P4P - L.A. 6/21/96
I went to this show.. my first time seeing P4P and my first time in L.A. (not
counting Disneyland, of course). We got there early and there were just a few
people ahead of us in line to get in. This was their first real LA show in a
while. It was a big deal.. sold out and everything. They handed out "Pete's
Dad" promo cassette samplers to the first 20-30 people in line. very cool.
...So some people in line start talking about a rumor.. seems someone heard
Perry on the radio saying Dave Navarro was going to play with the band. Holy
shit! This had to be bullshit, right? Perry and Stephen with Dave again?! No
way! (keep in mind this was before the Relapse)
So we went in skeptical.. but with immeasurable hopes in our hearts. After each
song we thought, "ok, any second now Perry's gonna say, 'ladies and gentlemen,
David Navarro!'" but he never did. The show was short, only about an hour long.
Since we paid like $60@ for the tickets, we were hoping for more. But it was
a good show.. aside from the fucker next to me who kept yelling shit at Perry
like 'suck my dick, perry!' (not in a nice way, mind you, but an asshole way..
and LOUDLY). If it weren't for that jackass, maybe we would've gotten a Jane's
song as an encore. ("My Time" and "I Would For You" were reserved for good audiences)
Anyway.. the show ended and it was time to go home. Of course we thought, 'damn,
the fucking Dave rumor sure got my hopes up.' Months later I found out IT WASN'T
JUST A RUMOR.. it was actually going to happen! Fuck, that makes it even worse.
So damn close to what I'm sure would've been the handsdown most amazing concert
experience of my lifetime. It still makes me want to slit my wrists thinking
about it!
Well, whatever.. gotta move on.
Here's a story Dave wrote somewhat regarding that night. So grab a box of Kleenex
and join me and Dave in deep depression...
from Dave Navarro's website, early '98...
DAVE WRITES:
I’ve been sober now for about 4 -1/2 years. The following is what happened to
me on the day I finally looked for God.For the past several years, I’ve been
living my life as what some call, dry drunk. That is, clean but not sober. I’d
stay off the medication, but when it came to spiritual connections between myself
and a higher power, I basically had/have none. As a result of this and my inability
to seek therapy of some kind, I was miserable. I had a wonderful life on the
outside, but I always felt impending doom. I have a nice house, girls seem to
like me, I’m known where ever I go, I’m not unattractive, my family is healthy,
I have a nice car, basically, all the things people tend to work very hard for.
Oh yeah, I’m also the guitarist for the Red Hot Chili Peppers, which in itself
is a tremendous blessing, considering the fact that years ago I played in a
band called, Jane’s Addiction. It’s virtually unheard of that a guy could end
up in TWO very important and successful bands. As I said, my life looked pretty
good.The truth is, that I could never appreciate what I had, so I decided
to go to a shrink. We talked a lot, and decided that I needed to create a spiritual
self to relate to. Part of doing this, would be for me to have a quiet/prayer
time in the mornings so I could learn to trust something other than myself.(which
I didn’t totally trust anyway)So, there I was, Friday morning at 10:00 a.m.,
on my knees, “praying” to whatever or whoever would hear me. It was an uncomfortable
two minutes. It seemed more like 1/2 hour. Nevertheless, I did it and it didn’t
really hurt. Around 11:30 a.m., I got a call from a friend who manages the band
that includes the x-members of Jane’s Addiction. They were playing tonight and,
“would I like to join them for a couple of old Jane’s songs?”“Of course” I
said. You see, I’m never really happy with what it is I’m doing, so when I get
an offer like that, you know, something someone else is doing, it feels like
the answer I’ve been looking for. I was very excited. We were to sound check
at 4:00 p.m., and let me tell you, I was ready. The Peppers weren’t leaving
for the European tour until tomorrow!!! This would be the answer, the truth,
my calling. It would be as huge in my life as it would in the lives of the other
musicians and the lives of the spectators. It was the most important reunion
in alternative rock history.(my ideas do get a little un-realistic)4:00 p.m.,
Friday afternoon at the American Legion Hall. I had my guitar and my enthusiasm.
I was chatting with the band members and we were all very excited. There was
no weirdness in the air. Not from us, not from the crew, not from the people
waiting outside, none. In retrospect, it did seem unusual, for I had never felt
that good about something I wanted to do so bad. The guitarist of the band
and I started to go over the songs we were going to play. Even in rehearsal,
it felt great. When people would walk by, they’d smile a knowing smile as if
to say, “Yeah, this is gonna be rad.” And that’s when it happened.“Dave”,
someone said, “you need to call Lindy a.s.a.p.” Lindy? My manager? “Let me see
that”, I replied and I snatched the piece of paper he was holding. It read,
“Call Lindy a.s.a.p.” Pretty straight forward. Into the production office I
went with the paper. I could see the phone as I walked in. It kind of had a
strange invisible glow about it. I dialed the phone #.“Hello?, Dave?” he shouted.“Yeah”,
I said.“You have to go to Washington D.C. right now!!”“What!?”“That’s the
only way I can get you your passport by tomorrow” -TIME TO BACK TRACK-A
week prior to this phone call, I noticed that in my passport, I was lacking
enough pages to get through a European tour. Everything was in order mind you,
my passport was current, I just needed room for the stamps. You know, the ones
that unseasoned travelers love to look over with romantic remembrance. So, I
called my office to tell them. I needed this handled a.s.a.p. I got a call
from a guy at my office a couple of days later.“Dave? I guess your gonna have
to go down to the passport place cause I cant get a straight answer about this
on the phone.”Now I knew that this was unacceptable, but I let it go, which
was my first and biggest mistake. “O.K.” I said.That night, while talking to
a couple of “professional” friends on the phone, I learned that not only should
this be taken care of by the office, but that there were services that could
take care of this kind of stuff for me. My office should have known that. Around
2:00 a.m., I left a message on the office machine. “Guys, I’m leaving my passport
and ID under my door mat. I’ll be sleeping late, so don’t call me. Handle it!”Much
to my astonishment, they did. Kind of. I woke up the next day and the passport
was gone. It had been picked up. This was on Wednesday. -BACK TO FRIDAY-I
wanted to kill Lindy. This meant leaving the venue right then and there, going
back home, packing up some clothes, and rushing off to Washington.Farewell
to the reunion, which had been announced on radio a day earlier, farewell x-band
mates, farewell Los Angeles, “Hello Washington.” I was devastated.The plane
was going to depart at 10:00 p.m. I had just enough time to make the necessary
phone calls, throw some dirty laundry in a bag and hastily leave for the airport.
God I hate airports. There’s no magical calling waiting for me at any airport.
Airports to me are resting stops before punishments.The reading lounge of Hell.
Good thing I prayed this morning.I got on the plane just in time to be able
to sit in my seat a little longer than I had to. The evening’s entertainment
was, “Happy Gilmore”, which I took as an inside joke between God and Himself.
Since my flight was booked so close to take-off, my special vegetarian meal
was only a fantasy. Instead, I got a roast beef sandwich. I took it apart and
ate the bread. I was sad, but eating on planes somehow takes up an hour or so
of the flight. When you bypass the meal, you hypothetically tack an extra two
hours to your flight time. At least it seems that way. There was no sleeping
for me, I was still hurting over the loss of that evening’s performance. I just
sat there, feeling sorry for myself and trying to enjoy ,“Happy Gilmore”. I
was damned if God was going to win. I would enjoy it whether I liked it or not.
I didn’t.We arrived in D.C. at 5:00 a.m. I was thrashed and lonely. It was
hard for me to try to remember how “lucky” I am. Some people are doing this
kind of thing daily. Some would give anything just to be able to travel. But
no, I am different. I am sensitive and emotional. This kind of thing was just
too taxing my poor little soul. Picking up and traveling on a moment’s notice
is like spending a week too long in Vegas. It drains you. It sucks you dry of
all that is pure. A driver was waiting for me at the gate. We got in the car
and set for the Watergate hotel. The last time I stayed there, I was so excited
to steal the pens and stuff. This time, I wanted to die. I tried to use the
phone in the car, so I could talk to someone, but I never got it to work. The
driver, as nice as he was, didn’t speak any English, and although he tried,
he could never explain the dialing process to me. We were at the hotel.We
arrived about 6:00 a.m.. My appointment at the passport place wasn’t until 9:00
a.m., but there wasn’t enough time to try to sleep. Instead, I got on-line to
answer some mail that was waiting for me. A friend sent me her picture, and
somehow I missed her because of it. I don’t remember what I wrote back, but
I’m sure it was sappy. Lets face it, I needed mothering. Even if I had to turn
to the cyber-world to get it. I ordered breakfast. It included all of my basic
“road” nutrients: coffee (too much), toast and fruit. This particular combo
always seems to “clean me out” for the new day. By the time I was done with
my cleansing and the surrogate stand-in, it was time to go to the agency. First,
I had to get passport photos taken. Lindy told me that I had to take them before
I got there, because there is nowhere to take them at the passport place. I
thought this was strange, but O.K.. We stopped off at Kinko’s copies, famous
for their work in the passport photo world. “Hi, I need some passport photos
taken.”“OK, step right over here.”click“It should be about five minutes.”“OK,
thanx.”-five minutes later-“I’m sorry, but it looks like our camera is broken.”“doh!!”I
was furious. Even though it wasn’t the fault of the guy who took the picture,
I hated him. You know how that happens? Anyway I was tired and lonely. “Lets
just go to the passport place!”, I barked to the driver.As we pulled up, my
anger rose even more. There, in huge neon lights as high as the human eye could
see, “Passport Photos Here.” It was one of those times where I was suicidal
and homicidal at the same time. I was right, Lindy was wrong and I wanted to
kill him even more. Fortunately, I didn’t have to go anywhere else. I darted
in, took the pictures, which made me look like a Cuban child molester, and headed
for the agency. The passport agency was surprisingly empty. A little room
upstairs in an intimidating government office building. There was only myself
and one other guy. He was apparently finished with his paperwork, so I was helped
right away. A man, who looked like a functioning Stephen Hawking, had me fill
out some papers, pay him $95 and I was on my way. The whole thing took about
1/2 hour. I did, however, steal a pen that was chained to the counter. I guess
its not that I don’t care about that kind of stuff, its just that my standards
have risen a little. I love all that government paraphernalia. It’s kind of
interesting. Washington D.C., as you may or may not know, was built in the shape
of a huge Masonic pyramid. I guess they thought it would bring them power. I’ve
heard that it was to make the capitol look more intense and menacing from the
sky, maybe to ward off an air strike from another country or even from another
planet. You know they know stuff. Stealing that pen made me feel,for a moment,
that I had stolen all the secrets about Area 51, Rosswell, and the Zeta Reticuli.
( I tend to dream up fantasies like that a little easier when I’m going on two
days without sleep.) And even though I’d just become a 33rd level Mason, with
all the insight and knowledge of the hidden Illuminati,I still hated Lindy.Off
to the airport again. This time, I found myself in the most congested place
I’ve ever had the misfortune of visiting. It was as if Disneyland had become
a third world country. Kids were running around, hungry, screaming and crying.
Strange ethnic men were dressed in sheets, carrying bags and tambourines. Was
this really Washington D.C.? I was so tired and thirsty for familiarity, that
all I could do was feel myself drift into nothing. A vacant shell, once filled
with anger and hate and fear. My plane was to depart for Amsterdam, then I was
to connect to Budapest. This was going to be the long one, and I had my melatonin
in hand. The “sober guy’s xanax.” When I was finally able to check in, the most
devastating news I could have received was given to me as if it were my own
head on a platter, served to me for supper. “Oh, there is no first class, only
business.”Wonderful. ( equation : x+y+z = business class = not first class
)I was on the plane. At least I got the bulk-head. A couple who was traveling
together asked me if I’d switch with them, so they could sit together.I said,
“NO!” At this point, I’d rather die than give up the one thing that had gone
my way. I loved my seat (as much as I could) in all its business class glory.
The plane was completely full, which worried me, because the chances of germs
flying around, trapped in the cabin are much greater.I almost always get sick
on long flights, and this one was going to be about 8-9 hours. There was an
elderly man sitting across the aisle from me and a younger man sitting next
to me. Somehow, they both had the most annoying and distressing hacks in the
world. At one point, the elderly man actually coughed up his lungs and they
spilled out into the center aisle. He had to ring for the flight attendant to
collect them.“What are the movies on this flight?”“Grumpier Old Men.”“Wonderful.”Oh
my God, please don’t tell me that there is a baby on board. “waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh”Yup,
two rows behind me.I opened up my travelers bag, which was a complimentary
gift from the airline, and put in the ear plugs and put on the eye shades. Kind
of like Tommy. I downed about 4 melatonins and actually fell asleep. For a while.I
woke up and felt the plane starting to descend. My ears are very sensitive,
so when I feel intense shooting pains in them, I know we are going down. “Ladies
and Gentlemen, this is your captain speaking,”“Yes!!”“I’m afraid we are going
to have to land in London to re-fuel.”“No!!”Oh, but yes. We stood still on
the ground in London for about two hours. I wanted to smoke so bad, I considered
faking a heart attack to get off the plane.You see, they weren’t going to let
us off. It was in-humane. We were all prisoners on KLM. We did not however,
bond as road weary passengers at this time. I hated everybody on the plane.
I pulled down my eye shades, and began to cry. I could feel my tears, leaking
out from under the fabric. I tried to wipe them away, but it was no use. I let
the tears go as we re-fueled.Finally, we took off again. This time headed
for Amsterdam. The remaining flight time was only about 1-2 hours, but it felt
like forever. Amsterdam, seemed light-years away. This was probably due to the
fact that I knew then, that I had missed my connecting flight to Budapest. The
guy sitting next to me ( the young guy ) had a KLM flight schedule. I cant imagine
why. I guess he suffered from low self-esteem. I glanced at the schedule. Next
flight to Budapest? 6 hours after we land in Amsterdam. Wonderful.The Amsterdam
Airport is one of the largest and most complex airports I’ve ever seen. Its
amazing to me, that such an incredible structure, with shops, hotels, casinos
and beauticians, could have no edible food of any kind. A KLM rep met me at
the gate. This was the happiest moment I can ever remember having for some unknown
reason. She took my ticket to Budapest, my passport and my heart and checked
us all into the Airport Hotel for a quick shower and a spread-out on a tiny
bed. It felt like a California King to me at the time. There was no sleeping,
but for a moment, I had hope.We got to Budapest in no time. At this point,
I was so tired and stressed, that I didn’t want to hear from anyone. Yet, I
was met at the gate by what seemed to be the Hungarian rejects from the local
comedy club. They tried and tried to humor me, make me laugh and stuff, but
I just couldn’t handle it. I closed my eyes in horror.We got to the hotel.
I got in bed. I considered praying, but decided that I’m better off if God doesn’t
know where I am.
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