Tales Of A RATT (11 page)

We found out we got the gig, and what it paid. A whopping $400 a week. That was less than I had made at the car dealership, but I was on my way to Germany, and was playing music with a platinum producer. Fair trade, say I.

The problem was, how do we tell Roger that we were quitting Romeo? Roger is a great guy; a great bro. He was at my house for the Super Bowl this last week. So, he's a lifelong friend. When we told him, he took it really hard.

We had the core group of followers, ten or fifteen chicks who followed the group Romeo, and we agreed to do one last show at the Madam Wong's in Chinatown. When it was over, Roger broke down, as well as our fans. That was a really hard scene for us. It was raining that night, and the whole thing was very sad.

I had a tough time with it, because on some level, you feel you're letting your friend down. There's a part of you that questions your loyalty in a moment like that.

However, we had to pack our shit, because it was off to Europe. For me, the music had certainly not died. Not yet.

I had a really good time playing with Roger Romeo.

Europe, for anyone who has never been, is awe inspiring, and a little overwhelming. It's like John Travolta says in "Pulp Fiction", "It's the little differences. A lotta the same shit we got here, they got there, but there they're a little different.” My first experience in Europe was one big, "Royale With Cheese" moment. Literally.

I got off the airplane, and went to a McDonald's to get something to eat. I wanted a Quarter Pounder with Cheese and french fries, and I got a Ziffel flunder mit Käse, und Pommes frites. I hope it was the same thing. Who the fuck knows? But, I was able to get a cold beer with my Ziffel flunder. A fucking beer at McDonald's. That would explain the grin on the Hamburgler's face.

Before we left for Europe, the Vergat management group gave us each $500 to go buy our "rock clothes.” So, I boarded the plane on that trip in a brand new pair of blue suede boots. Eat your heart out, Elvis.

I proceeded to get totally shit-faced on that flight, not realizing that when I got off, I had to read signs and billboards that were not in English. Not so easy to do when you're hung over. It was a pain to figure out where the hell I was going.

We lived at the Hotel Trost in Cologne, Germany. Let me say, Cologne is one of the most amazing cities on the planet. Just a stunning, fucking cool, really interesting city. The Cologne Dome was built in the 8th century, and the magnitude of that place, this monolithic structure, is mind-boggling.

Cologne Dome is a giant, Gothic cathedral. You'd expect either the Pope, or Dracula to come out the front door, depending on what time of day it was. I remember standing there thinking, "How the fuck did they build something like this in the 8th century?” It's insane. Just crazy.

During World War II, Cologne was leveled by the Allies and their bombs, twice. But, it was pretty obvious that our boys were told, "Do not bomb this thing.” It's that kind of a place. Even war shouldn't touch it.

The only other place I've ever seen like that is Edinburgh Castle, in Scotland. We played a date there on the Vergat tour. The castle is built on top of a 300' cliff, and seems to be built right into the side of the thing. It's amazing that men could build something like that so long ago. Absolutely awe-inspiring.

The Trost Hotel was a trippy kind of place, too. It had, like three floors of just bedroom suites, so it was pretty small. Then on the main floor was a bar, a big monolithic -looking oak bar. Real old world German stuff.

I remember I would always spend time with Mrs. Trost, but I could only talk to her through her son, because she didn't speak English. She was a great lady, really sweet, but would chain smoke like a fucking demon! She'd walk around this room with a halo of smoke above her head all the time. Her teeth, fingers, even her fingernails were a dull yellow, and she smelled like an ashtray. But, she was a really sweet, old world lady.

During down time, I would hang out with her in her apartment at the hotel. She was an absolute fiend for American movies, especially the older classics. Actually, considering the place, it was probably all she could get.

So, she would have her old television set on, and we'd watch movies on video tapes with the likes of Gary Cooper, Bob Hope and Bing Crosby, or John Wayne, together. It was hysterical, because every one of them had been dubbed into German, so I was watching movies that I had seen many times as a kid; but I couldn't understand a damned thing they were saying. But, watching her light up with that twinkle in her eye and laugh hysterically at Bob Hope movies was genius. It made for a very bonding moment between the Yanks and Krauts.

Imagine having four or five German beers in you (which is like drinking a case of the watered down American stuff, I swear!), listening to John Wayne saying, "Hallo, kleine Dame. Sie sicher schaut ziemlich heute an," to Maureen O'Hara. All the while, trying to figure out what he said, and if that lame assed line was enough to get in her pants!

To add to the random enjoyment of hanging out with the Trost matriarch, she had one of the all time greatest laughs. And, the best thing about it, is she would just bust out with it at random moments during whatever movie we were watching. I'm sure something was done or said on screen that she thought funny, but I haven't a clue as to what it could have been.

Her laugh would start out as the classic, old lady smoker's laugh. It was deep and raspy, but without warning, she would suck in a blast of air and let out with this high, warbling giggle. It sounded like the love child of Celine Dion and Ernest Borgnine on crack! I would laugh my ass off, not at the movie, but at this insane Joker giggle she had!

When we weren't watching movies together, and her son was nowhere around, I would still try to talk to her. She didn't understand a word of English, so, for some reason I would use my hands a lot more. As if my wild American gesturing would somehow get my point across. After all, everyone understands the sound of English, right? It's the body language they don't get! Right?

All this would do is make her laugh that wacky laugh of hers, which pleased me to no end. She was a cool woman, that one; despite her occasional, random piece of Nazi memorabilia.

Her son, Wilhelm, used to hang out with me while I was there. Wilhelm loved to tell Jewish jokes. His eyes used to really light up if he heard a new one. He would laugh really hard. It was bizarre, and pretty fucking creepy, to tell you the truth. It was 1981, so that stuff had happened a long time ago, but it wasn't THAT long ago!

In school, you'd read about the events and effects of the Holocaust and stuff. So to sit and listen to this otherwise cool dude tell Jewish jokes with such glee...it was like talking autopsies with Dr. Kavorkian. It made for some very strange vibes and moments in that place. We were still old enough that our fathers had been in WWII and shit.

You would go down the stairs and through a doorway, and that would be the bar and restaurant. Then there was another door in the far wall. You'd go through there, and there was a bowling alley. Not like a real bowling alley, though. At least, not like an American bowling alley. It was Middle Ages sort of shit. They had these little bowling balls, about the size of a cannon ball, that you would throw toward the pins. The alleys were really narrow and small, compared to what we would have at home. You could tell it was really old. Way older than Americans have a mental grasp on.

Mrs. Trost would show me pictures of SS guys down there hanging out in that bar and shit, you know. So it was really bizarre. I was 21 years old, and in a whole new world.

We rehearsed in the basement. Well, really the basement's basement. You'd go down these stairs into this really cold, damp, stone-walled room, and that was the basement. But, then they had dug out this other, subterranean thing below that to use as a bomb shelter during the war. So you'd get to this basement, which was really trippy and old, with it's creepy stone walls and shit. Then, they had dug a hole, and there was a track that ran all the way down where they would run supplies when they had to hide in the shelter. There were spigots all the way along the walls, and the place was domed shaped. That's where we rehearsed. We had our PA and gear, and we jammed out in a subterranean bomb shelter beneath a centuries old German bar.

Bizarre.

We got to know the guys from the Scorpions really well. They were really tight with Dieter Dierks, and would come by and pick us up to go party. Matthias Jabs and Herman Rarebell would cruise up in their Mercedes, and off we'd go. We'd go out and get loaded, then check out Whitesnake or whoever was playing in Cologne. Or, we'd just go out to the local bars and drink. I'm a good friend with those guys to this day. Cool bunch of dudes. In fact, I have a great story involving Matthias and a flying fish while taking a trip to Catalina on my boat. But, that's later.

Speaking of driving in Germany, if you've never seen the Autobahn, you've got to check it out! It is an experience unlike anything I've ever had. You hear the phrase "no posted speed limit", but it doesn't really sink in until you are on the thing.

The label had given us a driver, and this little Citron for him to carry us around in. It's a Swiss car, that can really scoot when you need it to. We would have our driver take us on the Autobahn where we would be going 80 or 90 miles an hour. Just flying along. And, every once in a while, our driver, who had a huge German accent, would go, "Oh, 'ere zay come again!”

We'd look behind us, and see a Ferrari or a Porsche gaining on us at 180 miles an hour. We were doing 90, and this thing would roar past us like we were standing still. Fucking amazing. Then, just a few minutes later, "Oh, 'ere zay come again!” And another one would appear.

Amazing place, Germany.

Band Romeo Greg Mastrogiovanni (guitar), Tom Crucia (bass), Roger Romeo (vocals) and Me, 1981.

Vic Vergat band, TV show shot in Bremen Germany, 1981.

1981, The Vic Vergat band.

Vic Vergat group; Tom Croucier, Vic Vergat, and Me in Basel Switzerland 1981.