few moments outside my hotel room in the hallway, in San Francisco, California.
I will not elaborate on this story for two reasons. Number one, I did not see it actually happen. All the stories in this book are written because I was there, and it either happened to me, or I witnessed it. I just heard about what happened to Slash later that afternoon. And number two, Slash tells the story very well in his own book Slash , so I suggest reading it there.
It was a horrific situation. He basically died from an overdose, they revived him, and I think we played a concert that night or the day after, as if nothing had happened. Truly remarkable.
But what I will add to the existing story is this: That night we had a team meeting—the band and some key members of the entourage, me included. We figured out what we were going to say to everyone else on tour, and we were all sworn to secrecy about what happened that day. The band didn’t want the public to know, and this story was buried. At least that’s what I thought.
And it was, for a while.
I always thought that someone, somewhere, was going to leak this story, but it just never got out while we were on the road. And if it did, I never saw it, and it never became the lead story it should have become.
When we finished the tour I was asked to do hundreds of interviews on various radio stations and various rock websites around the world. I always turned them down, even though there were times that I was offered money if I had any good juice on the band. It was never even tempting. The band members were my friends.
But one day I was sitting in my house, watching one of those “Behind the Scenes” shows, and they’re doing a piece on Guns N’ Roses. I had been asked if I wanted to say something on this show, and I declined, because I knew that they would ask me questions regarding Axl, and I thought it would be boring because I always had “no comment.” On the show I see a few people from the entourage being interviewed, and I thought to myself it was cool to see my old buds again. Then I saw John Reese and they’re talking to him about the tour, and all of a sudden I heard John telling the story, to the entire world, about the night that Slash died.
I jokingly thought to myself, Damn, I could have gotten a lot of money for that .
I found out later that numerous news outlets had already heard about it, but for some reason it was always buried.
Then of course, Slash wrote his book and he went into great detail about that night.
So, I guess it’s out there, and now I can say, with a clear conscience, that it’s true, Slash’s heart did stop one night, right outside my hotel room, in San Francisco, and he lived to tell about it.
Axl looking over the room service menu somewhere in Argentina. Out that window are hundreds, maybe thousands of fans. Robert looks on .
Natasha and me on the MGM Grand airplane .
SHOWS
4
A TYPICAL SHOW DAY
On a typical show day, I woke up at 9 a.m., for a total of about four hours sleep. I’d light a cigarette, put some dip in my mouth, and while lying in bed, make phone calls to Los Angeles. I’d get ready for that day’s gig, as well as advancing the next gig, and I’d order breakfast from room service.
Earl would come in to watch TV. Then Robert would come in to watch TV. So I’d figure, What the hell? I’ll watch TV, too. Then Steve, the buff chiropractor, would come in to tell us he’s going to the gym. Bastard. I’d put out my cigarette, thinking I would quit and get healthy.
But the phone would ring, and I’d learn something was wrong with, say, the dressing room at the venue for that night. I’d light another cigarette, fix the problem, and move on.
Around noon, Axl would wander in with a menu—he’s hungry. He’d tell me what he wants. I’d order his breakfast, and I get a little something for myself. My second breakfast.
Then we’d all sit around and talk about crap—some personal stuff, something
I will not elaborate on this story for two reasons. Number one, I did not see it actually happen. All the stories in this book are written because I was there, and it either happened to me, or I witnessed it. I just heard about what happened to Slash later that afternoon. And number two, Slash tells the story very well in his own book Slash , so I suggest reading it there.
It was a horrific situation. He basically died from an overdose, they revived him, and I think we played a concert that night or the day after, as if nothing had happened. Truly remarkable.
But what I will add to the existing story is this: That night we had a team meeting—the band and some key members of the entourage, me included. We figured out what we were going to say to everyone else on tour, and we were all sworn to secrecy about what happened that day. The band didn’t want the public to know, and this story was buried. At least that’s what I thought.
And it was, for a while.
I always thought that someone, somewhere, was going to leak this story, but it just never got out while we were on the road. And if it did, I never saw it, and it never became the lead story it should have become.
When we finished the tour I was asked to do hundreds of interviews on various radio stations and various rock websites around the world. I always turned them down, even though there were times that I was offered money if I had any good juice on the band. It was never even tempting. The band members were my friends.
But one day I was sitting in my house, watching one of those “Behind the Scenes” shows, and they’re doing a piece on Guns N’ Roses. I had been asked if I wanted to say something on this show, and I declined, because I knew that they would ask me questions regarding Axl, and I thought it would be boring because I always had “no comment.” On the show I see a few people from the entourage being interviewed, and I thought to myself it was cool to see my old buds again. Then I saw John Reese and they’re talking to him about the tour, and all of a sudden I heard John telling the story, to the entire world, about the night that Slash died.
I jokingly thought to myself, Damn, I could have gotten a lot of money for that .
I found out later that numerous news outlets had already heard about it, but for some reason it was always buried.
Then of course, Slash wrote his book and he went into great detail about that night.
So, I guess it’s out there, and now I can say, with a clear conscience, that it’s true, Slash’s heart did stop one night, right outside my hotel room, in San Francisco, and he lived to tell about it.
Axl looking over the room service menu somewhere in Argentina. Out that window are hundreds, maybe thousands of fans. Robert looks on .
Natasha and me on the MGM Grand airplane .
SHOWS
4
A TYPICAL SHOW DAY
On a typical show day, I woke up at 9 a.m., for a total of about four hours sleep. I’d light a cigarette, put some dip in my mouth, and while lying in bed, make phone calls to Los Angeles. I’d get ready for that day’s gig, as well as advancing the next gig, and I’d order breakfast from room service.
Earl would come in to watch TV. Then Robert would come in to watch TV. So I’d figure, What the hell? I’ll watch TV, too. Then Steve, the buff chiropractor, would come in to tell us he’s going to the gym. Bastard. I’d put out my cigarette, thinking I would quit and get healthy.
But the phone would ring, and I’d learn something was wrong with, say, the dressing room at the venue for that night. I’d light another cigarette, fix the problem, and move on.
Around noon, Axl would wander in with a menu—he’s hungry. He’d tell me what he wants. I’d order his breakfast, and I get a little something for myself. My second breakfast.
Then we’d all sit around and talk about crap—some personal stuff, something
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