A long time ago, in a galaxy far far away, I was in a band called Ballistic Missiles. We had a little local notoriety and it was all good. We also had a manager who’s name I think was Jonnie Teagarden who we were about to fire because she hadn’t made us in to international stars yet. I mean, I had been playing guitar for seven whole years so why not? One day she called and told us to go in to San Francisco to audition for this television show called Star Search. And being the too cool for school, jaded rock stars we thought we were at the time, we did it as a favor to her. So we went to Hyde Street studios with a bunch of other bands and finally got in a room and played a song in front of one camera, and one cameraman. He said thanks, we walked, and that was that.
Weeks later, after completely obliterating the memory of that audition, I walked to my mailbox (yes, mailbox – no cells, no email at that time) and opened a letter from Bob Banner associates stating, “You have been selected from over 20,000 bands in a Nationwide search to perform on the premiere of Star Search 1985. You will be flown to Los Angeles (in a plane I hoped) and staying at the Sunset Hyatt and receive a per diem of $?? per day until your stay has ended.” Or something to that effect. This created a different feeling altogether than what that of jaded teenager zit faced self described rock stars perceived. One of an aura of excitement and pressure; Holy crap! We’re going to be on TV!
We flew to Los Angeles and were picked up at LAX. They brought us to our hotel and gave us one hour to get ready to go to the studio. I think it was the Rainbow Theater on Sunset Blvd. This was an old theater that had a rotating stage. So when you were ready to go live, you started facing the back wall and the stage was rotating towards the audience as you were being introduced to the audience, the cameras, and the celebrity judges. I wandered through the bowels of this old theater as I was told it had tunnels that crossed under Sunset Blvd so that gangsters could disappear in the face of trouble back in the 30’s and 40’s. Very curious was I. As I went through every knook and cranny of this theater, I came across a handsome dark haired man singing to himself in an old mirror back stage. The moment I heard the words come out of my mouth (“Hey, are you in the vocal competition?”) I realized it was David Hasselhoff. Big star at the time, and a big singing star in germany (He says with dripping sarcasm). He looked at me like I was a flea, and I felt like one.
Well, I never found the gangster tunnel, so I headed back to the green room (which wasn’t green) with my tail between my legs. A producer herded our band together (Carol Bozzio (my wife at the time), Matt Kyne, Chuck Terpo, and John Crowther) to tell us that Morgan Fairchild was arriving soon and had a laundry list of rules on how she was to be treated. Ahem; “Do not speak to her unless she initiates. Do not look at her. Do not touch her, etc”. She arrived in a white limo, dressed in white, with white hair, and white skin. It was like the abominable snowman had arrived fresh off shooting with Rudolph the Red Nose reindeer. Oh, but much more attractive in a completely false way. Seriously. (There was nothing real about her). So of course I, as I always pay attention to rules, said Hi the second she walked in. John, our drummer, touched her hair. She was fine with it.
Later that day we went to make up. I believe it was Shelly Winters, Morgan Fairchild, Casey Casum’s wife, and me. Well, the hair stylist decided that I needed curls and everyone in the room agreed. I was apparently too timid to say no in the face of fame surrounding me, so I watched her put curls in my straight hair. Not just any curls mind you, TINY CURLS. Like Little Orphan Annie curls. Wait, she had curls right?
It was after that that I was whisked to my place behind the stage on the giant rottisserie that was to be my launching pad of multiple world tours, billion selling albums, and enough fortune to buy islands. As I stood with my trusted Les Paul, another associate producer handed me a pearl white, God awful Yamaha electric that I again, was too timid to say no too. And as the stage was rotating, we heard the band name announced, you could just see the bright lights start to peek around the enormous curtain – I looked around to see my wife on the verge of throwing up and me, in curls and a white guitar.
The lesson is, to be true to yourself – for no one knows you as well as you do. It’s hard to say no sometimes, especially when it’s a big stage – but the bright lights are only a mask. What got you there in the first place, was you. Oh, and we won. More on that later.