Tales Of A RATT Read online

  The recording of the EP was a whirlwind. We did all six cuts on the record in five days, working an average of eighteen hours each day. The engineer was a guy named Liam Sternberg, who is most noted for his work with The Bangles during their "Walk Like An Egyptian" days.

  The EP was released on Time Coast Records, which was Marshall's record label. He had ties with Alan Niven, who was working for Enigma Records at the time. Enigma's distributor was Greenworld Distribution, so the deal was made and Greenworld distributed the record for us.

  It was such a blur while recording for that record, that we really didn't have a chance to fuck it up. It couldn't be over-produced, because there wasn't time. There were no marathon runs of retakes, because there wasn't time. We couldn't risk screwing up and having to do it all again, because, you guessed it, there wasn't any fucking time!

  As a result, the work on the EP is one of the truest representations of RATT that there is. It was raw, lean and nasty, just like the band. That's probably why it did so well, and put us on the map. It didn't have time to be pretentious. It just "was.”

  We finished that record around 8:00 am on Thanksgiving morning, 1982. I remember walking out into the morning sun, feeling like I was being released from a solitary confinement prison cell; emerging into the light after years in inky darkness.

  We each crawled off in our various directions. My day was just beginning. I got home, got a shower, and helped Jeni get the kids ready. Then we were off to Jeni's parents house, as we always did on holidays. I spent the whole of that day sleeping in the back seat of the car with my feet out the window. I was a daylight zombie.

  But, we had an EP in the can, and it was a kick in the balls! I could hardly wait.

  When the EP came out in 1983, we had a single being played on KMET and KLOS at the same time, which was very rare. Usually, it was just one or the other. KLOS had a show called "Local Licks", and they started playing "You Think You're Tough". They got such a response for it, they put it into rotation. I heard it on the radio while driving my Datsun B210, and had to pull over to the side of the road, I got so excited.

  There was an immediate reaction in LA We started selling a lot of records. One thing I can promise you; when you sell a lot of records on your own, the labels that didn't want anything to do with you suddenly come around and started bidding.

  RATT was on the edge of breaking in.

  But, the dysfunction that would prove our undoing in later years was already starting to bubble up. Juan was still playing with Dokken. He had signed some stupid deal that kept him bound to that band in return for a slave wage regular paycheck.

  Dokken had signed with Electra, but they weren't doing anything. So, it became like a race. Who would break first? RATT or Dokken? Juan was playing both against each other, not wanting to leave one and commit to the other.

  We got into the studio first and recorded the RATT EP. Juan played on it, but he still wouldn't leave Dokken. The thing with Juan is that at his core, he is only interested in himself. Everyone has a selfish streak, and I understand that. But, he's a total mercenary in this business, for sale to the highest bidder. I understand that you've got to look out for #1, but he puts people through pain in the way he conducts his business.

  On July 27, 1983, we were playing at the Beverly Theater in Hollywood. Lita Ford was the opening act. She was so pissed that she was opening for RATT, she decided to show up late. In fact, she was so late, that we wound up just bumping her from the show, and went on. The show was completely sold out.

  There were label reps scattered all around the place, all wanting to meet with us "for a couple of minutes.” We were making the most noise around town, and everyone knew it. Doug Morris made it through the door before anyone. At the time, Doug was the President of Atlantic Records. He had heard of us through one of his A&R guys, Kenny Austin, who's father, Moe, was the legendary boss at Warner Brothers.

  Now days, Doug is the top dog with Universal Music Group. He's probably the second or third most powerful person in this business. Just an incredible dude. This is the guy who signed us. He walked into our dressing room with Beau Hill at his side, and that was the night we got our deal with Atlantic Records.

  We left the show that night, and were immediately on the road up to San Francisco to play a show. We drank the entire way there, celebrating our new deal with Atlantic. We arrived at the hotel in Frisco around six in the morning, and as we poured ourselves out of the van, exhausted and hung-over, I noticed something on the sidewalk.

  Some enterprising member of San Francisco's best had written into a square of wet cement the words "MEN LOVING MEN.” I turned to Stephen and just shook my head.

  "Dude, we're not in Kansas anymore."

  Back when I first joined, and Joey Criss was still playing bass with us, we played a gig that was so low paying, it was crazy.

  We stopped at a Floyd's Market, a little grocery store. We'd made something like $50 as a band, before the split. Joey and I were trying to get some food, and Joey tried to steal a thing of cheese and a package of meat.

  They caught him.

  The clerk knew me, because I was coming in there all the time, and they guy was like, "Man, what's up with this shit?" He was just glaring at Joey, and wanting answers from me.

  I just looked at Joey and shook my head. "Fuck, dude.” He was embarrassed as shit. So, I look at the clerk, and go, "Bro, we're musicians, and we just did this gig where we got paid $50 among us. I didn't know he was THAT hungry, but we're putting our money together to get some food. It will never happen again.”

  The guy was like "Yeah. I can let it go. It's cool. It's just not cool to come in here and do something like that, you know? But you come in all the time, so I'll let it slide.” I go, "Duly noted, so no worries.”

  We get outside and I look at Joey. "What's up? Why'd you do that?”

  Joey's just whipped by the whole thing. He's completely humiliated.

  He's goes, "Complete fuck up, man…”

  I reach down in between my waistband and pull out a thing of cheese, and a thing of lunchmeat, and we both start laughing. "Okay, we're alright, then.”

  Not to say that we were thieves or shit like that, it's just that when you're really hungry, and it's food, you gotta do what you gotta do. I don't steal. I don't want to steal. But, hunger is a motivator of stupid things, you know?

  Juan had been so incredibly problematic with the Dokken / RATT, dual band thing, that we had parted ways with him, briefly. Joey Criss was playing bass for us, at the time. But, Joey wasn't cutting it. He was a great guy, but was really timid when it came to the music and performance. He didn't have that nasty, edgy punch that Juan did musically. Plus, he just wasn't as tight a bass player as Juan. I was REALLY missing that, musically.

  So, we went to Juan and said, "Look man, here's the deal. We signed with Atlantic, so you're either in or you're out. Right now. Because we're about to start recording.” He was in. Dokken was out. The rest is RATT N' Roll.

  August of 1983, we started working with Beau Hill at the Village Recorder. We demoed "Out of the Cellar" with Beau. We needed to see that it was going to be a good pairing, which it worked great. Subsequently, we went back to the Village Recorder, which is on Santa Monica Blvd. in west LA.

  The Village Recorder had a lot of albums come out of there. Most notably were a couple of the Fleetwood Mac albums. I remember we went in, and Kenny would be coming in with pockets full of blow. He brought Stevie Nicks in, one time. It was a trip, you know?

  We were coming into another world. We demoed three songs, "Round and Round", "Wanted Man", and a song called "Reach For the Sky" that didn't make the "Out of the Cellar" album, and had nothing to do with the album we did later by the same name.

  Those sessions were sort of a match making session to see if we liked Beau as a producer. It turned out great, so we were like, "Dude, you're the guy.” Beau was our producer for five records after that.

  Juan and I were the only ones who l
ived in South Bay. The rest of those guys lived up around Hollywood. So, Juan and I would carpool to the session everyday. I remember we would be arguing over who was going to pay for gas each trip.

  We were pooling change and shit, just trying to get us there. That's how broke we were; buying fuel with pennies. It was the irony of our lives. We were bitching with one another as to who threw in the most quarters to get gas, and then going to a recording studio to do a record that would go on to sell five million copies.

  It was an exciting, virgin territory for us. We had just signed with Atlantic. We had this new album we were working on, and we got this little taste of money, about $7500 each. Then, about a week later, our manager called us and says "We gotta give this money back!” We were like, "What the fuck do you mean, give it back?”

  I never really got the straight answer on it, but there was some sort of protocol, bookkeeping thing involved. We eventually were paid the money, but they did make us give it back. I think I told them, "I've spent most of mine already", and only sent back a couple of thousand. It was a complete lie, but what the hell.

  RATT Mansion West. That was what we called Stephen's apartment. It was located in Palm, a little spot between Culver City and Hollywood. Stephen and Robbin had that place. It was a little one bedroom, and they would alternate who got the bed. The other two guys took the mattresses that were thrown in the corners.

  We would all hang out there and get drunk, get loaded, write songs, fuck chicks...I mean, all the groupie types would bring food over there and take care of them. I was a little different. I always had a nice place, a wife, and kids. Jeni and I were living in a nice apartment in Redondo, then we moved into a house in Manhattan Beach. We lived comfortably, so I never really was a constant participant in the squalor and mess of the usual LA rock band.

  Stephen actually lived with Jeni and I for a while right after I joined the band. It was shortly after Michael was born, Stephen rented a room from us. He was the complete opposite of Juan when it came to being a roommate. Stephen was a clean freak! We never had to worry about a mess with that guy in the house, that's for damn sure.

  For a while, Jeni and I were forced to downsize in money a little. We left our $950 place in Manhattan Beach for a $700 place in Redondo Beach. It wasn't a month later that Don Dokken called me and said he had this fantastic duplex in Hermosa Beach. One side was a 3 bedroom, multi-level spread with a full ocean view. The other side is a two-bedroom tri-level, as well.

  I went over to look at the place and was just freaking out at how nice it was. It was a brand new place. Don was like, "Yeah, you can get your side for $700 a month, with a two year lease.” So, I had to get out of my lease in Redondo. I had to talk my way out of it. I had talked my way into it, and then talked my way out of it. The landlord let me. Like I said, I've never had a problem selling something.

  So Jeni and I moved into one side, and Don, Alan Niven (manager of Great White / Guns & Roses) and Guenella (his wife) moved in on the other.

  So, that was interesting. Especially when, six months later, we found out Don had lied to us to get in the place himself. The lease wasn't a two-year, it was only six months. And, at the end of it, the rent jumped from $700, to $1400. We wound up having to move out, because of Don's bullshit.

  But, for a time, the rest of the band were living like slobs in RATT Mansion West, and I was living in a great house, with an ocean view.

  While we were living in Hermosa, in the duplex next to Dokken and Alan Niven, George Lynch moved in with us. We rented him a room for a couple of months.

  He was cool. He's a trippy person to live with; a trippy guy in general. We used to sit around and play his guitars quite a bit. He gave me a few lessons, stuff like that, but he moved out owing me $30 on a phone bill.

  He still hasn't paid it. It's been almost 30 years, and every time I see him, like at a Christmas party a few years back, I mention it. "I'll get you, dude. No problem!” Then he doesn't pay me. It's become this big running joke.

  That's okay, though. Because after 30 years, the interest has that shit juiced up to around $300.

  None of that mattered, though, because we were all pirates, or Pi-RATTs, as we called ourselves. So invariably, I'd end up at the RATT Mansion West getting lit and doing what Pi-RATTs do.

  My first gig with RATT at the Whiskey late March 1982, Looking Mick Jaggeresque.

  Engineer Jim Farachi during the recording Invasion Of Your Privacy 1985.

  12

  15 Months: A Lesson In Debauchery

  "Every city in the world always has a gang, a street gang, the so-called outcasts." - Jimi Hendrix

  In the beginning, I had a hard time picturing RATT headlining arena tours. We had some really good songs, but something was missing. The successful bands, the bands who went on to be huge; Van Halen, Mötley Crüe, Bon Jovi; they all had that "thing.” I don't know what that "thing" is, but, it can't be learned, only discovered. You gotta have that "it factor," or the group never gets out of the gate.

  Stephen has a cool voice, but when we started out, to me, he didn't seem to be a great frontman. Given our success, it's safe to say that I was shown wrong, but only to a degree. I always felt, and still do, that Stephen has another level to his ability. It's right there beneath his surface, and if that guy ever tapped into that, who knows what would be accomplished. He had some great hooks; some great music; but there was more to be had with his voice and lyrics.

  Stephen and I have always had a tumultuous relationship. I was seeing other front men who were just taking control of a show. They dominated. I knew Stephen had that in him. I knew it was there. But, that's not Stephen's style. He's never been a "run around the stage - high energy" front man. He stalks around the stage, sort of like Rob Halford in style. He isn't Vince Neil, Jon Bon Jovi, Bret Michaels, Jani Lane; sprinting around all over the place. I guess he's more traditional. He's more old school. I just didn't recognize it. I saw all our contemporaries out there stealing our audience with very energetic, calculated front men who knew exactly what the audience wanted, and then giving it to them.

  Stephen has that air of mystique about him, but his vocal performance and live image often wasn't as compelling. There was too much cigarettes, too much weed, and his voice really suffered as a result. However, this last tour we did in 2007, he was as professional and driven as I've seen him. He wasn't drinking. He watched a lot of old tapes from past arena tours and tried to dial in to where his strengths were; trying to bring it to the stage, and suddenly, it was almost like old times, which is good for us all. The guy has a immediately recognizable, franchise voice. You hear him, and you know it's RATT.

  These days, I can listen to the radio and hear a song, and I can't tell who it is. All the singers sound the same, and so much stuff isn't discernible from the other songs you hear. Stephen is discernible, that's for damned sure! But, he's old school, and you'll never teach the proverbial old dog anything. He's a complicated underachiever.

  Back when I first met Stephen, all the way back in 1977, he was just another random rocker guy with a party band from San Diego. I think he was still trying to figure out what to do with himself. So, I didn't really pay much attention to him. We were really young, and just starting bands. But, having spent time with the guy, I'll tell you this. I don't think Stephen has EVER figured out what to do with himself.

  It's interesting to watch what this business does to people. Some of the things it brings out of a person are surprising. In Stephen's case, it brought this sort of neurotic, paranoid, isolationist thing. These things weren't there in the beginning, as much. But, as we went on, they surfaced quickly. He became so unreasonably difficult to do business with, but, I think it was just the effect of fame. Everyone was out to get him. So, he would get them first. The response from the rest of the band only seemed to fuel that separation.

  Starting out, we all hung together. We'd go to parties and shit, but that gradually stopped. While we tried to stay close, it was a struggle.
By the later years, it was near impossible.

  A good example is on Warren's 25th birthday, I threw a surprise party for him. It was a complete success! The surprise was huge! But, the surprise was ... Warren never showed up! I had all these different rock stars there, all our friends. I tried for hours, but I couldn't get him on the phone. There was tons of food, drink, a cake. Little did I know, he pulled an all nighter and missed his own birthday party. and he missed his own 25th birthday.

  It was pretty humiliating for him, really. He was really embarrassed. He actually had one of his signature snakeskin guitars at my house, and told me, "You can just keep the guitar, man.” He felt so bad. I was like, "I'm not taking your guitar, dude. That's your gig.”

  I felt really bad for him that he missed that.

  It's a miracle that we've gotten to where we've gotten, because, at our base level, we're all a bunch of lost superstars who just can't seem to find ourselves. Jesus! Who would RATT have been if we could have just found our identity and KEPT it? I think about that. I think about that more than I should.

  During that first tour, I was the only guy who had ever done an arena tour. So, for a little while, I was a little bit of the elder statesman with the band. It was short lived, though. Especially once we were into the meat of the tour. Everyone was an expert by that time.

  But, in the beginning, the guys were really inquisitive. Especially since the Vergat tour spent some time with Joe Perry, and we were all major Aerosmith fans.

  For me, it was amazing to be on the same stage with Joe Perry. Even though he was so loaded on that tour, he was hard to talk to. Joe was out of his mind and weird. He would go up to the microphone, loaded out of his skull and sort of mumble into it. "Yeah, I used to be in Aerosmith.” That statement would just be dripping in sarcasm. Then he would throw his guitar up in the air and let it come smashing down.

  *WHANG!* He was really fucked up on that tour. Self admitted, too. He talks about it a lot in the Aerosmith bio, "Walk This Way". That's a great book. It's really revealing about this industry, and them as a dysfunctional bunch, just like us.