“The fans fed off the stars and the illusions they peddled, unable to comprehend that people whose private lives are sad, neurotic, arid holes often create the most beautiful music. The stars fed off the record companies and managers, the agents and promoters, even the PRs like me, who only existed if the stars were making money, real money.”
-Mick Wall (from Getcha Rocks Off)
When it comes to popular music, nobody is more knowledge than the British. I once met such a Brit named Rebecca, who was working as a waitress on Monkland Avenue. She agreed to go out with me after her shift, likely impressed by the fact that I was employed at a record store (which I was at the time). During our date, she endlessly ran on about her favorite bands. While I knew a thing or two, certainly more than the average bloke, I could not keep up with her; I just nodded like a bobble head as if I knew what she was talking about. As for the relationship, let’s just say she didn’t want me baby.
My first concert was in September 1983 at the Montreal Forum. Iron Maiden with opening act Coney Hatch. I was thirteen. The ticket cost me less than $15. I went to numerous loud rock concerts during my teens, the non-stop ringing in my ears their legacy. Little more than a decade later (while I was working at the aforementioned record store) a major ‘70’s band had reunited for a tour. I wanted to go see them, but admission was around $150! When asked by a co-worker why I wasn’t going to the show, I replied: “When they pay $150 a pop to come here and watch me work, I’ll do the same for them!” (So there!) I applied to our head office for free tickets, but I didn’t get them. In fact, in my 5 ½ years with the company, I asked for freebies over a dozen times, and they never delivered. Now that company is defunct. (Ha!)
The behind-the-scenes world of rock ‘n’ roll in the late ‘70’s to early ‘90’s is the subject of Getcha Rocks Off: Sex & Excess. Bust-Ups & Binges. Life & Death on the Rock ‘n’ Roll Road, the new book by that epoch’s Ernest Hemingway, British music journalist Mick Wall.
Narrating the story like a heavily-medicated Philip Marlowe, the author hits the ground running, with no introduction or afterward, and never lets up with the lurid, raunchy, X-Rated details of the decadent rock star lifestyle (sex & drugs and so forth…), where things were at times much worse than even I imagined. It reminded me of something else I once read: Paul Dianno’s memoir The Beast. (Wall’s effort however is of far better quality, considerably less repetitive, and thankfully contained fewer graphic descriptions of projectile vomiting.)
Years ago I read Iron Maiden: Run to the Hills, The Authorized Biography (3rd Edition) by the same author. The unimaginative title notwithstanding, the writing was good, and the book was informative, but it had no real bite, saying exclusively positive things about the band, finally getting nasty after lead singer Bruce Dickinson left, slamming him in one chapter, stating that replacement Blaze Bayley was better (for the record he was not), only to praise Dickinson again upon his return to the fold. By comparison Getcha Rocks Off is way more raw and honest, sparing no one; not artists, management, journalists or record companies.
Sometimes sad (even tragic), often angry, never bitter, and full of attitude, with witty, wise-cracking asides and chapter titles that real music fans will appreciate, Getcha Rocks Off is a treat for partisans of that era.
Reading it I discovered that the realm of rock stars is not as glamourous as I once thought….but it’s still pretty cool.
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