkake assured me he wasn’t gay, but we later found out that he performed in drag at a place called The Queen Mary in the Valley. Naw... that’s not gay!

  Carvin Guitars and Guitar Center were one block up, as well as a place called the Sunset Grill. There’s a song by Don Henley by that name that sounds so romantic that people went looking for this Hollywood oasis. One disappointed Japanese tourist summed it up by saying, “This is Sunset Grill??? This is dumpshack!!!” That was one Hollywood legend that didn’t quite live up to it’s reputation! One block west was a cozy little pub called the Coach N Horses. It was small, anonymous and looked like something you’d find in a British Commonwealth. That’s where the Guiness flowed! The place was never crowded unless it was Saturday Night at midnight and had a small pool table in the back with a corner so close to the wall, you had to use a special poolstick that had been cut in half. Kind of like the Fenway Park of pool tables I guess. I never had a neighborhood bar I could walk to, but now I did. Indeed, that was what I liked about LA in the first place!

  Off on other Streets like Beverly or Santa Monica were haunts like El Coyote or Formosa Cafe, but I liked to stay within my private section of Sunset from La Brea to Fairfax. Some areas of Sunset were sketchy in those days, but this area never bothered me. I loved walking down Sunset at Midnight with a girl on my arm on a warm Santa Ana night. All the neon made for a public art gallery and walking in that glow made me feel alive.

  The CHATSWORTH Cancerwalk fiasco - Vinnie Vegas

  Living in Hollywood, everyday was a party day. But some memories stand out to this day as bookmarks in our Hollywood story and it strikes me funny as to how these chronicles would start out as just another ordinary day, only to evolve into a epic fiasco. Maybe this was some of the hidden allure to Hollywood, the possibility of something monumental happening, existed every day. You just never knew when that would be, and had no warning at all when it did. Something as simple as jaunting down to Rock N Roll Ralph’s for a six pack could end up with you closing the Rainbow Bar & Grill nine hours later. It just depended on who you ran into. Indeed if Cupkake walked out the door, I could not take it for granted that I’d see him again that night. And that went for me as well, but this always made for good stories over beer, chock-full of details.

  One Saturday night started out like so many others. but ended quite differently in a hilarious way. We were all in our pre-Sunset Strip ritual of doing up our hair while boozing up and cranking the stereo. KNAC was playing the hell out of Queensryche’s Operation: Mindcrime that summer, and anytime it came on, I cranked it up to maximum volume. Cupkake didn’t care for Queensryche, but that never stopped him from doing an overly dramatic William Shatner-esque imitation of Geoff Tate singing I don’t believe in love. Votel and Ernie were laughing it up and engaged in their usual grab-ass antics with each other while I was deep into a discussion with Liz-Bone about whether Kix was really metal-worthy of being played on KNAC. Dominic from Rock Asylum heard the Queensryche, and stuck his head in the open doorway to sing a couple of lines. This was a typical scene on any given weekend, and also typical was Leon trying to crash the party. Sure enough we heard the familiar doo-too doo-too doo-too-too of the gate code followed by the phone ringing which meant somebody was outside. I realize now we were lucky to be able to hear those ring tones before the phone rang, because anybody else in the complex had no idea if the phone ringing meant somebody was at the gate. But then again, I’m sure nobody else had such a rigorous door policy as us. I’d swear, somehow, someway, that tone sounded a little different when Leon was at the gate, which tipped us off. Sure enough, it was him.

  We let Votel do the honors of interrogating The Troll over the squawk-box as to whether he brought beer or not. Vince always laughed the hardest at our stories of tormenting Leon at the gate, so he relished the opportunity to get in on the fun. Actually he loved any situation where you could speak to someone anonymously like the Wizard of Oz and he was the best at it. Votel laid it on thick by saying “Whaaaatttt??? after everything Leon said, as if he couldn’t hear him and made him repeat himself louder. He also spoke really slow with his voice rising at the end as if talking to a child. I can still clearly picture Votel hunched over in the chair with the phone up to his ear and a can of Bud in the other. Every time Leon spoke, Vince would look at me with his head bobbing up and down with his mouth open, eyes squinted in a silent laugh. I’d seen this look on Vince so many times in different situations that it is probably burnt into my memory as the way I will always remember Vince Votel. Now picture this being a six-foot tall blond headed rock-star, in a white frilled Bon-Jovi jacket with tails, wearing black spandex pants, white boots and a heavy-metal ammo belt, and you get the entire picture. Well Votel was very thorough in his interrogation and discovered that Leon was indeed empty-handed. Now Vince had such a thick surfer accent that it almost sounded like a southern drawl. So when he berated Leon for not having any beer over the squawk-box, it was side splitting.

  “Now Leon, you know I can’t let you in unless you have beer... you know that as well as I do. Now as for me personally, I’d just assume let you in, but rules are rules, and my hands are tied.”

  Leon argued that he had money, but no beer and would pitch in if we only buzzed him in. Votel would not relent and made Leon march down to Pappy Smear’s in his stubby boots for the expensive twelve-pack. And in true Vince style, just as Leon started to leave, he added at the very last minute: “Actually, make that TWO twelve-packs Leon!”

  “Oh Man!”

  Eventually Leon came back with the required twelve-paks and was let in. Leon was so short that he must’ve looked like a pack-mule lugging those two twelve-paks up La Brea.

  Now that Leon was in, he was muttering and calling us dicks under his breath, but that’s ok when you’re drinking free beer! Votel and Ernie went back to their grab-ass antics like a couple of 6-month old puppies and Liz-Bone was talking about chicks, coke or Blackie Lawless...take your pick. Cupkake was in the bathroom trying to get everything perfect for the night. Everybody needed 20 minutes to go through the ritual, so we all took turns. Of course with all the beer it wasn’t unusual for somebody to walk behind you and chat while peeing. This was so common that I never batted an eye until I wrote it down just now. Mind you, the guy peeing next to you has a big nest of rock hair and more eyeliner than Courtney Love. Indeed, some guys looked so good and had on the tightest pants that it was like talking to Shakira as she pissed next to you. As a result, we all knew the size of each other’s dicks which were all normal. Except for Matt, he had a huge horse dick. Matt was the singer for my future band Hooligan Stew, but more on him later.

  I remember walking down Larrabee with Cupkake and Ernie one night on our way to the strip and I heard some giggling going on behind me. I turned around to see what was going on, and saw them both doing the Freak Brothers walk with their pants around their ankles while their dicks swung in unison back and forth. But that was not unusual, in fact, I dropped my pants and joined the dick parade. Seems crazy now, but back then it was par for the course. I think things like that were a huge inspiration for me to write this book. Hard to believe, and even harder to picture, but it was true and I know because I was there!

  Everybody had the “it” outfit that you fell back on when you wanted to be firing on all cylinders. Cukcake was no different and had his own. His outfit consisted of his favo
rite jeans, and old gray t-shirt that said Motley Crue and a red leather jacket that looked right out of a Michael Jackson video. Back in those days, ripped-up Levi’s ruled. The more holes and the more shredded the better. As a matter of fact, there was a whole ritual we did to our jeans before you wore them.

  First off was the bleach. Everybody bleached the shit out of their jeans, that was no secret. But back in San Diego, we used to bleach patterns into our jeans, tie-dye style. Some chicks were the first to do this, but Cupkake and I knew no boundaries concerning sex in fashion, so we soon started doing it to our jeans as well. It’s funny how a good idea like that catches on like wildfire. A year or so before, somebody came down from LA with the ripped up concert shirt which caught on equally fast. When you paired that up with the bleach-patterned jeans, you had it going on. This was a look that would last for three years.

  Every pair of jeans was an empty canvas to create your own wearable art. Indeed it was fun to see what new ideas you could come up with. I always bleached mine in a way where they came out as a sort of blue, grey and white camouflaged look. Or I’d suck up bleach in a straw and spew it back out on the pants creating a splattered punk look. Cupkake always bleached his jeans in a more geometric ordered look and his favorite was a pair that had big broad stripes going across the legs like cartoon prison pants. These are the ones he opted for that night. I remember a girl in San Diego actually soaked her hands in bleach and then pressed down on her pants. The end result was spectacular with a whole bunch of real hand-prints burnt onto her jeans. But how smart was it to be ingesting all that bleach in your skin just for fashions sake? Not smart I’m sure, but nobody batted an eye or even raised a concern. If you were in possession of one of these custom pair of jeans, you were instantly five clicks above anyone else, and you guarded them with your life!

  Now I had my “it” outfit as well which consisted of my favorite jeans, a black sleeveless perfectly ripped t-shirt that said “U.S. Army Honduras” across the front and a white Levi’s denim vest. To top it off, I had a bolo tie with a real black widow spider inserted into an arrowhead. If I really wanted to kick it up all the way, I’d add a Nazi officers cap I kept in reserve. This hat was like Tiger Woods’ red shirt, only to be used sparingly! Top this all off with a pair of black rocker boots and plenty of bracelets, and you are ready to go! So why all the talk about the jeans you ask? Well, that comes later, but you will see that it plays a big part in our story. One thing you need to realize as well, is that with all the bleach, these jeans didn’t have a very long shelf-life. Every time you washed them, the more ripped and shredded they got. And the more shredded they got, the cooler they were. This being the case, you’d wear them until they absolutely just fell apart. This was always a sad day, and finally tossing them into the trash was akin to a funeral. These jeans were new to Hollywood, so we got a few odd looks at first, but the style caught on quickly and soon everybody was wearing them. Once again, it’s amazing how a style will spread like fire. You know you’re on to something when that happened.

  Girls took this jeans process one step further and would actually cut countless slits across the legs with razor blades before bleaching and washing them over and over which created a set of frayed white strands instead of pant legs. This of course meant that nothing was left to the imagination, which was the point. Indeed, some of the more adventurous girls would do that to the ass because in those days, the girls had absolutely no qualms about you seeing their underwear or bras. As a matter of fact, some girls went out of their way to accomplish this. Without exception, if you wore these pants, you wore zebra striped panties. There was a time when some designer started creating zebra striped prints in all sorts of colors as opposed to black & white. Fluorescent colors were very popular and every girl had a stash of these. As for the pants, I knew it hit big when Cher started parading around in the most ripped flimsy set you ever saw. I’m sure she paid some Hollywood designer a mint to create something that we made in our bathtubs!

  After a while, we decided to hit the Rainbow Bar & Grill which was something you could only do once a month because of the cost. There was no way we were going to be seen at the Rainbow with Leon so we told him there was no room in the car, and he couldn’t go. “Oh Man!” This happened all the time so we never could figure out why he kept coming back. I don’t know why we were all dressed up in our “A” outfits that night. Sometimes you couldn’t explain why, but something was in the air that night and you felt as though it was going to be special. And sure enough, that night everybody wore their top digs.

  Cupkake drove the yellow banana Ford Pinto station wagon that night. There was always the high-schoolish squabble of somebody calling shot-gun on the way to the car. There were four seats in the car which meant that the fifth guy would have to sit in the back like a tail gunner. This was always my favorite position anyway, so I kept out of the seating squabbles. Given how wasted we’d get, it’s a wonder that we never got a DUI, but back in those days the cops weren’t really hard-core about that, and besides, Sunset Blvd. was an absolute traffic jam from La Brea to The Strip, so how much trouble could you get into? This led to a game that included inching your way up Sunset trying to stay beside a car full of chicks heading for the strip. The guys in the back would be hanging out the windows flirting with carloads of girls in the next lane. That was the thing about back then, girls rolled with girls, and guys rolled with guys. No exceptions. Well this wasn’t like the 90210!

  Eventually we got to the strip, and hit the Rainbow. Now technically, you were supposed to be 21 to get in, but Cupkake was 18 or 19 at the time and never had a problem getting in. You’d pay $10 to get in the club, but you also got two drink tickets which bought you the most alcoholic drinks that the Rainbow was famous for, the top dog being the famous Long Island Iced Tea which would absolutely toast you. Two of those would get you hammered, and if you ordered a third... forget about it! We always ordered a third!

  Chicks got in free to the Rainbow and I’d swear, you’d see girls in there who had to be 14! Actually, a lot of girls who looked under-aged, I don’t know where their parents were. This was the allure of the Rainbow, it was always stocked with hot chicks up the ying-yang. The Rainbow was notorious for being a rock-star hangout, and indeed you’d see some in there. That led to a game in which all the guys in local bands would try and convince the girls that they were stars themselves. Actually, this worked a lot because these girls were drinking the same jet-fuel cocktails that everybody else was. And let there be no doubt, most of these girls were there to land a rock-star come hail or high water. The Rainbow had an extra room upstairs where you’d have to pay another $5 to get in, but you would also get another drink ticket. This is where the action was, and on any given Saturday night, this room would be so packed that it was almost impossible to move around. Plus, it was hot as Hades, after all it was on the top floor with no windows! I’m telling you, if a fire ever broke out up there, it would’ve been all over. The final tier was a tiny cubby that you had to climb a ladder to get to. This area was roped off and you had to know somebody to get up there. This is where the rock-stars would take chicks to do lines. Liz-Bone had enough status to get in and he took me up there a few times. The place looked like the hold of a pirate ship with dim lights and rope lines everywhere.

  It seems like every time you went to The Rainbow, you’d come out with a girl and this night was no different. Vince Votel had a girlfriend who lived with him, so he never scammed. But Vince was a narcissist and was always trying to be the center of attention. This led to a lot of flirting and posturing, but never actual sex. Liz-Bone, on the other hand, was a poon-hound, and would usually drag a girl into the bathroom lickety-split. Now things got foggy around 2 am when the lights came on and everybody was herded outside. Like all LA clubs, this led to a 15 minute feeding frenzy out front before you got chased off the grounds completely. Cupkake had hooked up with somebody who looked like she might be too young to be in a bar, but then again, so was he
. Well anyway, I was never the father-figure, so he tossed me the keys and told me he was going home with her. I rounded up the guys and we had a group of chicks follow the yellow banana back to our pad.

  Back at our apartment, the party continued, but it seemed strange without Cupkake there. There was nobody to replace the wry humor and hijinks that he usually provided, and that left a bit of a void. But we bravely continued on without him and even made jokes about what he was doing. Only two of the chicks made it back to our place, so Ernie and Vince called it a night while Liz-Bone and I did a quick huddle. Before I knew it, Liz-Bone had his chick in the bathroom. The other girl wasn’t doing the lifeguard thing, so I ended up stealing her panties. Our panty chandelier was getting quite full now!

  Now, one of us disappearing into the night was not unusual; it should’ve been, but it wasn’t. Think about this; back in those days, we had no cell phones. It’s something that is now taken for granted that you can call anyone, anytime, and have them pick you up. But not back then. Now, I don’t go anywhere without my keys or my cellphone, in fact, I’m almost Rainman about it. When I went to Europe, there was absolutely no reason to take my keys along, but it was hard for me to leave them behind. It seems so silly now, can you imagine losing your keys in Europe? How stupid would that be? The last thing Cupkake did when I saw him that night, was to throw me his keys. But that was no big deal, after all, we lived together and I wasn’t going anywhere. I fully expected him to be cooking up some bacon by the time I got up. It’s not that we loved bacon all that much, but something about the smell of bacon cooking on a Sunday morning is really cool.Liz-Bone and the chicks had left around 5 in the morning so I was asleep for about 2 hours when the bat-phone rang. Luckily for Cupkake, I slept in the living room, so I heard the phone. However after only two hours of sleep, I was groggy, and the phone ringing at seven in the morning made no sense. I figured it was Ernie upstairs calling to haggle me, so I picked up the phone and set it back down again to stop the ringing. It rang again and I repeated the process. After the third ring I decided to let the machine pick up and I heard Cupkake babbling on the other end. At that moment I remembered that he hadn’t come home that night so I picked up the phone. I could tell he was at a phone booth because I heard traffic roaring in the background and the sounds of morning birds from hell gleefully chirping in the background. Like I said, today, no matter where you are at, you simply pick up your cell phone and call whoever you want. But back then, you had to hunt down a pay phone and plunk quarters into the beast. Not to mention, he ended up in the Valley so it was an extra 35 cents a pop to call Hollywood. “Please deposit an additional 35 cents for the next three minutes.”