Authors: Scott Weiland

Not Dead & Not For Sale (17 page)

BOOK: Not Dead & Not For Sale

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A
FTER LEAVING VELVET REVOLVER,
three significant things happened in my life: I began finalizing my divorce from Mary; I released a solo project that I’d been working on for years; and I rejoined my fellow Pilots for a new STP tour and record. I see these as positive developments.

The solo project—
Happy in Galoshes
, a two-disc collection that came out in 2008—was cathartic. I toured behind it with a band of avant-garde virtuosos called Scott Weiland and the Saffron Salvo.

Happy
represents a great deal of work that I did with my friend Doug Grean, who also contributed greatly to my sanity. He was there through so much of the madness with Mary: He delivered and picked me up from rehab countless times; he put up with my unpredictability and cleaned up my messes; he understood me on the deepest and most compassionate level. I owe Doug a great deal.

I’m not one for idealization or sentimentalization, but
Happy in Galoshes
, at least in part, looks back on my life, like this memoir, with a degree of nostalgia. When it rained in Cleveland, I put on galoshes and went outside to play. I was certainly happy and, as a young child, carefree.

In the song “Missing Cleveland”—a key moment in the record—I reflect on that childhood with longing even as I remember the good times with Mary, when we’d put on our best outfits and go out to hip restaurants and people-watch:

You were dressed up at the ball

They expected us to fall

From the heavens its Lunar 7

They were monkeys all of them

Entertaining so we stayed

Wondering whether it’s all or never

There are songs about my dad and my brother on
Happy in Galoshes
, but Mary is still the central character. I know that the great Italian poet Dante never got beyond his obsession with Beatrice, the woman-child of his dreams, and even put her in the center of his trip to paradise and vision of God. I’m not Dante, but I know, in my own small way, that my songs are hopelessly entangled with my obsession with Mary. She’s at the center of the tune “She Sold Her System,” a metaphor for my belief that she lost her passion for me. I see my passion for her as a force that never stops. I’m forever chasing her. “When in space on the hamster wheel,” I sing, “will we ever win the saving race? And it’s just too close to call while all the numbers crunch inside your head.”

In “Pictures and Computers (I’m Not Superman),” I’m still trying to process the anger and pain I feel for Mary, the confusion, the bundle of contradictions that I carry around inside my head:

When I’m alone the world’s at bay

Keeping them still as I slip away

But I’m not Superman and I’m not everyman

Have I done the best that I can to generate

’Cause I still hate

To revel around and terrorize or sympathize or populate

’Cause I’m just everyman who once was a stronger man

Who let the queen of his land burn off his cape

Now he just waits

Oh, let me be, you take a step and squash on everything

Your holy water won’t clean those Jimmy Choos

You wear those shoes and then you run around all night

Guilt is there. My guilt about Michael, about Mary, about Jannina. “Big Black Monster” is a tune I wrote and recorded for
Happy in Galoshes
because it reminded me of how I had broken my first wife’s heart. I’d tell Jannina, “Honey, I’m going out for a pack of cigarettes. Be back in fifteen minutes,” then five days later would return home after staying in some lowrent hotel where I shot up coke and heroin.

Did you hear the monster come out?

He came a-crashin’ in

Did you feel the monster come out?

You’re crashin’

But if anything summarizes the dance I’ve danced with women, it’s “Tangle with Your Mind.” I wrote this at a time when I was convinced that Mary had someone else. The telltale signs were too obvious to ignore. Mary, though, always felt that, when it came to mind games, she had the upper mind. She could outthink and outmaneuver me. She might well be right. All I can do is tangle. All I can say is:

You seem sad, but you’re telling lies

Getting lost in the shuffle of alibis

Seasons change, so do you, so do I

Where do I go?

Look back on indiscretion, love

Reaction, I want action

No, no, no

Trying hard not to let you go (oh, so cold)

’Cause you just never let it show

There you go wandering along

People come and people go

Where do you go when you’re not at home?

There is always more than meets the eye

Flew so fast, fell from the sky below

In the end, I’m happy in my galoshes. Happy stomping through the rainy mud of my childhood. Happy to remember the crazy chaos of a life dedicated to music and nearly destroyed by drugs. Happy to stop and put pencil to paper and, as best I can, mark my journey to this point.

I am back with Eric, Dean, and Robert, and that makes me happy. We have rededicated ourselves to our art and our fans. I am grateful that our musical base, built on integrity and a need to express a real kind of rock and roll, is still intact.

For all the success, our current tour hasn’t been easy. I fell off the wagon. During the breaks, when I was able to spend time at home, I’d sit on my couch and not move for hours on end. For years I’ve known goddamn well that I’m a drunk, but who wants to admit that? After kicking the strong stuff, why couldn’t I have a little drink now and then? What harm was there in a small indulgence? The answer was serious harm—potentially fatal harm. For me, putting a drink in my mouth is something like putting a lead blanket over my heart. There’s been so much pain in the past few years that I’m afraid to feel, or commit. I pray that this will end. I don’t want to be alone anymore. I want to be able to love again. The dream of every drunk—to be able to manage their drinking—is one that has died hard for me. My prayer is that, once and for all, that dream is good and dead.

So I’m back to counting days. It’s nearly two months since I’ve had a drink. By the time you read this book, my hope is that it will be six months. I embrace the day-at-a-time mind-set. For me, there’s no other way to live. I’ve got to stay present.

I am optimistic.

I have to learn to see the beauty in the mundane. I believe this is a key to my spiritual well-being. I have to change my perception and see God’s beauty in everything.

I believe what has kept me intriguing to the public while everyone is usually allowed their fifteen minutes of fame is my chameleon-like nature and my desire to break new sonic and musical ground. Having my own record label—Softdrive Records—has allowed me complete freedom to do just that.

Beyond music, I continue to paint and draw, even if everything ends up looking unconsciously like an Egon Schiele painting. All perspective is out the window.

I’ve realized a longtime dream by starting my own clothing line—Scott Weiland Collection by English Laundry. I love the creativity and artfulness behind great clothes.

Someone called me a jet-setter. Well, it’s one thing to simply jet-set, but to do it while racing down the edge of a razor? Now that takes a certain kind of moxie and the constitution of a cockroach.

I have songs to write and songs to sing. I have ideas for drawings, movies, and other books. My goal is to stay inspired and inspire others. No matter how abstract or diverse my work, I want to leave a footprint of someone passionately interested in expressing his heart and soul. I’m still making that footprint.

I am not dead and not for sale.

THERE HAVE BEEN A LOT OF BANDS AND
MUSICIANS WE HAVE PLAYED WITH, OR WHO HAVE
INFLUENCED US, OR WHO IN SOME WAY HAVE
LEFT A LASTING IMPRESSION. SOME OF THESE ARE: