Tales Of A RATT (38 page)

Airfare had been bought; promoters had spent money; fans had bought tickets; busses were set; deposits were paid; salaries were expected; and it was to be only a five week tour, gleaning us each a nice chunk of change, plus merchandise! We were excited about it.

Then the whole house of cards comes falling down.

I'm stunned. "What the fuck do you mean, you're not going?”

"I'm not going, man. Don't fucking call me again.” Again, thanks, Stephen Pearcy.

We did everything we could to get him back in. I was calling him on the phone, going, "Stephen, why are you doing this? To what end? Let's just go bang this stuff out, make our money, and take a break before the next album.”

The guy was miserable. He was as unhappy as a person could be, and there was no working with him at that point. He wasn't willing to talk. "I'm out! I don't give a fuck! I don't care what you do, Bobby. Get another singer. I'm done.”

Unlike back in 1992 when this happened, the music business wasn't changing. We were building our name back, had a new label and were making money. This time, a LOT of damage was done to the band's name and reputation.

I pleaded with Warren. "Let's not let him fuck us this time. Let's get a new singer and continue on. We still have the band together. We've got Robbie and Keri Kelli.”

Before we could get to solving our singer problem, Keri defected to Warrant. Things were unraveling fast.

A new beginning, 1997. Photo courtesy Neil Zlozower.

After Stephen quit, I gave Traci an ultimatum. I told her "You gotta move in with me, 'cause, I've got to see you more. This thing with Stephen leaving is really fucking with my head. I'm out in the valley, you know. I've left my kids out in the South Bay.”

She's shaking her head, and goes, "I can't do it.”

I was fed up with it. This wasn't getting any better, benefit of the doubt, or not! "Traci, it's either move in with me, or that's it.”

And, that was her exit.

She was able to use that as the excuse to finally get out. I think she wanted to, anyway. I guess the novelty of her rock star boyfriend had worn off. She went away. Not so far away that she couldn't keep tabs on me, though. Traci always kept her hooks in me. She still loved me, and I her, but she was never going to commit.

She had been gone for more than a month, and I had a girl that I was kind of seeing from Kansas City. I'd fly her out, and she'd stay with me for a while. Her name was Tamala, and she was this incredible blonde.

Traci just shows up at the house one morning.

I open the door, and Traci goes, "Let me come in. I want to see Leo and Phoebe.” Our cats.

I hadn't seen her in weeks. What the hell was she thinking? I said, "You can't come in. Somebody's in here with me.”

She's goes, "Open this door!”

There was no way I'm going to open that door. I mean, she's always been the one that was getting on to me about being jealous. So, for her to do this was like "Sweet Victory - Savior"!

We got into it pretty heavy, and she was going to break the window. And, in shades of Jeni when Traci was the one in my bed, I told her, "You do that, and I'm calling the cops.” She was absolutely fuming! But, she left, or so we thought.

A little later, after we had shared an uncomfortable laugh about what had happened, Tamala and I left the house to go get some breakfast. Traci was waiting around the corner in her car. She started following my car and chasing us. It was a complete "Fatal Attraction" moment.

I had to get away from her, as much for her neurotic behavior as it was my lack of trust in myself. If the opportunity presented itself, I wasn't going to be able to shove her away. She'd catch me when I was weak, and I'd be right back into the shit with her.

I had to move back to the South Bay. I just had to get the fuck away from it. I got out of my lease at this house out in Van Nuys, and I moved back to Redondo. I rented the guesthouse from a friend of mine, Tim Sullivan.

Then I was out every night!

I was out every night for three straight months. I'd wake up at about one o'clock in the afternoon, take a Xanax or two, and then stare at the clock all day. I'd try to do whatever business I had to do with the band, but I was just waiting for the night to fall so I could get back into the city. Get into the clubs, and get drunk so I could forget about Traci.

In the meantime, I was hitting so many different chicks, it was ridiculous. I was all over the place. It was pretty cool in some ways, but I was still so gone, I just couldn't get over it. It came to the point that all of my hook-ups and one-night became hollow victories. I was trying to fuck Traci out of my mind, and there was simply no way to do that.

I was stuck in a downward spiral.

After Traci and me broke up in February 2000, after about two and a half years, I went through another really bad period. I'd been with Jeni since I was seventeen, and as bad as that ended, I made it out with my heart intact. I had prepared for that; built up to it over several years. But, Traci had been very different. For the first time, I felt like Jeni felt, because she took our break up really hard.

Traci played me like a marionette, and I was devastated. I had been completely in love with that girl. I just deteriorated into a mess.

I had Easter dinner with Jeni and the boys that year. Halfway through the day, I totally wigged out. I had to walk outside and get my shit together. I was FLOODED with guilt, all at once. I was thinking, "I left these guys for that WHORE? What was I thinking? Am I really that much of a bastard?”

I completely hated myself. Jeni understood what was happening, I think. She warned me when we were getting divorced. "Someday, you'll regret this move, Bobby. Someday, someone will do this to YOU, and you'll know what you've done to us.”

She was right.

It wasn't so much that I regretted leaving, as much as it was how things ended with Traci and what that became. Traci transformed from this sweet, innocent Seattle girl that I always saw her as.

Everyone else that knows her, tells me the same thing. It wasn't that she was never the person she became once she got to LA. She was always that; but she kept it hidden when she was around me. When she came to California, she became Hollywood Rose.

It was embarrassing, and I couldn't deny it anymore.

Then I met Misty. She saved me from that nightmare...almost.

When Stephen left in 2000, we had to audition for a new singer, and it sucked! I hated it like nothing I've hated in this business. It was just painful.

Traci was gone; Stephen was gone; and here we are auditioning all of these HACKS! The guy from Pretty Boy Floyd came down; guys that were just terrible. There was one guy, Jamie Row, who was a Christian singer. He was really good, but he just didn't look like a rock star. He looked like Billy Corrigan. Tall, bald, and with an odd shaped head. Nice guy; really talented; but, that's how that whole thing works.

If this business worked on talent alone, it would be easier, but it doesn't. You have to have a look, or a style, or some sort of hook to make you interesting to watch. I love watching American Idol for that reason. Lots of talented people, but very few of them have "it.”

Look at "Jackyl". Jesse James Dupree had a "blip on the radar" career, but only because he went all "chainsaw redneck" onstage every night. Thinking about him, talent should count for more than it does! Alas… Then we had Robert Mason come down. Robert had worked in Lynch Mob, and he was REALLY good! He was strong enough that John Kolodner paid for a showcase for us down at The Viper Room for the people from Sony. We were doing everything we could to save our deal, and Robert was up there singing RATT songs.

Sony didn't bite. They passed, which only heaped onto my depression.

Ralph Sanes from Atomic Punks, and Metal Skool came down. I really wanted Ralph in, because he's a genius front man. Testament to that is the fact he pulls in $30,000 a month in Steel Panther, playing cover shit! He's brilliant, entertaining, talented, and he's a great friend.

We probably went through thirty-something guys, trying to find the right mix. But, they all were clownish. It was really painful, trying to audition and keep the band moving and rolling.

So, Robert Mason was out. He thought we were going to get a deal, and he didn't want to go out and just tour for some reason.

We went back and got Jizzy, mostly because we didn't know anyone else, and we needed to work, because Stephen had filed a lawsuit against us.

But, we'll get into that in a minute.

However, NOT working wasn't an option, so we had to have a singer. Jizzy was the guy.

I like Jizzy. He's professional. He's easy to work with, although the guy is really introverted. He's a fairly sharp dude. By that, I mean the guy is booksmart. There's a little bit of something between his ears, and that makes life a little easier.

But, Jizzy's voice always rubbed me wrong for RATT, and I was never a "Love / Hate" fan. The guy fronted RATT for seven years, and I appreciate everything he brought. We did a LOT of gigs with Jizzy, man. We turned ourselves into show ponies.

Warren was impossible to do business with during that time. He really was. I didn't have his pockets, and he knew that. I didn't come from a wealthy family, like he did. So, I needed this money we were making to survive. We weren't recording new material, or anything, so all we had to exist on was the laurels of the RATT name.

Yet, he was constantly turning down fly out dates.

Dates where he and I would make five grand for a weekend worth of work would be turned down, simply because Warren didn't like the layover time for the flights, or the drive time from the airport, or some other piss-ant type of inconvenience.

It made me incredibly frustrated, especially at the end of the month when my bills were due, and the lawyers wanted money to fight Stephen. Warren could write that check. I couldn't. I feel like he got some sort of twisted amusement at having that kind of control over me, and I resented the fuck out of him for it.

Warren and I are like brothers. It's the "tormenting brothers" type of mentality, though. I'm sure that I torment him in my own ways, too. Although, I don't do that intentionally. Like I've said, Warren is the artistic purist, and I'm the businessman.

I make him crazy with the way I do things, but Warren can be painful to work with professionally. Ask anyone who has to do it. He's the biggest procrastinator you'd ever have to work with. The guy is an amazing musician, but getting things done with the guy is another thing entirely.

Enter John Corabi.

Around April, we had settled on Jizzy as our singer. We had intentions of hiring a rhythm guitarist, but the singer situation was the priority, and we hadn't gotten around to it. That's when I got a phone call from John Corabi.

"Hey, Blotz! How's it going? I hear you guys are looking for a second guitarist?”

I'm like, "Yeah, we are. You know someone?”

"Me.”

"What do you mean, me? Me, who, John? What are you talking about?”

"I mean me, dude. I play guitar.”

I'd only know John as a front man, which he was pretty good at. He was in a band called The Scream, which I knew nothing about, and then he was the guy who replaced Vince Neil in Mötley Crüe. It became John's job to steer that particular ship until it crashed into the reef.

I didn't really like the Mötley album he did with them. I liked his voice, and the production value was through the roof, but I just wasn't crazy about the material on that thing.

They had a really bad, failed tour with John. Fuck it, everybody was having really bad tours at that time. It was really fucking scary. I remember they played the Paladium to about 1300 people, and that was when those guys were slapped with reality.

Three years before, they sold out two nights at the Forum, two nights at the Long Beach Arena, and then two nights at the Irvine Meadows! That was summer on the Feelgood tour, and now they were drawing 1300 people just three years later?!? Mötley was on the skids.

None of that was John's fault, mind you. It's the curse of the lead singer, which is something RATT was about to learn.

There are two types of fans.

The first type are the fans who dig the music. These are the people who will show up to your shows regardless who's in the current line-up in the band. They like the music. These people will go see some cheesy-assed tribute band, all wrapped in spandex and Aqua-Net, just so they can hear your tunes played live.

Those fans will always be there.

The second kind of fan is the band worshiper. They are the purists who follow the band and the guys in it. These fans are fiercely loyal to you, and they defend you at every turn. They are the best kind of fan. But, you can't fuck around with these guys too much, because, like true love, when you hurt them, they'll turn on you.

Consider all the bands that have had frontmen changes. How many of them have actually survived the change, much less thrived with it.

Van Halen did it, although they completely changed their style when Sammy came on board to replace David Lee Roth.