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Monday, October 15, 2007


BECAUSE HE'S SLASH, KIDS. BECAUSE HE'S SLASH

Did you know that there was actually a time when music didn't suck? It was a very long time ago, but Slash was a big part of it.

The funny part is that back then everyone was also complaining about music sucking then, too. Then Appetite for Destruction came out and everybody shit the fuck up for a time. Of course, music started sucking again, Nirvana came and went, and music has pretty much sucked every since.

Everybody caught up? Good.

Something funny has happened in the last few years. Music sucks horribly, but all of the most interesting musicians are writing their memoirs. I got Eric Clapton's book last Friday. Ronnie Wood's comes out later this month, and the Magna Carta or rock n' rollery, the great Keith Richards is writing his autobiography as we speak. Who knew that a day would come when all the coolest music stuff would be in bookstores?

I think the book I'm looking most forward to is Slash's autobiography. Slash is like a friggin' scientist when it comes to fucking up. For a long time, his life seemed to consist of being in the biggest band in the world and falling down. Then he'd say "fuck" on live television without seeming to realize that it just might be a problem. Afterward he'd play a guitar solo that would tear your goddamn head off. Then he'd fall down again. Amazingly, his top hat stayed on through it all.

Oh, and he owns a lot of guitars. I'm a stunningly bad fucking guitarist, but I love guitars. Therefore, I admire anyone who owns more Gibsons than Texas has guns. It's a thing with me.

Sure, he had to deal with Axl Rose for a living, but life was pretty good for Slash.

What we didn't know was just how good it was.

Wanna learn the proper way to break up with a porn star? Uncle Slash'll tell you.

I went through an interesting succession of girlfriends at this time; just a handful that I'd see over at my place, each on different nights. At some point during these months my manager had the brilliant idea of having me present some award to someone or other at the MTV Video Music Awards. I can't even remember who we gave it to, but my co-presenter was Traci Lords, the porn star, so we met backstage and then started dating immediately. I was in a strange place; I was mildly famous, I was infamous, but I was still stuck in a raggedy, heathen mentality in terms of my quality of life. At that time, I could have had $15m in the bank, but I wouldn't have changed my lifestyle at all; I didn't have a car, I was happy to have my one-room apartment that looked like a generic hotel room, and needed nothing more - that was where my head was at. At the same time, I knew how to be a gentleman, which is entirely what Traci Lords expected on a date. So somehow we hit it off.

But Traci didn't want any part of being seen in public with me; if we ever went anywhere where anyone might be paying attention, she'd put me through this stupid ordeal where I'd have to come in after her and meet her inside, as if by accident. Obviously I was recognisable, so she always insisted that we scoot in some back alley entrance. From what I understood she wanted to keep a low profile because she didn't want to be exposed as a groupie slut or one of the porno chicks that guys like me dated. I was never one of those guys who was judgemental about that stuff and never understood those who were; in fact the only reason I knew her was that I'd seen her in this movie where she was bent over holding her ankles and she looked amazing. I truly appreciated that, so I figured everyone else appreciated that, too. I didn't get her whole charade at all.

Of course, once I started dating her, my friend West Arkeen brought over a copy New Wave Hookers so we could check it out. It was very entertaining but somewhat of a tease because Traci and I still hadn't slept together. Our 'relationship' was starting to become more of a bother than it was worth.

Traci had called me early one week to make plans and that same day West came by with a huge pile of crack. We stayed up for the next two days and by the time Traci showed up to go out with me, West and I were crawling around on the carpet looking for rocks. I knew she was coming but I couldn't help it: we were a mess; the only person that would have been OK with it would have been a crack whore. My place was a fucking pigsty on every level and it didn't help that West was there like some resident pigmy: he was only about 5ft 4in and had stringy blond hair that was really greasy after two days of smoking crack.

West always had this permanent grin on his face that became more and more disturbing the more wasted he was. This particular afternoon he was so wasted that he openly leered at Traci.

He was so high that he thought nothing of going over to my bookshelves, retrieving New Wave Hookers, pointing to the cover, saying 'That's you, isn't it? You're Traci Lords!' He kept grinning at her.

Traci took a long slow look around. 'I'll be right back,' she said in her pouty little voice. 'I forgot something in my car.'

'Yeah, cool,' I said. 'Then we'll take off.' I was high, and not particularly aware of time passing, but I soon realised that she'd been gone far too long to ever be coming back.

And that's how it's done, teenagers. Things often aren't as complicated as we think they are.

Slash knows this. He also knows that crack will solve pretty much any problem you have. I hope you all remember this the next time you find yourself in a relationship with a bothersome porn star who doesn't fuck. I know that I will. And I'll have Slash to thank. He's a fountain of wisdom, that Slash.

In case you were curious, West Arkeen co-wrote a few Guns N' Roses songs. He liked drugs a lot, too. He's dead now.

Let's say that you just bought your first house. You're a little nervous about all of the new responsibilty. You're just a little jittery about having a number of strangers about. How do you let your contractor know that you're just one of the guys?

Let Slash learn you.

I did what anyone with new money should do after renting for a while: I bought a house like my business manager told me to. I still had no clue as to my future or how to handle finances; I had no material aspirations at all. I didn't spend much on anything at that point; money was still an abstract concept to me. I found a house just off Laurel Canyon, and it was forever known as the Walnut House. I was pretty out of control at the time. I remember showing up to meet the contractor to talk about redoing my bathroom and thinking that breaking out a few lines would be a good way to break the ice. He and I stood in the bathroom as he walked me through the work that needed to be done. 'Yeah, yeah, cool, man,' I said. I slapped down the toilet-seat cover and cut out four thick lines of coke. 'You want one?'

He looked pretty uneasy. 'No, no thanks. I'm on the job,' he said. 'OK, right, that's cool,' I said. 'I'll do yours, then.' 'It's not just that, it's also eight o'clock in the morning,' he said, smiling apologetically.
Most of my readers are already homeowners, so that advice is pretty much useless to them. I'm putting it up here for the children. Hopefully, they'll live the life we didn't. And I know Slash has the same hopes.

Curious about pharmacology? So was Slash. And he made some fantastic discoveries.
Soon I started speedballing heavily and really enjoyed the unique brand of hallucinatory paranoia that comes with it. No one had taught me to speedball; I just thought it would be like a narcotic Reese's Peanut Butter Cup. Coke and heroin were two great tastes that I knew would go great together. The rush of the coke would send me up and then the dope would kick in and the trip would take a wonderful turn; and the two would weave in and out of each other from there on out. I'd always end up shooting all of the heroin before I'd mowed through the coke, so usually I'd get wired to the point of an impending heart attack. At the end of those nights, I was also often left with the distinct feeling that I was being watched, so I started to think that walking around my house armed to the teeth was a good idea.
Let's see, cocaine is a central nervous system stimulant. Heroin is a central nervous depressant. Speedballs would be a lot like Reese's Peanut Butter Cups if Reese's produced a product that's almost guaranteed to get you fucking dead. Don't believe me? Just ask John Belushi. Oh, right. You can't. He's dead.

The only thing surer to kill you is drinking while using heroin. Both heroin and alcohol are central nervous system depressants. The combination makes your body think that it's dead. Then magically it is. That is most likely what karked off Jim Morrison. Slash is one of the very few people that I've ever heard of who managed to pull of being a heroin addict and an alcoholic. Combining booze and smack once has somewhere around a 70% chance of killing you. Our boy Slash did it for years.

Having said that, I wouldn't recommend anyone trying that unless of course you have to deal with Axl Rose for a living. But three out of four dentists recommend it if you do.

Besides, Slash is married and has a bunch of kids now, which means that he's likely not having any fun anymore. I've heard that fun is criminalized as soon as you say "I do."

There's also a great story wherein Slash is lost in a coke hallucination and is chased about a golf course by an army of tiny Predators. It should go without saying that Slash is naked and bleeding during the episode. I'd blockquote the whole thing but it's very long and those cocksuckers at the Guardian would end up suing me. And with my luck, I'd be the only guy in the world to lose a lawsuit involving the British press.

My life sucks. I should have been more like Slash. And so should you. Instead, we'll just have to line up to read his fine, fine book.

I have a feeling that it'll be the greatest book of all time and several religions will founded around it. Did Jesus ever battle imaginary Predators on a golf course? Okay, maybe he did. It's been awhile since I've read the Bible. But I'm pretty sure that Jesus didn't do it naked.

And that's just one reason that Slash is better than Jesus.

I've ordered my copy. Have you?


And now a moment for the national anthem...




Easy Listening Recommendation of the Day: It's So Easy By: Guns N' Roses From: Appetite for Destruction

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