Tales Of A RATT Read online

  ©Copyright 2010 by Bobby Blotzer.

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Cover photo, courtesy of the one and only rock photographer, Mr. Neil Zlozower.

  Cover design and layout by Mark Lowe.

  Lake Havasu photos by Mark Lowe.

  Blotzer Brothers Publishing

  www.blotzer.com

  Printed in the United States of America.

  Second U.S. Edition: August 2010

  The text in this publication is registered with the Library of Congress.

  ISBN: 978-0-615-36401-8

  Dedicated to my proudest achievements…

  Michael Robert and Marcus Anthony Blotzer

  …the apples of me eye!

  I’d like to tip my hat to Robbin, Stephen, Warren and Juan.

  In writing this book I was coming from an honest perspective from my memories of life.

  Contents

  A Quick Note From The Blotz!

  Acknowledgements

  Introduction: The Debasement Of A Rock God

  Act I: The Birth

  Steeltown Nomads

  The Virtues Of Cinnamon Toast

  The High Spirits Of Misadventure

  The Gaudy, Tawdry Mecca Called Sunset Strip

  Lean Into The Strike Zone

  Beatles Forever!

  Bomb Shelter Rehearsals

  The Curious Case Of A Consummate Hustler

  "Yodel-Ay-Eee-Yodel-Ay-Eee-Yodel-Ay-Eee Oooo”

  Fucking With The Rookie

  Into The Cellar

  15 Months: A Lesson In Debauchery

  All Hail The Mighty Krell!

  Love & Consequences

  Back For More

  Everybody Loves A Porsche

  The Need For Speed

  The Fall Of A King

  Ramboat: First Blotz

  Golf Course Or Intercourse

  Act II: The Death

  Eighties Metal Vs. Nineties Grunge

  Time To Tighten The Belt

  The Fountain Of Youth, Lake Havasu

  Rumors Of Reconciliation

  Metal's Pied Pipers Return!

  Rumors Of Our Demise Have Been Greatly Exaggerated

  Out Of The Frying Pan, Into The Fire

  A Bad Moon Rising

  Breaking The ”Love Glasses”

  Replacing The Voice

  A Virginian Angel Comes To The Rescue

  Litigation, Mitigation, And Mental Masturbation

  The King Is Dead...Long Live The King

  Calculating The Risk

  Act III: The Resurrection

  Round And Round: The RATTs Come Home

  Another One Bites The Dusk

  Wheels Off In Texas

  The Years Of The RATT: Plundering The High Seas!

  A Quick Note From The Blotz!

  My life has been one continuing quest to have fun, and to chase two things...FAME AND FORTUNE!

  I've been blessed in many ways. But most of all, by having two great sons, and my on-going great health.

  In doing this book, which I've thought about for many years, and listened to many friends tell me, "you need to do a book," I had a lot of fear that it simply would not be interesting enough to the casual reader. I wasn't interested in writing something for those closest to me.

  I was finally able to take up the challenge in late 2007 after being introduced to Jim Clayton; the fellow that has assisted me in putting together the pieces of the circus. I don't think I would have had the tenacity to sit and do this solo.

  I would also like to just say to anyone that I am friends with or people that know me and of course my family, that in reading this, I pulled back on the reigns and I do hope that no one has any offense to anything I've written in these pages. This is my story, and while I share it with a lot of people, I hold the keys to the memory banks, so it is admittedly one-sided.

  I love my family more than anything. I most dedicate this book to them. I'm 51 years of age as of this day of completion, February 28, 2010. But, I will say this, I feel 30, and I plan on staying that way till the eyes close forever, and I'm off to the next level.

  One last and most important thing, this book is mainly for my mother who passed away May 7th, 2007. Lois. There will never be a day that I don't think of you Mum and would give it all just to have a simple, "OH, BOBBY!” like you did with glee and excitement when I would call and we talked on phone.

  LOVE FOREVER: Michael Blotzer, Marcus Blotzer, Jeni Malara-Blotzer, Carol Blotzer, Michael Schweinberg, Ronnie Blotzer, Jack The River, my dog, and my best friend Leo the Lion - my cat, All the beautiful ex's that I have loved and that have loved me. My nieces and nephews. R.I.P. Pete Schweinberg (1934-2009).

  And, a special nod to my Pirates in Crime John Corabi, Carlos Cavazo, Robbie Crane, Jizzy Pearl, and Kerri Kelli.

  And also, a special shout out to: Yamaha, Paiste, Promark, DW, Remo.

  So sit back, enjoy the book and know one thing…Blotz loves ya baby!!

  Acknowledgements

  This book would not be possible without the contributions of two great friends Jim Clayton and Mark Lowe. Without the contributions and professional expertise and time, this would have not been possible. Special thanks to Joey Hundall for introducing me to Jim.

  Jim Clayton

  Mark Lowe

  Introduction: The Debasement Of A Rock God

  Cleveland. 1987. It's our third monster tour in as many years, and we are scintillating rock and roll GODS!

  The swell of noise from the crowd is testament to that. They have come tonight to worship at the throne of the RATT. And, we have come to receive their sacrifice, in all its various forms.

  With my family in the crowd, visiting from Pittsburgh, the arena watches in awe as a monstrous wash of backlight slowly rises. And there, standing on the drum throne with the devil horn's thrown in pride; silhouetted in the coolest rocker machismo possible, is me. Bobby Blotzer, aka.the Blotz. A rock and roll God in person!

  The crowd goes ape-shit; yelling and screaming! The sexual energy in the room is flowing like Vesuvius, flooding the people of Pompeii and forever encasing them in it's molten heat.

  I prepare for the blast of music already bubbling to the surface in Stephen, Juan, Robbin and Warren. My partners in crime. All they need is my lead. The moment where I’m standing atop of my drum stool, waiting to drop down and start the 4 count into the song.

  I'm anticipating the hot sizzle.

  All they need is my lead.

  CHSHH!! CHSHH!! CHSHH!! CHSHH!! And BOOM!!

  The thundering sound of RATT N' Roll motherfucker! Permeating every corner of the building! Creating a frenzy for the masses!

  As I jump down from my seat to start, my foot catches the leg of my drum stool.

  With my family watching their famous sibling in front of 15,000 screaming fans, I almost kill the tour.

  My right foot catches on the leg turning my ankle onto its side, and slamming the side of my foot flat into the floor! The snap penetrating the screaming crowd could be heard by the lead singer, was immediately followed by the most immense pain I've ever experienced...

  ...and the Blotz is terrified.

  The 15,000 adoring worshipers immediately become 15,000 fans that have expectations! Expectations that I can't deliver. The weight and pressures associated with being the band that carries an arena tour come crashing down like a fucking mallet.

  My ankle is pulverized. A few seconds, and it's the size of a grapefruit. I'm going to have to cut my shoe off, and my whole lower
leg is a white-hot ball of pain. But, I HAVE to play. I don't have a choice! Everyone; the band, the fans, the label and promoters; has expectations of me.

  So, I play.

  My trusty drum tech feeds me shot after shot of my good friend, Mr. Jack Daniels. This warm and soothing nectar of Tennessee will get me through it. I play the entire show, hardly able to think through the haze of sour mash and broken ankle.

  Thus, you have an example of RATT. A band with so much talent and drive, yet so much cannibalistic ego and self-deprecation, so much misfortune, that it can barely hold together through five consecutive multi-platinum records.

  RATT. The greatest band ever to almost become rock and roll Gods.

  This is my story. Bobby Blotzer. The Blotz. The dubious backbone of the strongest underachievers in heavy metal.

  Sit back and enjoy.

  I've mentioned Mötley Crüe several times in this book. It’s well known that those guys were close to RATT for a long time. They were bros, but also, they serve as a dead on example of what the fuck I'm getting at. Mötley hit the highest of highs, so, as a result, they were destined for the lowest of lows.

  They had the furthest to fall.

  RATT wasn't as high as those guys. So, when we fell, we didn't make as loud a noise as Mötley did. That's the rules of stardom. It's all about blessings and curses. The good and the bad. The riches and the soullessness.

  Fame likes to eat it's young.

  RATT has given me some wonderful things. I've experienced so much that I never would have gotten close to otherwise. There's a thousand dudes sitting in their garages, beating the shit out of some off-brand drum kit. Those guys would give one of their balls to have had the run I've had so far.

  So, I am a blessed man.

  Then, there is the other side of that coin to look at. There's that side that reveals the turmoil and pain involved in this business. It's dealing with the Devil, you know? You're gonna get exactly what he promises your ass, but when you ask for it, you seldom understand the costs. It's never as good as you expect.

  When we started out, and hit it huge, I wanted to do this forever. Despite the turmoil that was there from the beginning, I wanted to record with these dudes for the rest of my career. But, shit changes. I've said before, RATT wasn't a family. RATT was a gang. And, while those two things are built on similar standards, they are very different.

  I love my brother Ronnie, even though he was a bit of a prick growing up. But, he's family, and family is built on love. When you fight with your family, at the end of it, you'll still be family. That won't change.

  But, when you fight with a gang, someone's gonna bleed. RATT has done a lot of bleeding in the past 25 years. I'd never change it, though. Give me my gang. I don't always like them, but I can always trust them to be what they are.

  Pi-RATTs.

  Our first show was in Denver, Colorado at the Rainbow Theater. That was like, February 15, of 1984. The album had just come out, and we had just shot the video for Round and Round. I.C.M., which is a huge booking agency in LA, was handling all our booking.

  That was an amazing feeling to see their roster, and know that we were a part of that. They had everybody. Not just bands, but actors and directors; stars of every kind. They had everybody. That's probably the biggest reason we signed with them.

  We had the opportunity to go to Texas and open for ZZ Top.

  Ironically, the very first arena I played with RATT was the last arena I played with Vic Vergat. There in San Antonio. It was that old circular dome there in San Antonio. I think it's called the Alamo Dome now.

  More about that in a minute.

  ZZ Top was very cool; total gentlemen, and really approachable; very different from the metal heads of the day. We played with them again a few years later in England during the Monsters of Rock Tour.

  Every step was a huge step, by our standards. Every step felt like a gigantic leap forward. Fame is like that. You fight and fight; you have dozens of setbacks, where you think it's never going to work; and then fame hits! Within a couple of months, you're life becomes a fucking Cheers episode where everybody knows your name.

  The "Out of the Cellar" tour lasted close to fifteen months. We weren't quite ready for something like that, but we jumped in with fervor, because we were starved cavemen, out there trying to find food. The longer we were out there, the better life was becoming. The general feeling was "don't ever send us home," even though, by the time that tour finished, we were completely burned out.

  Kalamazoo was the first giant gig, and soon to come, it would be small by comparison. We did that show at the ski lodge, and they put the stage at the base of the ski runs. You could look out at the crowd, and just watch this sea of people flow up the side of the mountain. It was a very cool sight. There were a lot of people there that day.

  From that show, we went to Wichita Falls, Texas and played some place called the Twilight Zone. So, we went from the biggest gig we had ever played back to the reality of a club tour. The stage in that place was eye to eye with the audience. That stage set-up is the worst in the history of live music. The people in the back of the room can't see shit, and the drummer is buried at the rear of the stage. It's a miserable playing experience.

  The headlining bands on those opening tours treated us pretty well. Particularly Mötley Crüe.

  We went out with Motley in 1984, while on the Cellar tour. That was...that was...fuck! Oh, my God...

  Mötley Crüe is, hands down, the most out of control, decadent, soulless, monstrosity of a band that has ever been. They were also our closest compatriots. T-Bone and I are great friends to this day.

  That leg of the tour was nothing but drink, snort, fuck and party day and night.

  Complete, out of our mind, debauchery. We Pi-RATTs would invade your port, pillage your town, drink your rum, and fuck your daughters, all while you bought our T-shirts and albums, which we were happy to sign for you ... once we finished with your daughters.

  We played this 4000 seat theater in Boston. The place was sold out, and in the dressing rooms, there were windows that looked out on the parking lot. Normally, you don't have windows in the dressing rooms. So, after the show, Tommy and I were getting fucked up, doing shot after shot after shot of Jack Daniels.

  Just another day at the office.

  We kept looking out the window and seeing all these people hanging out, trying to catch a glimpse of us in the dressing room. They probably thought they'd get a peek at us getting dressed or something. We would keep popping our heads out the window, and the crowd down there was going ape-nuts.

  For some weird ass reason, we decided to start throwing them food from the deli tray. Like gasoline on a fire, the whole moment exploded with insanity. They were clamoring and climbing all over each other; tackling one another for these pieces of salami and bologna and cheese!

  It looked like "Night of the Living Dead", and they were all cannibalizing a corpse, or something. I'm sure a couple of people actually got hurt in that melee. At the very least, a couple of them were bitten. We laughed our ass off at that crowd. They were so desperate for anything that we did. We couldn't have enough fun with it!

  "We love you people!", as David Lee Roth was fond of saying.

  The last night of that tour, we played two sold-out shows at the Beacon Theater in New York. Motley decided they were going to fuck with us, which is customary. The headlining band always has some joke or prank that they pull on the opening acts on the last night. Anything to fuck with them.

  Mötley Crüe excelled at this.

  For us, it was an all night thing. It started off with a dead pigeon on a string. They kept lowering this nasty assed thing down from the roof during the show. It would jump and flop around in the air, this dead bird on a string, right at eye level to the band. The guys at the front of the stage were ducking and dodging, trying not to get hit with this thing.

  All right, very funny. The audience loved it.

  The pranks continued, and
I was a sitting duck for this shit. Behind my drum set, I had absolutely nowhere to go. I was Ground-Fucking-Zero. Unbeknownst to me, directly above my head, they had these huge bags of popped popcorn. Halfway through one of the songs, they promptly dumped this shit all over me. All right, even funnier. Snowing popcorn. Very nice.

  That happened pretty early in our set, but I figured the fun was over, and we could get through the rest of the show without too much embarrassment. Popcorn wasn't that big of a problem to deal with. It was just messy.

  Then came the coup-de-gras! Towards the end of the show, a giant cloud of white powder cascaded out of the rafters onto the stage! They had dumped huge bags of flour on us. Again, I'm a sitting duck. Nothing I can do about it, but play on.

  This shit was everywhere! Clouds of flour went into every nook and cranny on stage. The worst part was my drums. When you dump 50 pounds of flour onto your drum heads, it's like playing with them draped in wet towels. RATT sounded like we were playing from inside a well.

  That was pretty hysterical, thought. Really creative.

  Cocksuckers!

  I guess this joke really worked out for Motley. Because, it turned into a mainstay for their opening acts. They pulled the same trick on Guns N Roses when they toured with them in 1987.

  The flour gag immediately made me think of the Vic Vergat tour with Nazareth. All that baby powder.

  Karma. What a bitch.

  We’ll talk about that in just a minute.

  Our next big run was with Night Ranger. It lasted about three weeks, and turned out to be the calm before the storm. Night Ranger was a good bunch of guys to work with, and when we left them, all of a sudden, it was on! RATT was huge, with a single roaring toward the top ten.

  We got two semis, production, lighting, minor staging with ramps, and Fastway and Lita Ford rolling with us as our opening acts. I had two very good friends playing drums with Lita Ford. One was Eric Singer, and the other was Randy Castillo. Lita was pretty cooperative, despite the fact that she was bumped from our Beverly Theater show the night we were signed. From this point on, the tour really took off.