C’MON! – My Story of Rock, Ruin and Revelation Read online

  Here I am mugging with the other Ten Tones accompanists: Alyce Tubell, Nancy Boyens and Edwina Garner.

  In February 1980 The Ten Tones were invited to perform at a political rally being held on Melbourne’s F.I.T college campus. This was during the presidential primary season and the man who was scheduled to speak at the event was the one-time Texas congressman and former CIA director and Republican presidential candidate, George H.W. Bush. Despite my teenage political interest and Bush’s undeniable experience and qualifications, I was somewhat unfamiliar with him at the time. However, Bush had narrowly beaten perceived Republican front-runner, former actor and California governor Ronald Reagan in the recent Iowa caucus.

  Consequently, I was extremely interested in what he had to say. So I remained at the rally following the Ten Tones performance. The other group members made a beeline to the nearby McDonald’s for lunch to discuss how they could best take advantage of their remaining off campus experience.

  Although I followed politics more closely than most kids my age, at seventeen I had no firm political party affiliation. However, as I sat in the audience absorbing every word of Bush’s speech, I soon realized with great certainty for the first time in my life which side of the political fence I was on – the “right” side! After thirty years, I can’t recall any specifics of Bush’s speech, but I do remember feeling inspired by his words. In fact, as he left the stage following his speech, I felt compelled to thank him. So I fought my way through the sea of supporters, cameramen and news reporters that surrounded him as he was leaving the building. “I enjoyed your speech, Mr. Bush,” I announced as I reached out to shake his hand. With my shoulder-length hair and tinted glasses, Bush initially appeared somewhat taken aback when I approached him. However, he quickly seemed to recognize my sincerity. “Thank you,” he replied with great enthusiasm as he shook my hand. “I need the support of America’s youth in this campaign,” he further added while still shaking my hand. “I’m with you sir,” I assured him as I noticed he wasn’t letting go. In fact, he had what I can only describe as a death grip on my right hand! After exchanging a few more pleasantries, he finally let go and I went on my way.

  What I remember most vividly about my brief Bush encounter was that he didn’t seem merely to be taking advantage of a potential photo opportunity. He genuinely seemed to care – not only that I had been inspired by his speech but that he honestly seemed concerned about my generation. It was a powerful life-changing experience.

  And the Cradle Will Rock

  In 1979 I brokered a backroom-type deal with my mom in order for me to finally attend a Kiss concert. I agreed that after seeing Kiss, I’d never again ask to go to another rock show. This was an easy sell for my mom as I would have agreed to hack off my right arm in those days if that’s what it took to see Kiss. And I had no regrets regarding our arrangement – until I learned that Van Halen was coming to town a few months later.

  In the summer of 1980, the only band that could rival Kiss in my world was Van Halen – the REAL Van Halen with “Diamond” David Lee Roth leading the way in all of his shirtless, skin-tight spandex pants glory! Fortunately, when the Van Halen concert date was announced, enough time had passed since my Kiss arrangement that my mom’s memory had become a bit foggy. As a result, she gave into my plea to see Van Halen easier than expected.

  For reasons that now escape me, the concert originally scheduled for August finally took place in November. I was beside myself with anticipation and nothing was going to deter me from experiencing the (new) greatest night of my life. Nothing, that is, except for my own teenage stupidity.

  Upon entering the arena that night, I recognized a girl I knew from school named Jeanie, sitting near the front of the stage. Jeanie was incredibly attractive and I’d had a crush on her for some time. She was not only beautiful, she was also a cool rocker chick. This rather alluring combination put her completely out of my league and I knew it. However, that didn’t stop me from at least trying to connect with her. Jeanie seemed to attend every major rock show that came through Central Florida and I hung on her every rock-related recommendation and observation. When Jeanie told me that REO Speedwagon was one of her favorite bands, they instantly had to become one of my favorites as well. When she strongly suggested that I check out The Pat Travers Band, I immediately bought their Heat in the Street album. Consequently, my heart skipped a beat or two when I noticed her motioning for me and my buddy Doug to come over and sit with her at the Van Halen concert.

  Eager to impress my rock and roll princess with my incredible coolness, I thought nothing of taking several hits off the Rasta-size joint that she passed my way, just minutes prior to the opening act, Talas, taking the stage. “Wow,” she confessed with total surprise. “I had no idea you were so cool!” “There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” I cockily replied – desperately trying not to drool on the end of her marijuana cigarette.

  As the house lights went down and the stage lights went up, my mind began to swirl and I suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of dizziness. By the time Talas was into their first chorus, I noticed the thunderous sound of the band becoming a jumbled wall of mush in my head and the bright onstage colors began to merge into one huge, crazy kaleidoscope-like image. Quickly, I lost the power of speech. Then I went blind. Then I went deaf. Then I passed out. Fortunately, Doug caught me before I hit the concrete floor and he literally carried me through the hot, steamy sea of people and up two flights of stairs to the safety of the arena’s concession stand area. As the cold blast of air conditioning hit my face and I took a mighty gulp of the icy soda that Doug had procured for me, I immediately snapped out of my drug-induced stupor. Fortunately, I was able to pull myself together in time for Doug and I to make it back to our seats just as Van Halen was taking the stage. And yes, they were awesome! What did you expect? C’mon, it was “Diamond” Dave in his prime, man!

  I don’t know of anyone who has ever regretted making smart choices. And on this night I certainly had not made a smart choice. Had I blown my sacred Van Halen experience, especially due to my moronic drug use, I’d have regretted it for years to come. Yet surprisingly, it would take several more drug-related concert mishaps for me to “get” what should have been a crystal clear message the first time. As a very wise man once stated, “Why do you think they call it ‘dope’?”

  Too Cool for School

  I graduated from Satellite High School in 1981. And although I maintained a near straight ‘A’ average during my senior year, my classes were all fluff. I had checked out, so to speak, by my junior year and consequently I just went through the motions as a senior – two band classes, two student aide classes, Student Government and Career English. This equated into five A’s and a D on each report card that year. This was another point of interest not missed by my dad. “One class!” he would exclaim with considerable disgust and frustration. “You’ve got one lousy class and you can’t do better than a D?” But I was going to be a rock star and in my mind there was nothing being taught in school that would be of any future value to me. FYI, kids – EVERYTHING taught in school can, and will, be of value to you at some point in your life. Trust me on this one.

  The One-Stop Music Shop

  I got a significant break in my music biz career shortly after graduation when I was hired at The Tape Deck Music Center. For a nineteen-year-old rocker dude, just out of high school and with no definitive life plan – only blind ambition, this was a major coup. I had worked for two smaller mom and pop record shops around town for a couple of years, but at the time, The Tape Deck represented the big league.

  When I got the job in early 1982 there was only one (very small) shopping mall in town. This was the pre-Walmart era and although Melbourne did have a local Sears and K-Mart store, nobody cool would have been caught dead buying their records and 8-track tapes at those establishments. Everybody shopped at The Tape Deck! Known far and wide as “Your One-Stop Music Shop,” The Tape Deck was much more than just a record
store. In fact, it was the center of Melbourne’s pop culture scene. From records and tapes, to home audio and car stereo equipment, to T-shirts, posters, concert tickets and the infamous smoking accessories, The Tape Deck managed to cram a supercenter’s worth of sales potential into less than 1,000 square feet. The store was so successful that a fulltime staff was required just to maintain up-to-date inventory stats. And in the late 1970s and early 1980s The Tape Deck reportedly generated a cool $1,000,000 in annual gross sales – that’s a lot of water pipes and Foghat 8-tracks!

  It was during my tenure at The Tape Deck when I got another glimpse(s) into the dark side of the music biz. For starters, this was back when regional major record label promo guys personally traveled to their top-selling accounts, offering in-store play copies of the latest album releases and limited addition in-store display materials. Along with these legal perks also came certain other goodies, discreetly transported in label rep briefcases to shop’s very private back offices. Although I was never invited to participate in any of these covert rituals, the post-rendezvous jaw grinding, buzzing through the walls at The Tape Deck, was often deafening.

  Amazing! In 2011, two decades after officially closing its doors, this vintage Tape Deck license plate was spotted on a car in Melbourne.

  (Photo: Ty Oglesby)

  One night, shortly after I’d been hired, the shop was held-up at gunpoint. One of the owners and a staff member were ordered by the perpetrator to the back of the store where he locked them in the bathroom. I don’t recall how much was stolen or if the guy was ever caught, but I do remember my boss issuing me a Derringer handgun to carry at the shop while on the clock until things settled down. There I was, a teenage kid, selling bongs and concert tickets, wearing shorts, flip-flops, and likely a puka shell necklace to boot – with a pistol bulging in my pocket (insert your joke of choice here).

  And then there were those darn (legal) “tobacco”-related products that we sold at the back counter that got so many people so worked up. Despite public perception, we weren’t dealers. I have no knowledge of drugs ever being sold at The Tape Deck. But we were enablers. I knew it, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t going to be working there for long. I had bigger plans.

  However, through the sales of these accessories I could see the chilling affects that drugs have on people. This was about the time that crack was gaining popularity. People who smoked these cooked up, cracked off pieces of cocaine frequented The Tape Deck for their daily glassware needs. Beautiful, young girls would come into the shop to make initial purchases with male lowlife-types and within a few weeks they’d become transformed into scrawny, unwashed junkies. I once witnessed a stunning redhead who had also recently experienced a transformation, sitting in a car, using an item which I had just sold to her. I stood on the sidewalk in front of the shop, watching as she loaded up the three-inch-long, straw-like glass tube. She took a deep toke and then went into violent convulsions, only to drive away, very nonchalant, a moment later. It was hardcore stuff.

  Lick it Up

  The first time that I met the members of Kiss was during their Lick it Up tour in Lakeland, Florida in December 1983. After experiencing some lean years in the early 1980s, the group was at the time enjoying some renewed popularity after recently dropping their legendary trademark make-up and costumes. Original members Peter Criss and Ace Frehley were now out of the Kiss picture and were both pursuing dubious solo careers. This finally left Gene Simmons and Paul Stanley free to call all of the shots. And in an attempt to compete with the new leading hard rock acts of the day like Judas Priest, Iron Maiden, and The Scorpions, Simmons and Stanley seemingly decided that shtick was out and musicianship was in. The band’s revamped line-up featured guitar wiz Vinnie Vincent and powerhouse drummer Eric Carr.

  I was hanging out after the show in the lounge of Lakeland’s Huntley Hotel where I was staying with my girlfriend, Trish. In fact, after a four-year, on again-off again high school sweetheart-type relationship, we had recently become engaged. We were also both longtime dedicated Kiss Freaks. I never thought I’d actually meet any members of the band, so when they came walking into the hotel lounge after the concert, it blew my mind. I had idolized these guys for years and I planned to tell them all about it.

  Eric Carr was completely unimpressed by my revelations. As he strutted to the bar with a cock-rock swagger, he fluffed his huge head of hair and informed me that I could ask him only one question and then I’d have to “go away.” And I wasn’t to ask him any “Kiss stuff” either because as he told me, he was “off duty.” Granted, I probably had gotten a little over excited about meeting the guy, but in rock and roll, when you’re on tour, especially while being cool, hanging out at the hotel bar after the show, you’re never off duty!

  Vinnie Vincent, on the other hand, was extremely cordial. He happily spent time talking to fans in the hotel lobby, posing for pictures, and signing autographs. The only odd thing about Vinnie (at that time) was that he had a tight grasp on a folded pink piece of paper. At one point he accidentally dropped it on the ground. I bent over to pick it up for him and he freaked out. “I got it! I got it!” he exclaimed as he snatched it up off the floor, once again quickly clutching it to his chest. To this day I still wonder what was on that paper.

  Then in walked Gene Simmons. To say that he has an intimidating presence is an understatement. Even without his infamous seven-inch dragon boots he still had to practically duck to get through the doorway as he entered the hotel lounge.

  I was twenty-one at the time and playing drums in a promising up-and-coming band called Trixx. However, my people skills were lacking and I had limited experience being around rock stars. So I was taken aback when Simmons completely ignored me and immediately took up with my blond nineteen-year-old fiancée. He sat Trish on his lap and began running his hand up under her black leather mini skirt while making various sexually explicit comments. Ten minutes earlier I didn’t think that I’d ever be fortunate enough to meet Gene Simmons. Now he was literally seducing my chick in front of the entire bar.

  Not willing to accept this humiliation for another second I thought I’d get my hero’s attention by impressing him with my incredible wit. I worked my way right up next to the cozy couple and delivered what I thought was a delightful and hilarious comment about Simmons’s former girlfriend, Cher. In hindsight, I realize that it was a stupid thing to say, but I was young and in my own naïve way I had to make my presence known. Apparently I was the only one in the room who found any humor in my comment. Like right out of a classic western movie, the entire bar seemed to go silent as the crowd around us backed up. I think the lounge pianist in the corner even stopped playing. With one hand still under Trish’s skirt, Simmons made a fist with the other and shook it in my face. “I haven’t had to use this in a very long time,” he warned me. “Don’t make me use it now!”

  Me, Vinnie Vincent and that mysterious pink piece of paper.

  Gene Simmons likely surmising how he could seduce my fiancée just before threatening to knock me out in the Huntley Hotel lounge.

  (Photos: Patricia Long-Lee)

  I couldn’t believe it. I was finally face to face with “The Demon” and instead of wooing him with my endearing charm, he wanted to knock me out! He then looked at Trish, who was still sitting on his lap, and asked, “Are you with this guy?” And as if the situation couldn’t possibly get worse, she replied, “No. I’ve never seen him before in my life.”

  I finally managed to pry Trish off Simmons’s lap and with my tail between my legs, I quietly led her back to our room. I’d just been treated like a common fool by my hero and denied by the girl who I was about to marry. But despite the feeling of total humiliation, my first personal Kiss experience only further fueled my burning desire to achieve fame and fortune in the rock world.

  Oh Israel, stay away from idols!

  I am the one who answers your

  prayers and cares for you.

  Hosea 14:8-9 (NLT)

 
Ah, what a profound lesson to learn at a young age – fame equals power and money equals power. If you possess either, you have a definite advantage in life. And if you possess both, you’ve got the world in the palm of your hand. Strangers will be at your beck and call and you can steal any chick from any guy at any place and any time. And that ain’t a sexist point of view either, folks. I’d watch this scenario of both men and women compromising their values to be near their rock idols play out countless times throughout my music biz experiences over the next thirty years.

  The Yellow and Black Attack!

  By 1984 I had worked my way up the ranks of the music retail business and at twenty-one I’d become a buyer for a chain of independently owned Record Mart stores. There were seven locations throughout the Central Florida area and my job was to see that each store was fully stocked with the hottest T-shirts, posters, stickers and other rock-related accessories. Although I typically traveled from store to store throughout most of the week, I spent a great deal of time working in our main location in Indian Harbour Beach which was just a few blocks from my apartment. The music buyer for the Record Mart chain was a jolly and rather large fellow in his mid-twenties named Carl. Carl prided himself on being something of a music aficionado and he took considerable delight in turning me on to some of the hippest new cutting-edge bands of the day. And it was Carl who introduced me to a band that affected me as very few others had before, or since. And in the process, he inadvertently sparked my interest in an entire new musical genre.