Read Online Not Dead & Not For Sale by Scott Weiland - Free Book Online
Authors: Scott Weiland
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Songs from the Vatican Gift Shop . That happened in famed film actor Jimmy Stewart’s enormous mansion in Santa Barbara. We had everything we wanted—total privacy, private cook, absolute tranquility. Given the most sumptuous surroundings to make music, though, rockers can turn heaven into hell. At least I can. Artistically, Dean, Robert, Eric, and I were on the same page. We wanted to make a statement. We wanted to deconstruct, go low-tech, get to the dark heart of the matter. I was happy to write Bowie-esque stream-of-consciousness lyrics that didn’t need to make sense. Example: “Big Bang Baby”:
Does anybody know how the story really goes
Or should we all just hum along
Sell your soul and sign an autograph
Big bang baby, crash crash crash
I wanna die but I gotta laugh
Orange crush mama is a laugh laugh laugh
The laugh, though, was on me. I was at the height—or depth—of my addiction. Shooting coke. Shooting heroin. Running down the 101 every third day to L.A. to score and running back. Jannina called me all the time. Where was I? What was I doing? I was worrying her to death. “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m fine.”
When STP decided to fly out to Atlanta to finish up the record, I brought along Jannina’s brother Tony, who, although high, was not insanely high like me—just insanely more of a drunk. I was getting increasingly paranoid. When Tony needed a break, I brought out my pal Ron Kaufman to see after me. But no one could really help. When I passed out in front of the hotel in the limo, no one could wake me up. I was passed out in the backseat for six straight hours.
In many respects, Tiny Music is a dark record.
“Lady Picture Show,” one of the central songs, is about the horrific gang rape of a dancer who winds up falling in love but can’t let go of the pain.
“Trippin’ on a Hole in a Paper Heart” reflects my hunger for redemption. “Break your neck with diamond noose,” I wrote. “It’s the last you’ll ever choose. I am I am, I said I’m not myself, but I’m not dead and not for sale. Hold me closer, closer, let me go, let me be, just let me be.”
“Adhesive” is me at my most depressive moment. “Adhesive” is the bottom: “Comatose commodity. The superhero’s dying. All the children crying. Sell more records if I’m dead. Purple flowers once again. Hope it’s sooner, hope it’s near. Corporate records, fiscal year … Stitch the womb and wet the bed. With a whisper I’ll be dead.”
WHEN TINY MUSIC CAME OUT , some critics said it was influenced by the rock band Redd Kross. The critics weren’t entirely wrong. After Purple, we had toured with Redd Kross. When I was in my late teens and early twenties, I was certainly a Redd Kross fan.
Eddie Kurdziel, superb Redd Kross guitarist and friend of Dean’s and mine, became a casualty of the nineties. He died of an overdose in 1999. Did our fascination with heroin influence Eddie’s decision to try it? I can’t say for sure. I suspect, though, that it did. And if that’s the case, I am deeply sorry.
Redd Kross had a whimsical, sometimes frivolous attitude that I admired. They were Beatles-influenced, just as we were. I had been lovingly and carefully studying the Beatles for years. You could say the same thing about Cheap Trick, who opened for us during a segment of the Tiny Music tour. Our influences came from everywhere. If your hearts and ears are open—as ours were—you absorb the world around you.
Core had happened
Purple had happened.
Tiny Music had happened.
Heroin had happened.
Jannina had happened.
Mary had happened.
Money had happened.
Fame had happened.
The more I got, the more I lost. The more I lost, the more I wanted. The more I wanted, the more I wasted. The more I wasted, the more I wandered. And wondered. I took to the streets, the alleyways, the dark passages that connected me to death and death’s closest friends.
S TP—A MUSICAL PHENOMENON. A cultural breakthrough. Rolling
Does anybody know how the story really goes
Or should we all just hum along
Sell your soul and sign an autograph
Big bang baby, crash crash crash
I wanna die but I gotta laugh
Orange crush mama is a laugh laugh laugh
The laugh, though, was on me. I was at the height—or depth—of my addiction. Shooting coke. Shooting heroin. Running down the 101 every third day to L.A. to score and running back. Jannina called me all the time. Where was I? What was I doing? I was worrying her to death. “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m fine.”
When STP decided to fly out to Atlanta to finish up the record, I brought along Jannina’s brother Tony, who, although high, was not insanely high like me—just insanely more of a drunk. I was getting increasingly paranoid. When Tony needed a break, I brought out my pal Ron Kaufman to see after me. But no one could really help. When I passed out in front of the hotel in the limo, no one could wake me up. I was passed out in the backseat for six straight hours.
In many respects, Tiny Music is a dark record.
“Lady Picture Show,” one of the central songs, is about the horrific gang rape of a dancer who winds up falling in love but can’t let go of the pain.
“Trippin’ on a Hole in a Paper Heart” reflects my hunger for redemption. “Break your neck with diamond noose,” I wrote. “It’s the last you’ll ever choose. I am I am, I said I’m not myself, but I’m not dead and not for sale. Hold me closer, closer, let me go, let me be, just let me be.”
“Adhesive” is me at my most depressive moment. “Adhesive” is the bottom: “Comatose commodity. The superhero’s dying. All the children crying. Sell more records if I’m dead. Purple flowers once again. Hope it’s sooner, hope it’s near. Corporate records, fiscal year … Stitch the womb and wet the bed. With a whisper I’ll be dead.”
WHEN TINY MUSIC CAME OUT , some critics said it was influenced by the rock band Redd Kross. The critics weren’t entirely wrong. After Purple, we had toured with Redd Kross. When I was in my late teens and early twenties, I was certainly a Redd Kross fan.
Eddie Kurdziel, superb Redd Kross guitarist and friend of Dean’s and mine, became a casualty of the nineties. He died of an overdose in 1999. Did our fascination with heroin influence Eddie’s decision to try it? I can’t say for sure. I suspect, though, that it did. And if that’s the case, I am deeply sorry.
Redd Kross had a whimsical, sometimes frivolous attitude that I admired. They were Beatles-influenced, just as we were. I had been lovingly and carefully studying the Beatles for years. You could say the same thing about Cheap Trick, who opened for us during a segment of the Tiny Music tour. Our influences came from everywhere. If your hearts and ears are open—as ours were—you absorb the world around you.
Core had happened
Purple had happened.
Tiny Music had happened.
Heroin had happened.
Jannina had happened.
Mary had happened.
Money had happened.
Fame had happened.
The more I got, the more I lost. The more I lost, the more I wanted. The more I wanted, the more I wasted. The more I wasted, the more I wandered. And wondered. I took to the streets, the alleyways, the dark passages that connected me to death and death’s closest friends.
S TP—A MUSICAL PHENOMENON. A cultural breakthrough. Rolling
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