My Appetite For Destruction (29 page)

All I know is that my opinion didn’t matter anymore. It bummed me out. We were always a team; it had always been a combined effort. But not any longer, and it was having an affect on the music. I don’t care what anybody says, no
GNR
album was as good as our first one. In Chicago, there was a conscious effort to top
Appetite
. But I believed we needed to take ourselves a lot less seriously and concentrate on the joy and spontaneity that inspired us and had worked so magically on
Appetite.
At times we achieved that, but it seemed much harder this time around. We worked our asses off.

Over the next two months, we wrote thirty-three songs, done. We rehearsed and polished some older songs we had, like “You Could Be Mine,” “Don’t Cry,” and “Back Off Bitch.” We totally brought them up to speed. We were proud of these songs. They represented not just the fact that we were more committed, but also the fact that our song craft was evolving.

Seven weeks and five days later, Axl finally arrived. We had two days left in the studio and were anxious to show him all of the new material. He sat there like we were putting him through some kind of torture. Plain and simple, Axl wasn’t interested in our material! He just wanted to record a new song he had been working on called “November Rain.” He sat at the grand piano in the studio and played it for us. I thought to myself, “That’s nice, but that’s it?” He had only like two verses written. Duff, Slash, and I had thirty-three songs in the can, ready to go, but Axl wouldn’t give them the time of day.

As for Izzy, he never showed.

After Axl settled in, we took him downstairs to the nightclub. By this time hot chicks knew to show up there in hopes of hooking up with one of us in the band. Axl picked up this cute young girl and brought her to the condo. He did his thing where he sits up all night chatting with the girl. But this time his talk, talk, talk, wear-her-down strategy didn’t work. She resisted all his advances.

I went upstairs to talk with Tom, and all of a sudden I heard a loud noise and saw this girl come flying out of the bedroom. Unbelievable. Axl was right behind her looking completely crazed.

Duff, Izzy, and I just stood there in shock. She was hysterical. She got up and ran out.

I looked out the window and I could see her running down the street, getting away as fast as she could. I turned to Axl and said, “This time you’re going down, dude. You are going to get slammed with some fucking shit for this!”

He just said, “Fuck you,” and retreated to his bedroom.

Nothing ever came of it; I guess the girl never said a thing.

W
hen we returned to L.A., we continued rehearsing exclusively at Bob Mates Studios in North Hollywood. It was during this time that we wrote a song we would eventually title “Civil War.” It’s amazing it was ever completed because on most days, when I would come to rehearsal, Slash and Duff would show up drunk. I would get pissed as hell at the guys. I understood that partying went with rock ’n’ roll, but we had a record to do. I never put any of the guys down though. Eventually, Slash and Duff just wouldn’t show up at all. They may have been hurt or intimidated by the fact that Axl only wanted to work on his stuff.

At this point, Dougie was the only guy I felt any kinship with. The band didn’t feel like the band, with so many fucking dramatic undercurrents, whispered gatherings behind closed doors, and members breaking off into pairs. It was no longer
GNR
, it was some cheap daytime soap. I felt completely alienated from the band.

M
onths passed and the times I got together with the guys became few and far between. The one time I saw Duff, I invited him to come with me to buy a new dog. I was always fond of an Irish pug owned by my old buddy Matt Cassel. I always said, “When I get my own place I’m going to get a pug.” So Duff and I drove out to the Galleria mall. We went to the pet store there and looked at a few pups. We had them take this cute little pug puppy out, and we set him down. He was just a little fur ball darting back and forth across the floor. He rolled over to Duff’s foot and pissed on his boot.

“Hey, buster, what’s up?” he said. It was such a cute moment, I just fell in love with that dog, and the name “Buster” stuck. I bought him and a few weeks later, I bought another pug, Benson, to keep him company, and together they kept me company.

D
uff married his Lame Flames girlfriend, Mandy Brix. He had a bachelor party at the studio. Andrew Dice Clay was hired for entertainment. He was the biggest comedian in the world at the time. He was the only comedian to ever play massive venues usually reserved for pro sporting events and major rock shows, like Madison Square Garden, and pack the house.

But that was the Dice Man in his prime. And here he was, a good friend of the band willing to do his hilarious act for this small private event. Ronnie had scored some acid. About an hour before the ceremony, we dropped. During Andrew’s stand-up routine we were tripping our balls off, laughing out loud at the top of our lungs at everything he said.

M
TV contacted our management in hopes of getting some of the guys to participate in the 1989 Rock ’N’ Jock softball game. This was an annual fund-raiser that pitted celebrities, TV stars, rock stars, and actual professional baseball players against one another in a televised game of softball for charity. I was the only one from the band who went.

I brought Jamie, my little brother, with me and we had an epic time. When we arrived, we went right into the locker room, where I saw Sam Kinison sitting in what looked like a barber’s chair, having some touch-ups applied by a makeup person. I walked over and smiled. “Hey, Sammy,” I said. He had his eyes closed and he was mumbling something under his breath, not at all coherent; in fact, he looked like he was nodding out. “How the hell is
he
gonna play?” I thought.

We went into our dugout, where we met the other guys on our team. Tone-Loc, a rap star who had a couple of huge hits at the time with “Wild Thing” and “Funky Cold Medina,” was very friendly. He lit up a joint and we smoked out right there in the dugout. He had the best shit. Just before the game started, Sam Kinison came running out screaming at the top of his lungs. He was a fireball of energy, and I figured he must have done some good shit, because only moments before, the guy had looked sedated, completely out of it.

The
MTV
cameramen were all over the place, interviewing the celebs. I did a little interview and they asked me the question everyone had been asking, “When’s the new album coming out?” I told them that we were still working on it and to expect it to be heavier and better than
Appetite.
Right.

The game started, and in the first inning they put me out in left field. I was so stoned, and I began to trip out, thinking, “God, please don’t hit it to me, please.” The very first pitch of the game, the batter connects, a towering shot right over to me. “Fucking great,” I thought. As it sailed over my head, I jumped up, missed the ball, and fell right on my ass. Before I could even get up, the center fielder was already there. He threw the ball to second base and nailed the runner for an out. After three outs, we all ran back to the dugout and I was like, “Fuck this.” I sat down in the dugout with no intention of playing again.

Tone owned a barbecue restaurant, and he sent two of his friends to pick up some food. They came back with tons of ribs, coleslaw, and beans, and it was a full-on pig-out. Eddie Money was also there with us. He was pretty huge in the seventies and was riding high on the success of a more recent hit, “Take Me Home Tonight.” We were talking about music and, of course, drugs. He rolled up his pant leg and showed me these massive scars he got from shooting up. It was disgusting, and I couldn’t believe it. Eddie Money; it just blew my mind. Are hard drugs truly the price of admission for rock stars? Here was just another example.

A
fter the softball game my natural defenses kicked in again and I backed off the hard stuff for a while to regain a certain degree of clarity. In fact, I soon felt sharp enough and smart enough to plot a way back to feeling 100 percent better. I realized Cheryl had been amazing through the whole ordeal of putting up with me while I was using heavily, and through it all she never abandoned me. She never nagged me, she let me do my thing, and whether it was making lunch or making love she was totally there for me.

So I asked Cheryl to marry me. When I proposed, she couldn’t have been more thrilled. I booked a flight to Vegas, and we decided to fly out and get hitched. Just like that. I called Dougie and told him the great news. “Oh, no, you’re not,” he said. “Listen, Stevie, you don’t know what the hell you’re getting yourself into.”

I didn’t care what he said. I told him, “I love her, Dougie.”

Doug shot back, “Well, wait just a few hours. Please. I’ve got to bring some papers over for you to sign anyway.” That afternoon, he brought over a prenuptial agreement that Cheryl had absolutely no problem with. I knew that would be her reaction. We were in love, and she was the most sincere, honest girl I had ever known.

We arrived in Vegas and got married the same day. No bachelor party, no bridesmaids or ushers, no reception, just Cheryl and me down the aisle. I remember looking at the marriage certificate and was amused by the date. Totally randomly we wed on “6/7/89.” How sweet is that? Even I can remember my anniversary.

A
week later we returned home and I received a call from my mother. She was beyond upset. “Steven. Why didn’t you tell me? I was in line at the grocery store and there on the cover of the
National Enquirer
was the news that my son had married!” She read the headline to me: “Guns N’ Roses drummer weds. Wife signs agreement allowing him to cheat.” I thought that was so funny, I made the mistake of laughing out loud into the phone. Mom didn’t see the humor.

Of course the headline wasn’t true. “This was not the way to find out about the things you’re doing, Steven. I want us to be a loving family. Your getting married should have been one of the proudest moments in my life. Instead it’s brought me pain and humiliation.” I honestly didn’t feel that bad about what I had done. But deep down it must have bothered me because I brought Cheryl over to meet Mom and Dad that same evening. It was strained company at first, but after a few toasts, and Cheryl’s loving manner with Mel and Ma, things got very nice. I gave Mom a big long hug before leaving, and to my surprise, I was the one with the misty eyes.

After that, I made a conscious effort to be more in touch with my family. I would even pick my little brother up from school from time to time, something Jamie really loved. I would drive my Mercedes to school, or the new black Ford Bronco that I had just gotten. I bought it from Andrew Ridgely, who was famous for being in Wham!, the band he shared with George Michael.

I’d tell Jamie I’d be picking him up at the parking lot by the school football field. Lots of kids would be waiting for me there, and at times it seemed like the entire student body had turned out. I’d hang out and sign autographs for everyone. Finally I’d say, “Okay, bro, we gotta get going.” He’d hop in, and we’d take off. The smile on Jamie’s face said it all. I could occasionally be a great brother; I just couldn’t always be a good brother.

On his sixteenth birthday, I took him to buy a car. I said, “Get whatever you want.” I recommended a truck to him, but he ultimately decided on a brand-new Chevy Camaro Z28, all tricked out with a great sound system, special rims, leather interior, and the “racing package,” which added about a hundred horsepower to an already powerful engine. Hey, it felt great just to see the look in his eyes when they rolled it out. Looking back, I realize that as the band and I grew more distant, my family became more important to me.

In September 1989, Dougie called to tell me that the band would be opening for the Rolling Stones at the Los Angeles Coliseum next month. I was so stoked. Maybe my fears were unfounded, because all my dreams were still coming true.

We were to do five shows with the Stones in late September and then go back to a place called Mates Rehearsal in North Hollywood to rehearse for the
Use Your Illusion
tracks. I felt wonderful after hanging up with Dougie. Everything was going great again. And maybe all this concern about my being marginalized by the band was just baseless worry.

During this time, Living Colour was growing in popularity as a black metal/rock act with a hit called “Cult of Personality.” Their guitarist, Vernon Reid, was an outspoken black activist and publicly took offense to the lyrics in “One in a Million.” His music career must have trumped his personal beliefs, because Living Colour agreed to open for
us
during the Stones shows.

Axl had a limo pick him up from home and take him to the shows. Slash, Duff, Izzy, and I were put up across from the Coliseum. Cheryl and I stayed there, and I would walk over to Slash’s room to hang out and party. Unfortunately, every dealer on the West Coast was buzzing around for the concert, and I fell to temptation again. At this point, Slash hadn’t let up at all and was getting sucked deeper into hard drugs. Heroin came packaged in rubber balloons, and that night after we checked in, I bought six of those balloons and went to Slash’s room. I walked in and I saw Slash in the bathroom, and he had like twenty of these same balloons lying around, already opened and used. He was just sitting on the toilet, staring down at the tiles, all stoned out. He was going to be no fun, so I just spun around and left.