JIZZY PEARL TOUR DIARY
Jizzy Pearl is currently travelling all over the country on the Rock Never Stops tour, fronting Ratt as they tour with Quiet Riot, Firehouse, and headliners Cinderella. Whenver he feels compelled to do so, Jizzy will be sending us updates from the road.
Six six six…
Tag’s, Outdoor. I was here in 2002 with the Cock Rockfest. I confess, I’m somewhat at a loss for this week; not much has happened. My record came out, got some good reviews. Mohegan Sun was a good gig, the casino is a huge complex complete with mall, restaurants, shops, etc. but the bottom line is of course the casino and the yawning jaws of GREED. I hung out with the beautiful S. and her Irish friend K. ( I did not, as they say, close the deal) we gambled a bit, I lost. K. won $250 at a Wheel of Fortune machine so she bought the drinks. I was standing there waiting for the girls to come out of the bathroom when a fan walked up to congratulate me. Then another. In my haste to get back to the Dry Gulch Saloon I had inadvertently placed myself right next to the arena exit and I was soon struggling to fjord upstream against thousands of people.
“ Hey, there’s that RATT guy!”
“There’s that singer!”
“ Hey Stephen!”
And so on. My vanity somewhat appeased I headed back to the Dry Gulch with my two girl friends and a bevy of red wine. I woke up the next morning feeling like a tractor had run over my tongue… it’s hard to rationalize drinking to escape reality when the very thing that you do is an exercise in escaping reality. It’s a bit contradictory. I look forward to the three days off after Elmira and a much needed break from the Corabi’s and the Crane’s.
I don’t miss the party but the party sure misses me. I decided one night NOT to drink and now I’m racked with guilt. Our bus, the RATT bus, has been deemed the party bus so I have affectionately nicknamed it the Dry Gulch Saloon. We are the only band that drinks, apparently. Cinderella bus, dry. QR, dry. Firehouse, dry. Anyone of their band and crew that does drink usually ends up at the Dry Gulch and it has been quite a fucking blast. All are welcome. Eric from Cinderella is a frequent guest. Michael Foster from Firehouse, occasionally C.J. Some crew guys from QR, all are welcome. If someone chooses not to be a drunk after years and years of abuse I don’t hold that against them. I started off this tour pretty sober but now the wine corks are bouncing off the walls like Pachinko balls. Ordinarily I am sullen and cynical, it takes booze to unlock the Happier side of the Jizz. But not too much or I turn into Jizzilla, the Monster. He’s a lot of fun if you wanna get choked or bitten; yeah, he’s a real silver–tongued Devil. The paradox of being a drunk is listening to the party going on in the front lounge and thinking to yourself–“ That would be ME yelling right now,” Or “ Am I really that obnoxious and stupid?” — Oh yes….definitely. Every other night that’d be me on the trombone, farting, bumping into guests, laughing too loud, ogling fake tits and glancing at ass. I went out to the front lounge to take a piss and was immediately accosted by several partygoers—
“ Have a glass of wine Jizz…”
“ Join the party…” or
“ WHAT’S WRONG?”
Peer pressure. I tried to explain that I had tied one on the night before but no one was listening. Two girls said ‘You’re fired’ to me. Fired from…what? Small talk? Fired because I hadn’t joined the Greek Chorus of hailing your fake boobs? Geez, what a concept, fake tits on a rock bus, you hardly ever see that. I’ve seen fake tits, felt ‘em. They’re about as romantic as palming a basketball. Well not to worry ladies, there are plenty of guys like me around. WASP tour is coming, Tesla, there is no end to the tattooed black-haired Parade. Soon your plastic Boda-bags will be Oohed and Aahhed and given their due so keep those Hi-Beams on and flashing, L.A. Guns, Bang Tango, they’re comin’ and comin’ soon.
Since this week was kinda slow I thought I would use my time to do what I do best:
Talk some shit. I have a reservoir of hatred for all that TV represents, case in point—MTV’s Best Week Ever, where wanna-be comics “roast” that week’s current events. Not glib, not witty, and most of all not funny these people couldn’t get a job bussing tables at the Laugh Factory and yet here they are talking shit. A band of humorless yahoos that aren’t even clever enough to do a Sludge Random Thoughts ( and that’s bad.) And because they aren’t funny they employ an announcer with a funny voice to do the lead-ins “JUDE LAW CAUGHT CHEATING” in a voice reminiscent of TV’s Funniest Pets or America’s Funniest Idiots or When Animals Attack 2 or When Fish Won’t Spawn 3. Because I guess we’re supposed to think Jude Law cheating on his chick is hilarious, the fact that his relationship may be over and he has a child with his chick should be really really funny to us, right? Is anyone amused? It would also be remiss not to mention the horrible new “Real” World Austin, so bad it’s unwatchable. Pathetic fucking scripted drunks that can’t even fuck right juggling their balls and flashing their tits for our amusement…are we amused? Or are we all just BORED. And last but certainly not least: Celebrity Fit Club 2. It’s a little unnerving when the fat guy you’re poking with a stick is someone you know. Jani Lane has a good heart and I count him as a friend so I vote he not be subjected to this sideshow clown act. The “doctor”, the “psychologist” and the drill sergeant all get their trigger time abusing and humiliating poor Jani Lane. I’d rather he get eaten by the Snapple Lady than have to endure such taunts. Who convinced him that this was a positive career move? Is it worth the 50 K to get weighed on a giant balance beam like raw meat? The dude has money, he isn’t poor. Television and especially VH-1 and MTV have determined that their demographic audience are retards and so we get such cerebral offerings as Hogan Knows Best ( young Hulkess needs a recording career so we have to watch Brooding Hulk Hogan play a stuttering King Lear) that show where Jerry Hall picks the next Male stripper ( …I’m speechless on this one…fucking speechless) I’ve got an idea, let’s have Harley Davidson stop making motorcycles and start making Turbans because in a world that thinks Blow Out and Hogan Knows Best are worthwhile entertainment is a world that is surely going straight to HELL. I thought reality shows would have already gone the way of the Dodo but I was wrong. Isn’t anyone up in arms or do we just sit idly by the same way we watch gas prices go up or watch the alarming spread of women wearing lip rings?
TV loves us, it thinks we’re all stupid and we’ll just take it up the ass. They make shows for cheap and save money, just like movies are now just remakes of older movies or TV shows…notice that? Dukes of Hazzard, Bewitched, it’s an alarming trend. Nobody is willing to invest money in an IDEA, they just want to play it safe. There’s always gonna be a Bobby Brown who needs a career boost or a Hulk Hogan who wants his kid handed a record deal. Meet Hulk Hogan, meet Bobby Brown, fuck it let’s MEET ‘EM ALL because we’re so fucking bored that we find this made-up shit titillating. HR Pufnstuf and WWE wrestling have twice the substance of all of this shows put together and yet we watch. INXZ needs a new singer…and we watch. American Idol season fucking Four…and we watch. Jonathan weeps crocodile tears…and we watch. Hulk Hogan scolds his daughter via teleprompter…and we watch. I’ll stick to History Channel and my new favorite, IFC, the Independent Film Channel, who are about to receive some very brilliant writers in the near future…