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| |  Stevie Vayne at Johnny Thunders Tribute, CBGB
4/23/01, Photo © 2001 NY Rock, more photos |
One day Johnny Thunders and the Heartbreakers came to play in Leeds, England. The line up was Johnny on guitar and vocals, Billy Rath on bass and Jerry Nolan on drums. The whole scene in Leeds had gravitated to the Thunders image, junky abusiveness and his music. We were all Johnny clones in every way in the industrial Leeds punk scene. We played the guitar like Johnny. We shot the drugs like Johnny. We lived beyond the law and loved it – just like Johnny.
I managed to get my band, the Dead Vaynes, on the bill as Johnny's opening act and we celebrated by getting wasted on speed for a full seven-day stretch before the show. No one in the band had slept in a week and we were all wired so high, we could easily have killed anybody who got in our way. This was rock 'n' roll, right?
We hadn't seen Johnny at all until just before our show time and just before we left the dressing room we all indulged in a final dig of speed. We wanted to rock out, wanted to get fired up beyond all recognition and demolish the venue in Johnny's honor. Just as I'm shooting the gram of speed in my arm, the dressing room door opens and in walks Johnny, Billy and Jerry.
"What you guys cooking back there?" Billy came over to see what was on offer.
"Speed," I looked up as the needle pulled out, "Rocket fuel fucking speed man, do you want a hit?"
"You guys are crazy shooting that shit. That shit will kill you," Johnny looked at me almost as if he was concerned for real. "You got any heroin?"
That was the first time I had ever spoken to him and he was calling me crazy! I felt fucking great. It was the ultimate compliment. We were just like him, crazy rock 'n' roll bandits on the fast track to oblivion.
That started a six-year association with Johnny Thunders. One that saw our band become his permanent European support band and sometimes his own personal backing band. Johnny even holed up in my small apartment for a few weeks in Leeds and I took him to the local pub and curry house. People were amazed to see Johnny walk into the local pub and stand at the bar drinking vodka and orange. Johnny Thunders and Stevie Vayne, it felt good to be spoken in the same breath as him.
 Johnny Thunders | |
As I got to know him, the novelty of hanging with him diminished. I still idolized him, but we would fight almost constantly, trading insults and put downs, one-liner remarks and out-right hostility. Sometimes I couldn't stand the thought of being near him, but like I said, I always idolized him for his attitude, his music, his style and the ability to navigate the pathetic-ness his life sometimes seemed to be.
When Johnny was ill on smack it wasn't glamorous. It wasn't fun to be around. It was like being with a baby who needed 100% attention and care. It was sad and there was nothing anybody could do to help him. Johnny was an addict and I marveled at how he managed to keep touring night after night around the world, sometimes capable of the most amazing show and guitar dexterity, other times as a rambling mess who wouldn't, and sometimes couldn't, string two notes together.
While I was still a young man in my early to mid-twenties, Johnny was older and had been through the drug mill, the non-stop party cycle for a good many years longer than I had. While I was enjoying the novelty of running around the world with Johnny Thunders, getting fucked up, drunk and causing mayhem, he was trying to get off the treadmill. He knew life was taking its toll on him. I idolized his courage to keep on being Johnny Thunders. I doubt if there is anyone else, past, present or future, who could have lived life his way and still carry the aura of charisma which only Johnny had. He was a rock-n-roll superstar capable of writing songs of beauty, rage, self-loathing and fire. His guitar sound was unique. His one-note solos and rock-n-roll noise pollution were one of a kind, and the ultimate tribute is that so many have copied it so many times over the years and continue to do so. Everyday, somewhere in the world, someone new discovers Johnny Thunders' music.
The final show I played with Johnny Thunders was in 1991, in London at the old Marquee Club just a few short months before he was found dead in New Orleans. The guest list back stage was almost a who's who of rock-n-roll chic: People such as Anita Pellenberg, Marlon Richards, Brix Smith of the Fall, Romi Mory of the Gun Club, Peter Perett of the Only Ones. It seemed every London-based rock 'n' roller was there.
Stevie Vayne & The Slaves (as the band had become) played first. We had a storming set. We knew it was a great opportunity to get good press reviews or a new record deal and we didn't want to waste it. We played a great show and then retreated to our own drug abuses.
Johnny followed, his own band with him this time. He was great; the band was great. He brought me on stage to sing backing vocals on "Gloria" and "Louie Louie" with him. I always loved to do that – the show was successful. Johnny had delivered in London and his label wanted to continue working with him.
After the show finished and the crowd had gone, I was sitting at the front of the Marquee stage, partly drugged, partly drunk, dreaming and thinking of the possibilities life may have for me. Would I still be playing like Johnny in ten years time? Would I get my recognition? Or would I be the next Johnny Thunders? Destined to play small clubs around the world, not going forward or backward, just the junkies to follow me? Johnny came over to say his farewells to me. He was flying out to America and I was high-tailing it back to Leeds.
"Stevie, don't let this business kill you.... Listen to me.... This is like your father talking to you.... Your music is good. I can hear it, Stevie. Take care of yourself, okay."
Those words from Johnny Thunders felt like vindication. No matter what the rest of the world thought about me, Johnny could hear me. He recognized me. He cared for me and he inspired me. The kid from Northern England had touched the hero from New York City. We hugged and said our good-byes until the next time, another European tour scheduled for three months down the line.
I never spoke or played with Johnny again, but he remains the most inspiring force in punk-rock music I ever heard or had a chance to touch. I only played two shows after that night. When I heard Johnny had died, I just stopped playing. I got scared. I wanted to live and enjoy life, not just the rock-n-roll life, but everything life has to offer. Good food, beautiful people, great music, the movies, following your favorite basketball team or soccer team, meeting a wonderful women, visiting a foreign country just to take a break and do nothing but hang out by the sea. I couldn't let rock 'n' roll consume me and one day destroy me because I hadn't reaped the rewards that I felt were deserving of my trials and tribulations. Look at Johnny. With all the people Johnny inspired, he should have been a rich man, a comfortable man, a happy man. He paid all his dues and hardly got the breaks or the rewards his talent demanded.
Though it sounds conceited to say it, I didn't want to live like Johnny Thunders any more, and most of all, I didn't want to die like Johnny Thunders any more.
The two shows I played after his death were at the London Marquee as the headliner for the Johnny Thunders Memorial just after his death, and the second was ten years later, April 23, 2001, at New York City's CBGB for the ten-year anniversary tribute to the late great Johnny Thunders. At CB's, I played "Too Much Junkie Business," "Gloria," "Pills" and "Green Onions." I guess I did play just like Johnny Thunders ten years after that last Marquee gig together. God Bless Johnny Thunders, tonight and every night.
May 2001
Coverage of Johnny Thunders Tribute at CBGB:
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