! The Worley Gig: Music and Mayhem in New York City by Gail Worley

The Worley Gig:
Music and Mayhem in New York City
by Gail Worley

Impressed
March 1999

I have a real obvious confession to make: I’m not this way because I hang out with rock stars; I hang out with rock stars because I am this way. I’ve been obsessed with rock music since I was a wee lass, when my teenage sister (whom I idolized) was just about as nutty over the Beatles as you could get this side of the asylum door. Keven (Yes, my sister’s name is Keven. Yes, my parents knew it was a ‘boys’ name) even attended one of their rarer-than-a-free-thinking-Republican, riot-inciting live performances, at L.A.’s Dodger Stadium. Her dominant power over my highly impressionable infant brain not only spawned a pint-sized Beatlemaniac, but she also cursed me with a predilection for "cute boy bands" by "forcing me" to listen to other limey mop-heads like Herman's Hermits (whom she saw in concert with a lesser known British quartet called The Who) and Chad & Jeremy.

Heaped on top of my education in the Mersey Beat sound were liberal doses of embarrassingly lame American teen idols like Dino, Desi & Billy (a sort of Hanson of the mid-sixties that included Desi Arnaz Jr. and the late Dino Martin Jr.). My point is, what I’m doing now -- writing about music, going to clubs and surrendering to the fact that my CD collection has completely invaded my living space -- is just a continuation of what I’ve been doing since I was practically an egg. Except now I get paid for it. And my parents don’t give me any crap. I’m also a lot more jaded than I was at age five, when I was totally convinced I would grow up to marry Paul McCartney. Some people were just born to rock and roll (there’s a song in there somewhere) and I am one of them.

As a teenage glitter queen, morphing into a safety-pinned punk and, later, leather-clad headbanger, I rarely hung around concert venues after shows to meet the musicians who were giving me fever-dreams. The idea of actually talking to someone I worshipped was just unfathomable. Although Queen’s lead singer, Freddie Mercury (RIP), should probably bear solely responsibility for me being the eccentric freak I am today, the possibility that, at 15, I could meet him in person was like a proposed meeting with Jesus Christ. I just never thought it could happen. Rock stars were gods who did not walk amongst their earth-bound fans.

What got me over the hump of being too intimidated to meet rock stars was a little scenario that played itself out back in the early 80’s, when I watched the members of a "Very Famous British Rock Band" (whose name I’ll omit here, for fear of being sued) change clothes as I sat in their dressing room waiting to, well, let’s say "make an exchange." They didn’t care if I saw their bony asses, they were just a bunch of guys who wanted to buy drugs. Something about their uninhibited willingness to drop trou in front of a strange woman so they could score some speed just took the mystery -- the enigma, if you will -- away from the whole situation. After that, I had no problem approaching anyone I saw -- on the street, in a store, wherever -- who I recognized as a famous person it’d be cool to say Hello to. My maxim was, "I’ll never see this person again, so why not just do it?" Ask me about the time I met Slash as we walked towards each other on Venice Blvd. I’m sure he’ll never forget it. I was really high at the time. He probably was too.

My first "Big Superstar" interview found me alone -- in yet another dressing room -- with Marilyn Manson and Twiggy Ramirez. Just me and those two freaks. Goldilocks, the Antichrist and his Court Jester. What a way to lose your interview virginity. "Here he is, Marilyn Manson, have fun!" That’s what the publicist said to me before she shoved me in the room and shut the door. Was I nervous? Oh, you bet your sweet ass I was. He introduced himself to me, "I’m Marilyn Manson" and I think I said "Hi, I’m Gail" but who the hell knows. All I was thinking about was the fact that I was sitting a foot away from a guy whose bare chest was covered with scars and superficial flesh wounds, some still fresh from the previous night’s show. If I didn’t have the whole thing on tape, I’d be hard pressed to tell you what went on during the following half hour. You know what? Away from the public eye, he’s a totally normal person. (Of course, this was few years ago, before Manson was doing zany things like trying to kill an editor for not putting him on the cover of a magazine). To commemorate the occasion, I have a cool photo of me with Manson’s arm around my waist and another of me with Twiggy, on display in my apartment. It was a great interview.

These days, I meet stratospheres of full-on, proper rock stars. I interview them in their hotel rooms, in record label conference rooms, on the tour bus, in restaurants, in the bathroom, wherever. I still get into meeting musicians I admire, but I allow myself five minutes of preparatory hysteria and then approach the situation simply thinking of this person as someone with the luxury of not having to work a day job, as I must, to pay the bills.

One of the more surreal experiences I’ve had lately with the nature of fame occurred over the course of a couple of days in January. Taime Downe, a friend of mine from Los Angeles, came to New York City with his band, The Newlydeads, where they played a show at Lust for Life. Taime was kind enough to contribute the first of my monthly Rock Star Quotes in last month’s column. In case you missed that, and need the Reader’s Digest condensed version of who he is, Taime fronted an L.A-based glam metal band called Faster Pussycat back in the late 80’s and early 90’s. They put out a few records on the Elektra label, had a few hits and were featured in the film, The Decline of Western Civilization Part 2: The Metal Years. After Faster Pussycat disbanded, Taime switched musical alliances, toured with an incarnation of Pigface and went on to form the Newlydeads, who do the Gothic Industrial thing. And you know that can’t be bad.

Before the Newlydeads went on stage, I found myself -- where else? -- in the dressing room, chatting up Taime and his bandmates while they put on their make up and got ready to rock. As people drifted in and out of the very small room, in walked Jessie Camp, professional sycophant and wet-dream of the moment of MTV’s corporate hierarchy. Let me just kill the cat right now and reveal that Camp is, in person, exactly like he is on TV. I was absolutely aghast as I observed him, rolling his head from side to side while moaning "Taime, wow. Taime, wow," over and over. It was right on the tip of my tongue to suggest that Camp drop to his knees and give Taime a blow job right there, but that would have been crass. Besides, I’d certainly never want to deny Taime his hard-earned props. He may not be a household name, but he’s been in the business twice as long as some of these fly-by-night media whores, is about a million billion times more interesting to talk to and, all that aside, is honestly a very nice, sweet person. To me, he’s just Taime. I get excited to see him because he’s a cool person who’s fun to hang out with; the fact that he’s a rock star is incidental.

In a related incident, I was at Coney Island High with The Newlydeads a few days later and -- I swear on a big stack of Bibles this is really happened -- I actually bore witness to a guy getting on his knees in front of Taime, to announce that he couldn’t believe he was meeting someone whose former band opened for Motley Crue. Not to cut anyone on all these sharp points I’m trying to make, but never, ever, get on your knees when a handshake will suffice.

As long as I’m up here on this soap box, allow me to take full advantage of this public forum to emphasize that if I hear one more person pronounce his name as "Tie Me Down" I’m going to take out a big board and smack some sense into his or her thick, Cro-Magnon skull. It’s pronounced "Tay-me" as in "Tame Me Down," you know, because he’s so wild. Argh, grrr, somebody hand me a whip!

Rock Star Quote of The Month

"In America it’s much worse than what it is in Britain. I got tortured but nowhere near what I would have got if I’d lived here. In England you have, like, a sandwich which is a called a ‘botty.’ So, I was just called every flavor sandwich under the sun, you know, "cheese butty." In England, a butt is like the end of a cigarette or the harder end of an object. Whereas, over here it’s just, like, your ass."

- Guitarist, Graham "Gizz" Butt of Janus Stark and The Prodigy, on what it was like growing up with the last name "Butt." (For more fun and informative quotes by Gizz Butt, check out my interview with Janus Stark on the Pandemonium website right now!)

Coming in April: Find out who will snag the coveted title of "Mr Thing" of South By Southwest 1999, when Gail travels to Austin, Texas for the annual Crown Prince of All Music Industry Weaslefests!

The Worley Gig: It’s night and I have tied my genius to my lunacy.

The Worley Gig regularly turns in both Pandemonium Online and The NY Hangover.

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Other Features From Gail Worley:

Through Enemy Lines - Gail interviews first wave Britpunk survivors, Janus Stark

You Am I: It's the Cream, It's the Crock - Fabu Aussie Tim Rogers talks about The Convicts that are coming, sugary pop, garagey stomp, and Hourly, Daily life in the paid slumber party with Gail Worley

Goo Goo Dolls: Prepare to Get Dizzy - Gail talks to Robby Takac about City of Angels, hits in the five formats, crap music and what chicks dig.

Nivek Ogre's New Rx - No longer a Skinny Puppy, this famed industrialist dispenses Ritalin now.

Visual Audio Sensory Theatre - Gail discusses religion and revenge fantasies with Jon Crosby, the aspiring Gothman with a VAST array of sounds...

Dream Punk or Noise Pop? - Gail goes to South Park and Melrose Place with Carrie Clark, art therapist and feedback diva from 16 Deluxe

God Lives Underwater - "With a name like God Lives Underwater, it has to be good," says Gail

Vintage Jello Biafra - Gail's 1997 interview with the former Dead Kennedy

Previous turns of The Worley Gig:

The Worley Gig #1-- Summer, The Rules

The Worley Gig #2-- All Tomorrow's Parties

The Worley Gig #3-- Weaselfest '97

The Worley Gig #4-- How I Spent Summer

The Worley Gig #5-- Random Excerpts From My Ass-Kicking Life

The Worley Gig #6-- Christmas Kicks Total Ass

The Worley Gig #7-- She's About A Mover

The Worley Gig #8-- The Goddess and Pig Watts

The Worley Gig #9-- Outrageously Boss Records and What Not to Do On a Date