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33

. . . LP sold 4.5 million copies. No surprise that record executives have been more impressed by Quiet Riot than anyone else: their debut cost only $30,000 to make. Although more industry spokespeople quickly point out that the cost of the average heavy metal record is closer to $125,000 (which usually includes a hefty percentage to an experienced producer and engineer to maintain order in the studio and make the product hit-tight), the potential profit margin is still great. MTV had another, perhaps more disturbing, effect. "I think the androgynous nature of so many of the 'new music' acts forced a polarization of sexuality that was even more graphically brought into focus by the rise of MTV," explains Jerry Jaffe. "So basically you had a much more macho image present in the music. Van Halen is the ultimate fantasy for all these guys. Don't forget, most of this genre of music -- the way that it is programmed for radio and MTV, you have to understand, is the lowest common denominator entertainment. It's bread and circuses for the common people. Record companies are trying to make money. In the same way that Porky's made money, a record company can make money on Mötley Crüe." Hello Boston? Do you motherfuckers like to drink alcohol? Do you motherfuckers like to eat pussy? Do you know why our fuckin' hearts are broken tonight, Boston? Because we can't eat all that Boston pussy tonight. Hello Boston! Do you motherfuckers like to drink alcohol? Do you motherfuckers like to eat pussy? Hello Boston! Do you motherfu . . . It's Tuesday maybe, but it's not Boston. It's somewhere in the flashfire warning area way above Malibu, where a tape of a Mötley Crüe show has just blown out the monitor system of a rustic studio tucked into the dry brush up in the hills. The three-fourths of Mötley Crüe present are not really interested in mixing a performance tape for an upcoming live broadcast. That's partly because the tape exposes the bum notes and painful realities you don't hear on their brilliantly produced second album, Shout at the Devil, or see in their impeccably directed videos, where they're draped in $20,000 worth of studded leather costumes, several layers of elaborate makeup, and hordes of hired women. Bass player Nikki Sixx's day began at the Hyatt on Sunset with an oath never to drink again, an Alka Seltzer, and a shot of Jack Daniel's. He keeps the Jack in his black 1984 Stingray along with a hairbrush and a giant economy size can of Flex Net. Nikki and drummer Tommy Lee say they always like to keep their hair looking cool and their Corvettes washed so they can get laid. Like last night. They weren't actually planning to stay at the Hyatt, that's just the way things turned out. Back in the old days, it used to be nicknamed the Riot House and lots of bands (who liked to do the same shit the Crüe likes to do now) used to stay there. But these days, most rock and rollers stay at the Marquis down farther on Sunset, where no one'd blink if they say [sic] Nikki like he was last night on the little couch in front of the elevator on their manager's floor sorta like a dead cockroach, with his feet up in the air and Tommy yelling, "C'mon man, we're never gonna get laid if you keep lying there!" But, oh that was nothing compared to the time (where was it?) when guitarist Mick Mars got arrested for indecent exposure, but it was really a case of mistaken identity 'cause it was Tommy who was running down the hall in his party pants -- they're sorta like a leather G-string. He has 'em in leopard, too. Only the senile security guard, the guy was like 70 years old, man, just saw bare cheeks and Revlon Blue/Black hair and went into the men's room on the floor, and there was Mick, just talkin' to a chick, man. And the next thing Mick knew he was in handcuffs, going to spend the night in jail. He got bailed out, the hotel apologized, and all charges were dropped. The thing was mishandled terribly, man. But everyone in this band's been in jail a million times. It's a joke. Like the story that got out about Vince beating up a girl on Halloween? That was no girl, that was Tommy, man! Who remembers what it was about? You get a little liquor in you and you throw a few punches and Tommy broke Vince's nose. And then the cops came and beat up Vince so bad the faggots in the cell wouldn't even look at him. Okay, so, yeah, well, last night. . . . Ever since he rolled some chick's 240Z off the Ventura Freeway and practically killed himself (but so what? The band would've been HUGE), his little sister Athena, her old boyfriend, and the chick who was stupid enough to let him drive her car in the first place. Tommy's gotten a little wiser about driving when he's twisted. Even if Traffic School and A.A., like they made him go to, is a joke, man! Anyway, lots of times Tommy just goes back to Nikki's place in Coldwater Canyon and bones some chick on the living room floor. But last night when their manager saw the condition they were in when they came back from the Seventh Veil, or maybe it was the Bodyshop, with a couple of chicks who work there . . . see, well, . . .

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