Tales Of A RATT (42 page)

Long live the King, brother.

After King's death, it was a really somber time for Warren and me. We went back out on tour, still with Jizzy Pearl as our frontman.

At first, I thought that stylistically, Jizzy would be similar to Stephen. They both have raspy, scratchy whiskey voices. But, we've already talked about the curse of changing your frontman. Ultimately, I thought we had made a bad move.

But there wasn't an alternative. We were already underway with it, and Warren was like, "Bob, we can't just have a revolving door of singers.” He was right, of course. All we could do was dance with the one that brought us.

We did about 50 dates total on the Metal Edge tour. It was a lot of nightmare shows. Not greatly attended. We got fucked over on our money, and right at the last moment, we started getting flack from Warrant's management. It almost made us back out of the tour.

In the end, calmer heads prevail.

"The tour is in a month and a half, bro, and I fucking need that income, and so do you!” Warren doesn't need income as much as I do, because he's a trust fund guy. Now, he's never divulged how much that is, but it's probably pretty decent.

I've been told he's related to the Mars chocolate family. He's always downplayed it, but I'll say this: During those lean years, he wasn't out working. Didn't seem to be concerned about it, either. He toured with Whitesnake in 1994, but that was about the extent of it.

In the end, we did this tour, and sucked "hind tit" to Warrant on some of the dates. It was all right. I had fun on the tour, because I was working. That's me. I have to keep working. I can't not work. I'll hang around and relax for a few weeks, maybe a couple of months, but that's it.

I always want to be playing and touring. Not year round, mind you, but enough to float my world, and to satisfy that artistic outlet and creative craving that musicians have to play music.

When I come in off the road, I like to relax for a couple of months and just chill. But then, after a little time, I start to get bored, and if I'm not working on a side project, or a new album, or band stuff, I don't function well. I used to be able to just golf that down time away, but I don't golf as much as I used to.

So, 2002 concluded, and things just went on their merry way. It was a tough, hard fought year, all the way around. We survived it, and the tour worked out pretty well. We were on nice tour busses. And the battle with Stephen was finally over.

Of course, there were still little skirmishes with him. We had to have him called back into court on two separate occasions for using the RATT name when he toured. Two times, he had to go back in front of the judge. Finally, the judge said, "Mr. Pearcy, I don't think you're understanding what I'm telling you. If you do this one more time, I will lock you up.”

So, finally, Stephen got the point and quit the nonsense. He got to the point where he would contact us before playing and say "I'm doing a gig. I told them not to use any RATT shit.”

Then, I ran into Stephen on my birthday in 2003. There's a local group called Metal Skool that I really enjoy and have followed for years. They're a glam rock parody act, and the longest running act on the Sunset Strip. Back then, they played a regular gig at the Viper Room, and Ralph called me up to play.

Stephen was in the audience, and jumped up there with us! Ralph looks at me like, "What the fuck is he doing, I was calling you.” I got up there, and Stephen was already on stage, so, we jammed "Round and Round" and everyone was treated to a mini-reunion that most thought would never happen.

It went over really well. We got a huge pop from the crowd.

I remember it was a big thing, too. Everybody had been trying to keep us away from each other, keep each other on opposite sides of the Viper Room. I guess they were afraid we were going to have a go at each other, which is something I would never do.

I was standing up at the bar, and Stephen walks by. So, I tap him on the shoulder. He's like, "Hey". I go, "What's up?”

It was so loud in there. But, out of the blue, he gives me a hug. Right? And, in his ear, I go, "Dude, what the fuck are we doing? Why are we doing this? Let's put the band back together and go RATT and Roll. Yeah?” He gave me a kiss on the cheek, looked at me, and walked away.

I was encouraged by it. I actually hoped it would happen. But it was another four and a half years before Stephen stepped in front of the mic for RATT again.

April 2007.

House on Poppy Meadows street, Canyon Country, CA. that Misty and I lived.

Thursday night, February 20, 2003.

That night was a really heavy evening for any human being with any kind of feelings, but for those who love going to rock shows with pyrotechnics, and going to see their favorite hard rock bands in a club environment, it would forever change their concert experience.

Obviously, I'm referencing the tragedy at The Station in West Warwick, Rhode Island.

The Station was a club that RATT had played a few times, so I was familiar with the place. They were one of those clubs that featured the glam metal and hard rock acts from the 80s and Nineties that were still touring.

On that particular night, my sister Carol was visiting me from Pittsburgh, and staying at the house. Carol, me, Misty, Robbie Crane and his wife, Melissa, and a handful of other people were at the Rainbow, having some dinner and a few drinks, then we were going to stroll down the Strip to the Cat Club. It's a tiny little club / bar, located right next to the Whisky a Go-Go and is owned by Slim Jim from the Stray Cats. There's a band called the "Star Fuckers" that plays there every Thursday night.

Before we left the Rainbow, I had slipped out to the patio bar to have a cigarette and was watching the TV. Then I saw this breaking news story.

"Another Nightclub Disaster.”

About a week or so earlier, there had been a stampede at a nightclub in Chicago, where twenty people were killed. Tragedies like this are scattered through the history of this business. It's inexcusable that it happens, but every few years, we have another tragedy.

I'm watching this breaking news, and they're streaming live footage of a huge fire. It was total chaos. Just unreal. Then they flashed across the screen, "Heavy Metal Band, Great White, Performing.” And, I just about lost it.

"WHAT?!? Great white?”

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I've told a lot of stories over the course of this book. Some of them are fun, and some are not fun at all. But, Jack Russell figures into a lot of them.

I've partied with Jack for years and years. I've written songs with the guy, and we were pretty tight for a very long time. I stood speechless watching the TV and seeing a nightclub consume fans, band mates and crews, and lastly, Jack's career.

It was horrific.

I watched for a few more minutes before finally tearing myself away from it. I went back to the table, there at the Rainbow, and got everyone's attention.

"Stop talking for a minute. You guys gotta hear this.”

I told them what was going on. I told them about the visuals I had just seen, and who was involved. Their mouths just hung open.

When we got down to the Cat Club, I told Kenny, the bartender, to turn on the news. All night long, we were glued to the TV in that bar. We were trying to have a good time, but I couldn't help but rubberneck constantly, trying to figure out what was going on 3000 miles away. What was the latest?

They had visuals of people stacked up in the doorways and windows, trapped; literally burning to death, stuck on the inside of the club, just a few feet from safety. People around the world are watching this unfold before their eyes.

It's a terrible feeling, because the natural instinct is to do something about it. But you can't. All you can do is watch in horror and know that it was really happening. The footage ran over and over of people jammed in a doorway, with just their heads sticking outside, screaming in agony. It was the most graphic, spirit-cracking thing I've ever seen in my life.

True abject horror.

We went home that night, and I stayed up till dawn, watching this thing and talking to friends on the phone about it. Ty Langley, Great White's guitarist, was one of the guys who died that night.

Turns out that another of the people who died inside the club was my old drum tech. All of those people who died were fans of 80s heavy metal. They were RATT fans. It sat in my gut like a physical thing. It was a feeling of losing a lot of friends all at one time.

I was really stunned and taken aback by that whole ordeal. Not just by the nature of what had happened, but Jack Russell and I go back. I love the guy. He and Mark Kendall.

I couldn't believe they were involved in something like this. My first thoughts of it were just pure rage.

"What the FUCK were you doing using pyro in a small room like that? Are you out of your mind? Are things so bad that you have to rely on that, now? What is this?”

Not that it was totally their fault, but it's just reckless. What were they thinking? I mean, I couldn't help but to put myself in that place for a moment. RATT has used pyro in arenas our entire careers, but we would never use pyro in a club! It's crazy to do something like that!

Then you try to relate, and put yourself in their place. That's when you want to shrivel up and die. It's almost like Jack and Great White have branded themselves as baby killers, all because they used flash pots in a room with 12 foot ceilings. They have to deal with that for the rest of their lives.

I saw some footage of Jack being interviewed the night of the fire, and I was completely disgusted by his demeanor on it.

He was immediately trying to disassociate himself and the band from what happened, trying to put the blame on the club. I thought that was something he would have to do at some point, but not right out of the gate with the news crews! Come on, dude! There are ninety-six people inside that building, including members of his band and crew. They died one of the worst deaths you can die, and instead of openly mourning their loss, and the tragedy of the thing, he immediately starts pointing the finger away from himself.

That seemed very chicken shit to me.

I haven't seen those guys since then. I haven't talked to Jack. I haven't talked to Kendall. We've played a few shows with them, but frankly, the gigs we played with them were festival shows, and it wasn't our place to keep them on or off the card.

I know that Warren and Stephen will not play shows with Great White, strictly because of the Rhode Island thing.

Because of that fire, most promoters, festivals, and bands don't care to play with Great White, from what I generally hear. Then we were hearing allegations about misappropriation of funds from the tour they did that was to benefit the families of the victims. They've been blacklisted by their own hand.

It's a terrible thing, because Great White is a good band.

For me, just recently they were brought up as a possible opener for us on some off-season shows. I looked at Warren and Stephen and said, "We still like the Stones, and people were killed at Altamont; the Who had people die in Cincinnati in 1981, based solely on the fact that the Who had the venue hold the doors while the did an extended sound check. The crowd swelled at the door, and the people in front were crushed and trampled to death.

We were still fans of those bands, even though they were driving the shows when those tragedies happened. If a grand jury chose not to indict Great White, then how are you guys able to do that?”

But a few days later, on the anniversary of the fire, I saw on a website where someone posted raw footage of that night, where the fire was enveloping the people in the windows and doorways.

That just re-invigorated the rage in me that something like that was allowed to happen. I found myself siding with Warren and Stephen. Suddenly, disassociating from those guys was the right thing to do.

I respect Great White as a band, but it's still a little fresh. Those people died from someone's stupidity, probably several people's stupidity. And for what? The money on that show was made. The pyro wasn't going to change anything, so why do it?

The footage I saw on that website had the screaming and struggling of the victims on it. It's blood curdling, and those visuals will follow me for a long time to come. Who else in that crowd had I met? Had some of those people come to the RATT shows? Did I sign an autograph for them? Take a picture with them? And now they're gone for no reason at all?

I tell you one thing, though. That event scared me to the point that I don't go into any kind of a venue unless I know where the exits are. I'll position myself as close to them as I can without being obvious. Even to this day, I go to a place like the Magic Castle, the legendary Magic Castle, which is this old, Victorian looking building with several rooms and multiple floors where they do magic shows. The place is wood, and was built in 1908. One hundred years ago. It's a tinderbox!