Welcome to My Jungle (12 page)

We left Santiago, unscathed. Next up, Buenos Aires for two shows at the River Plate Stadium.

Believe it or not, nothing happened here. Two great shows went off without any problems. Little did we know that they were just preparing us for when we came back to Buenos Aires in seven months. More on that in a minute.

Next we went to São Paulo, Brazil, for two more shows. Back to the craziness again.

Axl stopped the first show in São Paulo about four times. First, because there was a fight in the crowd. Second, because there were stones being thrown onstage. Third, I think because he got hit with a tennis shoe or something like that. And lastly, during “Paradise City,” their final song of the evening, when a stone hit drummer Matt Sorum.

That was the last straw. Axl and the band walked offstage halfway through the song.

I think his parting words that night, were, “Good night, and f*** you, assholes.”

The second show in São Paulo was postponed, due to heavy rains. However, Guns N’ Roses played the next night with the 120,000 fans in attendance standing in the mud. It was a mess.

Next was the final show of this South American leg in beautiful Rio de Janeiro.

Ah, a nice show. No stress.

Skip ahead to seven months later. The twenty-eight-month tour was almost over. We had just finished the European Skin N’ Bones tour, which had us all over Europe for more than two months. We were all tired, and we were all ready to come home.

The last two shows were actually added, as a way for the band to make one last chunk of change before shutting down for a while.

Back to Buenos Aires. Last time we were there nothing strange happened. Just did the two shows and left. But obviously they were gearing up for this one, because this was, by far, the most scared I had ever been on tour with Guns N’ Roses.

Before the first of the two shows, we all hung out in our hotel rooms, slowly getting ready. About 70,000 fans were already in the stadium, anticipating the band’s arrival. Axl was with Steve, getting his daily adjustment.

At approximately 5 p.m., a group of about fifty police officers from the city’s narcotics division descended on the hotel. They were looking for a large amount of cocaine, which had allegedly been stashed in one of the band member’s rooms.

They forced their way onto our secure floor and were met by our security team and Doug.

I heard on my walkie-talkie that something was going down, and it didn’t sound good. I came out of my hotel room, and there, by the elevators, were a ton of armed policemen talking to Doug and a few others.

I took position in front of Axl’s door. At that point he had no idea what was going on. He was eating dinner inside his room, while Steve was taping his ankles for the show.

The chief of police was demanding to see Axl’s room. But none of us were telling him which room was Axl’s. That was until the guns came out.

Now we were singing like birds. Not really, but this was not funny anymore, this was very serious. Real-life serious.

But before they went in any of the rooms, Doug did something very smart. He negotiated with them that we have an American representative go in the rooms with their team of policemen while the rooms were searched. We were all afraid of drugs being planted in our rooms.

I was prepared. While we waited for the American representative, I ran back into my room and called my mom and dad. From the hotel phone, which cost a small fortune. But I didn’t care—I seriously thought my freedom was on the line.

I knew that they would freak out, but it was better than the alternative—having to fly to South America to visit me in prison. I told them what was happening, and that if they didn’t hear back from me within the next two hours, I was probably being taken to jail somewhere in Buenos Aires.

I’m a parent now, and I pray I never get that call from any of my kids. My parents were freaking out, but I told them to calm down, and for them to call the police in New York, and the New York press if I didn’t call them back in two hours.

I hung up the phone and went back in the hallway.

Eventually the American representative showed up, and the chief of police and his posse started searching the rooms.

Of course, they wanted to start with Axl’s room. And because we now had an American representative, we showed them which room was Axl’s.

At the same time, down the hall they were searching Robert’s room, and they found some of Axl’s bath salts in one of his suitcases. Yes, the same bath salts that almost got Robert in trouble in Tel Aviv.

Robert, standing in the hallway dressed only in a bath towel, was now being questioned by police, and he tried to explain to them that they were only bath salts.

They arrived at Axl’s hotel room door, and the chief of police knocked. At this point Steve had now heard what was going on in the hallway through his walkie-talkie, so Axl knew as well.

But Steve and Axl didn’t answer the door.

“Does anyone have a key?” the chief of police asked.

Damn
, I thought to myself.
What do I do now, I do have a key
.

I didn’t say a thing.

The chief of police yelled through the door.

“Open the door, immediately, or there will be trouble.”

There was lots of banter back and forth, but Steve eventually opened the door. The chief of police, the American representative, and about three policemen entered Axl’s room. I entered as well, along with Doug. Axl was calmly eating dinner. He allowed them to go through his stuff. He had nothing to hide.

However, there was one problem. The bath salts were also in Axl’s room, and I was sure this would give them an excuse to detain him for a few hours.

Then Robert entered the room in his towel, escorted by a policeman; they wanted to test the bath salts.

At the same time, one of the policemen in Axl’s bedroom thought he hit the jackpot when he came across about five clear baggies full of more bath salts. More bags of “cocaine,” according to the chief of police.

We all tried to explain, very carefully, that they were bags of bath salts.

I forget how they did it, but somehow they ran tests, ran more tests, and finally determined that we were telling the truth.

No cocaine.

After all that, the chief of police and his team were about to leave Axl’s room, when the chief turned to Axl and asked for his autograph.

Happened all the time. Give Axl, or members of the band, crap for a few hours, accuse them of something illegal, threaten them, and once nothing is found instantly turn into best friends and expect an autograph.

Incredible.

Axl signed his autograph. Good for him!

All I could think of at that point was,
Damn, they didn’t search my room yet, and now they’re going to be pissed
.

They came into my room and started searching. Flipping over the mattresses, dumping all my suitcases all over the room, they were determined to find something, anything. All the time though, I watched closely, with my new best friend, the American representative, to see if anyone got any ideas of planting drugs. It was so stressful.

They found nothing.

In two hours they had searched all our rooms and nothing was found.

Axl had Doug and I set up an impromptu press conference and within minutes we had a meeting room, and a room full of reporters, and television crews.

Axl released a live statement of what had just occurred, adding that no drugs were found in any of our rooms. It was fed live to all local television stations.

Only an hour and a half later, Guns N’ Roses hit the stage and put on another amazing show.

We found out later that while they were checking our hotel rooms, drug squad officers arrived at the stadium and searched through the band’s equipment and instruments as well.

The next night was the last show of the tour. No drug searches, no riots, no one killed. Just one last great show.

And it was now time to say good-bye, until the next tour …

But there was no next tour. Not with this group of guys.

No one knew it at the time, but July 17, 1993, would be the last time that this great lineup would play together as members of Guns N’ Roses.

I was honored to be there, and to witness a huge part of rock n’ roll history.

SLASH “DIES”

There was one night that really stands out in my mind as one of the craziest nights on tour with Guns N’ Roses. It easily could have been the saddest, but, thank God, it was not.

It was the night when Slash died for a few minutes.

In a nutshell, Slash apparently met a woman at a party. She provided him with some drugs, bad drugs, and Slash died for a few moments outside my hotel room in the hallway, in San Francisco, California.

I will not elaborate on this story for two reasons. Number one, I did not see it actually happen. All the stories in this book are written because I was there, and it either happened to me, or I witnessed it. I just heard about what happened to Slash later that afternoon. And number two, Slash tells the story very well in his own book
Slash
, so I suggest reading it there.

It was a horrific situation. He basically died from an overdose, they revived him, and I think we played a concert that night or the day after, as if nothing had happened. Truly remarkable.

But what I will add to the existing story is this: That night we had a team meeting—the band and some key members of the entourage, me included. We figured out what we were going to say to everyone else on tour, and we were all sworn to secrecy about what happened that day. The band didn’t want the public to know, and this story was buried. At least that’s what I thought.

And it was, for a while.

I always thought that someone, somewhere, was going to leak this story, but it just never got out while we were on the road. And if it did, I never saw it, and it never became the lead story it should have become.

When we finished the tour I was asked to do hundreds of interviews on various radio stations and various rock websites around the world. I always turned them down, even though there were times that I was offered money if I had any good juice on the band. It was never even tempting. The band members were my friends.

But one day I was sitting in my house, watching one of those “Behind the Scenes” shows, and they’re doing a piece on Guns N’ Roses. I had been asked if I wanted to say something on this show, and I declined, because I knew that they would ask me questions regarding Axl, and I thought it would be boring because I always had “no comment.” On the show I see a few people from the entourage being interviewed, and I thought to myself it was cool to see my old buds again. Then I saw John Reese and they’re talking to him about the tour, and all of a sudden I heard John telling the story, to the entire world, about the night that Slash died.

I jokingly thought to myself,
Damn, I could have gotten a lot of money for that
.

I found out later that numerous news outlets had already heard about it, but for some reason it was always buried.

Then of course, Slash wrote his book and he went into great detail about that night.

So, I guess it’s out there, and now I can say, with a clear conscience, that it’s true, Slash’s heart did stop one night, right outside my hotel room, in San Francisco, and he lived to tell about it.

Axl looking over the room service menu somewhere in Argentina. Out that window are hundreds, maybe thousands of fans. Robert looks on
.

Natasha and me on the MGM Grand airplane
.

SHOWS

4

A TYPICAL SHOW DAY

On a typical show day, I woke up at 9 a.m., for a total of about four hours sleep. I’d light a cigarette, put some dip in my mouth, and while lying in bed, make phone calls to Los Angeles. I’d get ready for that day’s gig, as well as advancing the next gig, and I’d order breakfast from room service.

Earl would come in to watch TV. Then Robert would come in to watch TV. So I’d figure, What the hell? I’ll watch TV, too. Then Steve, the buff chiropractor, would come in to tell us he’s going to the gym. Bastard. I’d put out my cigarette, thinking I would quit and get healthy.