FOREWORD
I’m writing the foreword to the tome of sleaze and peril while locked down in the L.A. county jail. It is dedicated to the legions of men and women who move out here to “Make itâ€...
and somehow miss the mark.
It is dedicated to anyone who ever believed in me and all my friends who died in Los Angeles while “starving for their artâ€. Some overdosed, some died in car crashes, a few got cancer, a few caught AIDS, and the majority Hung themselves.
All because it was less painful than to live another day.
Having been in as many bands as I have, walking away with absolutely nothing to show for it after putting your heart and soul and years of hard work into an effort that dissipates because four guys just don’t like each other anymore, was pretty frustrating. I’ve had some fall apart, some break apart, and some fire me for reasons that were unfair. I’ve even been kicked out of my own band. This is not rare. It happens to lots of people, I’m just the guy who chose to write about it. It’s the perils of the business.
This book has been in the works for over ten years. The best sixty pages were stolen, and there were no copies. It has been rewritten entirely four times. Also, I had to work through alcoholism and drug habits.
That tends to slow things down a bit. I started this book as a journal, my life story of sorts. “The story of Chris Lacey,†and then I thought (and was told once or twice), “Who cares? Who are you? You are not a household name, who really cares?â€
That, in itself, is the point. I am the unknown rocker.
My name is not important. My stories are.
When I first inquired about the odds of success in the music industry, I was told that it was the hardest thing you could ever try to do. “Nearly impossible†is more like it. Drugs don’t help at all. I was very inspired by Guns and Roses and wanted to lead my life just like theirs. Well, I found out a little too late that they succeeded DESPITE the drugs and alcohol, not BECAUSE of them. You need unbelievable focus and band chemistry. When somebody leaves the band, you have to not only replace them quickly, but with the right person. You need great songs, and if you are lucky enough to be in the 1% that gets signed and gets the record deal, you have only one worry remaining:
The Record Label must CARE about you.
If the person who signed you and cared about you leaves the company, gets canned, etc. (which happens more often than not), then you are finished. You are stuck in limbo, and will have to buy your way out. Musical tastes in America can change overnight, and if you want to follow trends like a dog chasing its tail, well then Good Luck. I hate fuckers like you.
Once in a while someone will tell me that the 80’s are over with, to get over it, or that I’m “stuck†in the 80’s. It’s always something to that effect. Well, I have a reply for those people: Go fuck yourself.
I know exactly when the 80’s ended. My guess is probably December 31st, 1989, around midnight. These idiots don’t even know what the issue is. Heavy Metal will never die. Some of you WERE around during that absolutely awesome decade that no one remembers too clearly, and you chose another occupation.
You have a nice house, a car, a wife, and an ass-load of responsibilities. Good for you, and I wish you the best of luck. I certainly am not so closed minded that I expect everyone to take the road I have taken. I admire those people like Lemmy from Motorhead, Johnny Cash, David Allen Coe, Henry Rollins, El Duce, and my brothers in Florida that pioneered Death Metal in the late 80’s and early 90’s. The biggest lesson to learn is this: Think for yourself. Do whatever it is you do and the people will come, if it’s good. Merely creating what you think people will like and hoping that they like it, is not respectable. As Henry Rollins would say, “You do what you do, and you get what you get, and that’s all there is to it.â€
And finally, there is a chance you will die between here and there, but that’s life. Flying this close to the flame can singe the wings a bit. If you laugh or cry with me, it’s all worth it. I went from helicopters and limousines, to shooting up in dumpsters, and all the way back up to a normal, sane life where I finally get paid to play music and write, here in Las Vegas, my new home. Just being alive after everything you are about to read is an achievement in itself.
When I was 16, I decided to dedicate my life to Sex, Drugs, and Rock & Roll. Oh, yes, and of course violence, insanity, madness, and destruction weren’t far behind. It was all good. I didn’t plan, hope or expect to live past the age of 36. Well, guess what? I’m 37 now and I want to live. Not in a haze or a walking coma, either. I want to live. I went to the doctor recently and he told me that considering all the drugs I’ve done, I’m in great shape and will live a nice long life. It was then that I realized: How do I pay for this? I didn’t plan to live past 36. Now I have to figure out how to pay for the NEXT 36 years. I’m writing this book now, so I don’t have to rob any banks.
There are other rockers that were bigger stars, did MORE drugs, and screwed MORE women than me, but they don’t all write about it, and those who do, don’t write like me. I didn’t shoot for perfection. I’m not going to write my life’s story and release the thing when I’m 78. That would be stupid and wrong for a lot of reasons.
It’s not perfect. It is what it is. And now, 10 years later, I feel it’s finally done.
This is my story.
At the age of 16, I was already in rehab. When I turned 18, I hit the road, was a fairly successful drug dealer, and was still fairly good looking. By 21, I started getting guns pulled on me. I was trafficking LSD and didn’t want to die or spend the rest of my natural life in prison. When I was 22, I moved to LA and the madness really began. By 24, I had discovered the chemical cornucopia of Hollywood. At 25, I had my first rock band, and a speed habit. 29 found me thinking I was never going to play music again. At 32, I got the musical chance of a lifetime. At 34, I married the wrong woman, went to jail 3 times, and by 36 I was looking at Prison. At 37, I finally saw the light.
Allow me to fill in the blanks...
“You’ve got to hand it to him, he doesn’t mind getting beat up to get a story.â€
- Sonny Barger, Hell’s angels
(In reference to my idol, Hunter S. Thompson)
