Tales Of A RATT Read online

  In a way, I actually savored that moment. Especially in light of what happened in 1998 with Don. Because, it was like, "You fucking little geek. Everyone just saw you do that in your prissy little jealous rage, and all it did was make me look better. What the hell are you thinking?”

  So, I just left, which made him look even worse. I didn't make a big scene. I didn't act all pissed off. I just said, "Hey, see you later!”

  That night was a pretty shitty night, all things considered.

  When I left Dokken's party, I went up to Hollywood to hang out at the Rainbow. When I was getting ready to leave, the valet pulled my Trans-Am up to the front door.

  I looked up and saw Blackie Lawless from WASP standing there. He was walking by with whatever chick he was banging in his coffin that night. He takes a look at my car, then at me, and he squints his eyes, as if to say, "You fucking cocksucker.”

  What's he do? He jumps on my car, drops an elbow on it, and puts a dent in my brand new Trans-Am! I jumped out of the car and came around swinging, but people got in between it. He squirted away to his ride and took off down Sunset Blvd.

  I jumped back into the car and took off after him. I chased him down Sunset and was doing everything I could do to get him pulled over. We were flipping each other off, and yelling. Granted, Blackie is probably 6'4" or 6'5", and could probably kick my ass, but I didn't care. I was going to get a piece of his sorry ass one-way of the other. I could have chewed his fucking eyeball out. He never did pull over.

  I was really disappointed that.

  Irony of ironies, it was probably Don who popped that dent back out for me.

  Go figure.

  1984, in a limo going to the Grammys in a pink suit.

  1984, New York City. A shoot with Mark (Weiss guy) Weiss, for Faces Magazine cover for New Years Eve. Photo by Mark Weiss.

  1985, the “weird” backdrop shoot.

  16

  Everybody Loves A Porsche...Some More Than Others

  The Trans Am was my baby through the end of the Cellar tour. But, after I came home from the 1985 "Invasion of Your Privacy" tour, I wanted a new baby. So, I bought a Porsche. Which was stolen in 1986.

  That's right. You read it. My Porsche 944 was stolen.

  The story goes like this: It was 1986 and we were having a bunch of friends over for a big bar-be-que. We're hanging around at the house, and the party was off to a slow crawl. So, we started talking shit about golfing.

  There was this little par 3 course right in the middle of the neighborhood; 9 really short holes. We decide that we're going to run over there and shoot this course. It only takes about 35-40 minutes to do the whole thing, so we'd be back before anyone even noticed we were gone. No problem.

  We got some beers, and a bag; put some ice in it, and we're off! We jumped in my Porsche and were gone. I say we jumped in, but there were four of us, so it was more like we "wedged in.”

  We pulled into the place and see a couple of carloads of kids getting ready to go inside. So, it's like, "Shit, we gotta get in there quick!” Now, understand something. I'm a very impatient person by nature. If I get in my mind that I want to do something, it needs to be done 10 minutes ago. That should make what happened next a little more believable.

  I left my keys in the door of the car. I know! Don't start with me! I'm impatient, remember?

  What I did was when I opened the driver's door, I pushed the hatch button. The 944's had a button hatch that was supposed to pop up with the press of a button. My 944 sort of struggled with that concept.

  My keys were in the door to lock it, and I had pushed the button for the hatch to get the clubs. The guys are going, "Dude, this thing isn't opening.” So I shut the door and went back to get the hatch up, leaving the keys hanging. The hatch opened fine, so I pulled out the clubs we were going to share (all we needed was a wedge and a putter), and slammed the hatch down.

  I was standing there with the clubs and looked up to see the other people getting out of their car to go inside. I'm like, "Come on, we gotta jet or wait in line", forgetting that my car keys are still hanging in the door.

  I'm guessing you know what happens next.

  While we were shooting 9 holes, someone took my goddamned car with the keys just sitting there. My wallet was in there. Everything. The little cocksucker who stole it charged up a bunch of shit on my credit cards. It was a miserable nightmare.

  So, first off, we finish golfing and I call Jeni from the parking lot. She had been giving me shit, "You're going golfing? We're having a bar-be-que party!”

  I'm like, "It's no big deal. It'll take an hour, tops. We'll be right back.” She's like "I can't fucking believe that. Whatever.”

  I'm there, calling her from a payphone in the parking lot. Because, cell phones in 1986 were the size of a briefcase. I know, because I had one. It was in the damned Porsche.

  I call her. "Very funny. That's really cute. Now, get over here and pick us up. We're done.”

  "What are you talking about?", she says.

  "You know what I'm talking about. You came over here, took the Porsche. Very funny. Now, come back and pick us up.”

  She goes, "I don't know what you're talking about. I don't have the Porsche. Are you telling me the Porsche is gone?”

  Suddenly, I was getting a bad feeling right in the pit of my stomach. I started in. "Jeni, I'm gonna say this one more time. Did you …”

  She said, "I don't have the car.”

  I was like, "FUCK!” I was really close to rolling over a little myself.

  Jeni came over and picked us up and I called the police. This is at the end of summer in 1986 after the tour. The top quality law enforcement of the time really stepped up...and did nothing. To them, I was just another spoiled superstar with too much money.

  At this point, I decided to start calling the cell phone that was in the car. Little fuck-stick probably didn't even know what it was, but it was worth a shot. He never did answer.

  Christmas morning, I get a knock at the door, and it's the neighbor's kid from across the street. He was a good kid; nineteen years old. He's kind of shuffling around, and I can tell he's got something important to say.

  "Hey, Bobby. What's up. Merry Christmas.”

  "Merry Christmas.”

  He's like, "I just came over to give you a Christmas present.”

  I'm looking, and he's all empty handed. "Okay. So, what is it?”

  He says, "I was at a Christmas party last night with a bunch of people I know and went to school with and stuff. All of a sudden, a conversation came up about a friend of ours. I was asking where he was these days.”

  I used to know the guys name buy heart. Knew it for years, but I can't remember it now. Anyway, my neighbor continues his story.

  "They were telling this story where he had been talking shit about how he had stolen this rockstar's car. His wallet and everything was inside, and he went shopping and bought a bunch of shit on the guys credit cards.”

  So this kid had been telling my neighbor's friends about ripping me off! I couldn't believe it! My neighbor kid had found the dude who took my Porsche. Ultimately, the little prick had taken my car to Mexico and torched it.

  The idea of getting ripped off was bad enough, but to think of my beloved Porsche roasting in a Mexican desert? It drove me crazy!

  The insurance had settled with me on it, but I got like a grand less than I paid for it and everything. It was bullshit. It just sucked. It completely sucked.

  To add insult to injury, I called the cops and gave them this kid's name, address, everything. They never did fuck-all, and I never understood why. I called all the credit card companies and reported it, but nothing. I finally gave up trying. By this time, I was back out on the road.

  I kept calling this one detective going, "Why aren't you guys doing anything about this? What is the problem, here? I gave you this thing on a fucking platter.”

  It was so bad, I almost got to a level that I could never let myself do. But, I was r
eally contemplating having this kid fucked up. I had a friend named Chuck who goes, "Brother, give me his address. I'll take care of shit.”

  Chuck Daw is a very tight, very long time friend of mine. We worked together when I had that steam cleaning business in 1977. As a matter of fact, his sister Debbie was the girl with me at the Aerosmith concert. I always had a big crush on her. In fact, for my sixteenth birthday, she gave me a birthday present I’ll never forget.

  We've talked about the Back For More video shoot, but we have a total of 18 music videos.

  Video shoots are all the same old shit. Every time, it's the same thing. You get there and stand around with your thumb in your ass. It's a really overdrawn, over produced thing.

  I've always complained about video production from the get-go. I see a lot of people standing around on those things, just milking the time, since that stuff is paid by the hour. That always costs us money.

  When we did "Nobody Rides For Free", we shot on Zuma Beach, where you're only allowed to shoot from ten in the morning to ten at night. Which is perfect. Everything gets done in a single, twelve-hour day. Unlike our normal video shoots, which were twenty hour, three day shoots.

  "Nobody Rides For Free" was in the movie "Point Break", and they intercut scenes from the film throughout the video. That made it even nicer!

  Nonetheless, my point was this; if you can't shoot two hours of footage of each guy, and still not have enough to put together a three or four minute video, then use what you've got!

  I always thought videos were a big, over hyped rip-off. We would spend six months cutting a new record, and the production would cost $250,000 - $300,000. We'd spend three days shooting a music video, and the cost was $250,000 - $300,000. That's insane. For ending up with three or four minutes of footage, we could have produced another album?

  Bullshit.

  I've enjoyed some of the video productions, though. I just hate that they cost so damned much. The "Nobody Rides For Free" shoot was good, because it was outside, on the beach. You know?

  The Detonator videos were fun, although they turned out to be kind of stupid to watch. "Loving You's a Dirty Job" turned out okay, but in "Shame, Shame, Shame" they had me doing some stupid, comedic shit.

  They shot me jumping out of a plane with no parachute, grabbing onto some chicks underwear as she hangs from her parachute and pulling them off on my way down. I did this stunt for filming, where I jumped off of this plank in between Juan and Robbin, and landed in a giant airbag below. That was cool. But the end result looks gloriously retarded.

  The director thought I was funny, as did Marshall, our manager, who directed most of our early videos. They both loved doing shtick, which is why I wound up doing the comedic stuff in the first place.

  The video for "Slip of the Lip" was fun, because we shot it on location while out on the road. It's a complete live shoot. I've always liked those. It was down on Bourbon Street, with all the live stuff out on the road.

  "Wanted Man" was a kick in the ass! We had just played a show in Tucson, Arizona. Our wake-up call was for 4:00 in the morning. Absolutely brutal. We drove out to Old Tucson, where they shoot a lot of cowboy movies and westerns. We shot all day long, and then had to get on the bus and go play a show in Phoenix. We pulled into Phoenix literally ten minutes before we were supposed to be on stage. So, it was completely chaotic.

  But, "Wanted Man" was a killer video, a lot of fun to shoot. All of us had cowboy and Indian fantasies as kids. Gunfights and bar brawls and all that. That video let us kind of play along to those kid charms.

  My horse was a bit of a pain in the ass, though. He kept pulling away from me, and just not wanting to do what he was supposed to. It's funny, because people who know horses, and have seen that video always bring that up to me. I guess you can spot those things a mile away, when you've had to deal with them. I kept wanting to "run it out of him", but they wouldn't let me.

  None of us in the band were expert horsemen, but I think all of us had been on horseback enough times to know what we were doing, and have a little confidence. For me, I just wanted to go fast. I'm not jumping it, or doing tricks with it. I just wanted to get that rowdy urge the animal had going, and run it out. Plus, I like high speed. Cars, motorcycle, horses…women. I don't give a shit.

  I don't have a lot of fear, anyway.

  The horses were the only real thing they let us do. We didn't get to do the brawl, or anything like that. Just the horses and the gunfight at the end, where I got my few moment of fame by catching a bullet in my teeth.

  They did teach Robbin to throw a stuntman, which you get to see during the brawl. Yea, for Robbin!

  The show in Phoenix went off pretty well, despite the complete lack of sleep. So, the video was worth it, plus it turned out to be one of our best.

  Phil Collins did a music video where he emulated four or five other videos. "Wanted Man" was one of them. Flattering, in a back handed sort of way.

  We get a call to come down for Sam Kinison's "Wild Thing" video shoot. We knew Sam from around town, and as everybody knows, he was a fabulous, hysterical comedian, and a notorious party animal. We get invited to be in the video that he's shooting. He's doing a cover of The Trogs song, "Wild Thing.”

  He's got Jessica Hahn, who is most known for sucking and fucking Jim Bakker, the televangelist. Now, she emerges with these new, giant 38DDD tits. So, she had gone from this scandalous church thing to romping on the floor with Sam Kinison for his video, showing her tits all over the place, and wearing barely there clothes.

  We get there, and the people in tow for this video are Joe Perry and Steve Tyler from Aerosmith; Tommy, Nikki and Vince from Motley; Jon Bon Jovi and Richie Sambora; Slash and Duff from Guns N Roses; and finally us. Me, Stephen and Robbin. I think Warren might have been there too.

  So, we get up to this sound stage in Hollywood at Zoetrope Studios, which used to be Charlie Chaplin's studio. They still use the place for movies and stuff. We go in, and they have this ring set up, with a big pit in the middle of it. They're shooting scenes of Sam boxing Jessica, and wrestling around with her, and we're all hanging around the top of the pit just cheering them on. Great fun! I got to hang out with all my friends that day, which back in those days, we all kept in touch. All the time. It was very different from today, where most of us have licked our wounds and gone our ways. We weren't really creative friends with Aerosmith, but obviously we all idolized them.

  Aerosmith knew who we were, and were incredible guys. Joe Perry came out and jammed with us in Boston at the Centrum Arena in 1987. He and Tom Hamilton and Joey Kramer came to our show. We got Joe to come up on stage and play "Walking the Dog" with us. That was a trip.

  So, that day at Sam's video shoot, I had to go take a piss, which took me back to this decrepit men's room. The thing didn't have urinals, just this really long, really old looking trough. Really old. It reminded me of the schools I went to back in Pittsburgh. So, I'm standing there, taking a leak. This trough has to be thirty feet long, and I'm the only person in there.

  I hear someone come into the room while I'm standing there, having a piss. There's all sorts of room at this thing, but the guy comes in and stands RIGHT BESIDE ME, shoulder to shoulder.

  My proximity warning is blaring!

  There are unwritten rules about the men's room. You don't make eye contact. You don't look down and to the side. And, if there's room, you always leave a space with the guy next to you. That's just the way it is, you know. So, I'm uncomfortable. I look over, and it's Steven Tyler! One of my childhood icons!

  What can you do? I said, "What's up, dude?”

  Tyler looks at me and goes, "Hey Blotz!”

  I about flipped out when he said that. Not only is this a one on one encounter with an icon, but he called me by my nickname! I couldn't believe he knew my name. Much less my nickname! If he's said, "Hey, Bobby", I would have been giddy, but "Hey, Blotz?” Fucking awesome!

  Now, let's keep things in perspective, here. I'm standi
ng next to one of my heroes, and we both have our dick in our hand. That's a little weird, giddy or not. So, we both finish recycling our beer, then I'm talking to him and telling him about my days of learning to play drums to "Get Your Wings" and "Toys In The Attic", and how at the gig in 1975, backstage at the Long Beach Arena I had my first backstage moments.

  He really got a kick out of hearing those stories. It was one of the cooler, more interesting meetings I've ever had

  A lot of amusing things were going on in the 80s. But, one of the weirdest was the whole PMRC thing. Parents Music Resource Center. Tipper Gore.

  It's common knowledge that the best thing you can do to sell something is to tell people they can't have it. Especially kids. Then they HAVE to have it, just to rebel, if nothing else. We never needed that kind of publicity, because our sales were strong regardless. And, they never really took a lot of interest in us.

  The only thing I ever heard them call us out about was the cover of the "Invasion of Your Privacy" album. Something about looking through a window at a hot chick in her underwear made Tipper and her friends tighten all up. But, that was tame. We were never going to be on their "Filthy Fifteen" list. Not for lyrical content.

  I never really gave them that much thought. I thought it was stupid, so it was in one ear and out the other. Of course, when you get acts like WASP out there, and they record the crap they are known for, whether it's "Fuck Like A Beast", or whatever, they need all the help they can get.

  That band is one of the worst bands I've ever had the displeasure of watching. So, I couldn't have cared less if they were going after Blackie Lawless and his crew. I'm like, "Go get 'em. Knock yourself out.”

  A lot of bands used that whole thing to get airtime. Quiet Riot is a prime example. Those guys were never a target, but they got out there and did everything they could to make some noise and get some attention. I don't know. It seems pretty pathetic.