It's So Easy: And Other Lies by Duff McKagan Page B

a road trip gone wrong, an out-of-town gig, and the knowledge that we were all fully committed to Guns N’ Roses.

PART TWO
     

JUST AN URCHIN LIVING UNDER THE STREET
     

CHAPTER TWELVE
     

     
    When we returned from Seattle, our first stop back in L.A. was Canter’s Deli. We were starving after being on the road and getting only a few solid meals. But equally urgent was the determination to conquer the hometown club circuit—and for that, we needed photos to use to try to book gigs and make flyers. Marc Canter did a photo session—and by “photo session” I mean he took a black-and-white snapshot—in a booth at the deli while people ate at the adjoining tables. That picture became the flyer for our second-ever L.A. gig with this final lineup. Then we went out into the alley behind Canter’s and Marc took the shot we’d eventually use on the back of the Live! Like a Suicide EP.
    We began to look for gigs the second we got back. And we started rehearsing with a burning sense of purpose fueled by the knowledge that each of us was all-in. Initially we met at a rehearsal space owned by Nicky Beat, a well-known figure in the early L.A. punk scene. His facility was in an industrial wasteland out by Dodger Stadium. It was also Nicky’s house—or rather, he also lived there. And apparently Nicky had become obsessed with exercise. Every day when we walked in, Nicky was lying on his back on a weight bench, stark naked, doing sit-ups. He would stop and say, “I’m doing a thousand a day!” We’d give him a thumbs-up and walk through to the practice room.
    The timing for me and Steven to meld as a rhythm section was perfect. Steven had tons of drive, and we kept at it hour upon hour, day after day—just mercilessly. At that point, I was probably a better drummer than bass player. Not that I was so talented, but at least I had played drums in working bands. By contrast, I was still working on my bass style—Guns was the first band in which I played bass in earnest. I was heavily influenced by R&B and soul music at that stage, and for Steven and me, listening and playing along with Prince, Parliament, Cameo, and Sly and the Family Stone became our gauge and music school.
    Of course, I definitely fashioned myself after punk bassists, too, especially those whose work had really propelled their bands’ songs, like Barry Adamson of Magazine and Paul Simonon of the Clash. In 1979, I had seen the Clash at the Paramount Theater in Seattle and Simonon struck me as the embodiment of what was good in rock and roll. A year later, when London Calling came out, the cover art showed him smashing a bass on a stage. Greased-back hair, rolled-up sleeves, black engineer boots—cool incarnate. Some of the great bass players from the post-punk and noise era introduced more of a mood—almost a sense of color: Raven from Killing Joke is a good example. The actual playing is not the thing that grabs you—it’s the attitude behind the playing that makes you want to break shit. Then there was Lemmy Kilmister of Motörhead, whose bass tone is still second to none. Mötley Crüe’s first EP, 1982’s Too Fast for Love, got a lot of play at punk-rock parties, and Nikki Sixx—the bass player—was the musical leader of the Crüe. So while many people felt guitar players like Eddie Van Halen forged the sound of the early 1980s, it was easy to see an alternative history where bass players led the way.
    Another new band called Jane’s Addiction was using Nicky Beat’s space, too. They had an interesting rhythm duo made up of Eric Avery on bass and Stephen Perkins on drums. I suppose competition makes for a better “product,” and Steven Adler and I would go watch Jane’s Addiction play gigs whenever possible once we got to know them. It made us better—and I think we made them better, too.
    As Steven and I crafted our sound as a rhythm section, I got to know him a lot better as a person, too, and quickly realized I couldn’t have asked