My Wayne-O Story-  by Turmoil

Wayne-O the road dog was a  most memorable fellow. Ready for the party and affected from the last one this guy rocked until the day of his mysterious death. Apparently a grizzly wanna be roadie  character may have played in and the cops are still investigating but that’s another story. It wouldn’t of happened if Chidgey was alive-   Wayne Myers was a friend to all musicians as a supporter of their cause. He loved music as much as anyone possibly could and when I say that I don’t say it lightly. Armed with a sixer and a bag of smoke, “ Sluggo “ was comfortable anywhere the band’s equipment took him. Often spotted in posh LA nighteries or in an alley off Chester in Bako, it didn’t matter to Wayne where he was as long as he was rollin’ with the crew. A survivor of Rock on Broadway, Mad Reign, and the Tesla crowd Wayne-O could be seen with cigarette in hand behind a drum riser or an amp stack. He was a great road dog and everybody suffers his death. Now to my story….    Scag and I were backstage at the Ozzy show in Vegas with Metallica opening. I was complaining we had no smoke when I heard “ Turmoil “ chants from the audience sidestage. Looking into the crowd I saw Wayne-O and Bako buddy Johny Cameron yelling and throwing pre-rolled’s my direction. It was the answer to my problem. I met them after the show and invited them back to the Hilton for our after party. Wayne- O was all over it and took it upon himself to invite some other concert goers. Scag and I were playing blackjack downstairs with Hetfield, Lars and Cliff Burton when the Hilton manager said Baron Hilton was on the phone and wanted to know what the fuck was going on at his hotel. Apparently Wayne- O had invited a few too many  Ozzy / Metallica fans to my suite ( which was obtained  only by trickery and deceit ) and now around 500 rock n’ rollers were screwing in all the swimming pools, vomiting in the elevators and fogging up the hallways looking for the party. Scag went to the front to  help wave off the endless flood of party seekers and I went up to the room with security. As the elevator door opened the smoke rolled in a thick fog filled up the entire hallway. Wayne-O had twisted some 12 paper doobs and the place was thrashed and outta control with dopers, scumbags and derelicts.. People saw security started to scramble and anarchy reigned.  The Hilton said the people on their property were the worst they had experienced and Wayne-O appreciated that.  That’s one Wayne-O party story- He was my brother and I’ll mourn his death forever- Termie

My Todd Crew Story-  by Turmoil

When I first met Todd in 1984 he had a broom in his hand sweeping the floor at The Rock on Broadway in San Francisco. His swagger was intact (natural and unnatural ) even before he had realized his rock n’roll epitomized status.  Dressed in all black with rubber pants (that had the tread visible and intact), Todd said his band was “Jetboy” and asked me if I would take a listen to a demo. Soon thereafter Todd was my roommate and great friend. His band ,Jetboy ,had their choice of shows at The Rock on Broadway and were quite popular within the scene. The Mabuhay Gardens was alive and Todd and  would catch the punk acts. Todd was shy and always seemed a bit mystified by my over the top style.   This made for a great partnership. One night myself, Todd and Johny Thunders were partying at the Mab and I hit the singer from Kix in the head with an errant ashtray. We all went to Oakland for an after party that if you remember you weren’t there…..  Todd ( and numerous girlfriends named Jetgirl ) were great party animals but Todd had a heavier issue with intoxication. Todd partied while doing music. Live shows, rehearsals, recordings etc… .  He indulged like the Reign indulged and we admired him for that. Todd and I partied in Hollywood with good frequency. We’d be hitting the strip or him stopping by my pad at Houdini’s mansion guesthouse on Laurel Canyon. Todd became the toast of the strip like he was in S.F., as Jetboy got signed to MCA. Then Todd got the ax by Jetboy. It was a ruthless move that we all resented. Todd had always been the James Dean rock guy that everyone loved and now the streets hated the Jetboy guys for tossing Todd out. Todd was replaced by Sammi from Hanoi Rocks but Jetboy was never the same and never happened.  Todd went out on tour with G & R as a guitar roadie for Slash and soon I got the word from New York that Todd was dead. This pissed me off because of the way it happened  I ran into Steven Adler at the “bow and he told me they all loved Todd and not to be pissed at G & R .I told him ”Fuck that”. (Adler is a nice guy and wasn’t involved ).  I told Todd’s dad Gordon I hated those LA fucks while we walked at Todd’s funeral. Todd’s death was the beginning of  the end of an era. I’ll mourn his death forever.

My Moose Story- by Turmoil

The Moose arrived on a greyhound bus from Bakersfield.  Oversized and angry, Ron “The Moose” Owens carried a reputation as the hardest playing hardest partying bass player west of the Mississippi.  Known for his perfect, driving chops, deviate self abuse and violent tendencies, it was prudent to keep one eye on The Moose.  Moose rumbled at the Rainbow his first night in Hollywood and kept on rumbling until his departure.  There were no rules in rock n roll according to Ron and we admired him for that.  It was acceptable to help himself to whatever he wanted and he did.  The Moose would party with you into the wee hours then joyride your car to get some more when you passed out.  I threatened him with a baseball bat when he did it to me but I didn’t hit him with it as I could envision the bat cracking him over the head as just pissing him off.  He was angry at the world and he epitomized Mad Reign.  The first ”scene” appearance by the Moose was with Mad Reign at the Rock City News Barbeque.  The Moose threw a smart-mouthed woman on the ground and put his boot gently on her head to hold her in place.  The band encouraged him to “let her go“ as she screamed in disbelief and that started the whole bad reputation thing in a hurry.  Later  we apologized to Ruben Blue (he needed the money) but we were on his bad list.  He was the local rock magazine guy and we never recovered with him. The Reign figured fuck him anyway so we tortured him along the way.  We’d pour beer on his cameras at live shows because everybody else was schmoozing him.  The Moose was the anti-schmooze.  Everybody else was posing and we stood out in a bad way for our gun-toting, drug-crazed, violent episodes.  We were broke and angry and there was no hiding it.  The Moose was very drunk and very angry and usually sleep deprived.  The future was wide open.  We played a show at the Coconut Sleazer with a band called Nazi Bitch opening for us.  I don’t know who booked that one but it was a bad idea. When Nazi Bitch overstayed their stage time, The Moose unplugged their bassist.  The guy thought I did it and got aggressive.  When “Moose“ saw that, he hit that Nazi fuck with a right cross and sent him flying.  All hell broke loose as we pummeled the Nazi Bitch band and their fans.  Ober beat their singer unconscious with his mike stand while Thrall conked a couple of Nazi bitches over the head.  Later there was a picture in the paper of that Nazi fuck laying with his eyes closed next to his set list that said “Nazi Bitch“.  The Moose was pleased and so were we.  A happy Moose is a good moose. 

Moose gave bass lessons to a local Bakersfield kid who played in a band called LAPD (later Korn).  We let them open for us at The Red Light District and the kid asked to borrow Moose’s bass as his was late arriving.  When LAPD gave it back the strings popped off (probably from the detuning).  The Moose went berserk as he interpreted it as a conspiracy and all hell broke loose.  Bodies began to fly as a full riot broke out, coming across the stage and into the crowd.  I had the good thought to duck as chairs and bottles flew but I managed to announce our next show over the mike.   The guys in Suicidal Tendencies were down front and I could see them giving me a thumb’s up.  I liked that.  The fight continued throughout the club and eventually spilled onto Hollywood Boulevard.  Security called in back-up and the LAPD helicopters soon started circling.  We took that as our cue to depart.  Our reputation was getting worse.  As we were walking a few blocks away, we heard screams coming from an alley.  The Moose ran into the alley and threw a couple of guys off their screaming victim.  The assailants ran off and we realized the guy Moose saved was the pretty boy singer from the band Imagine World Peace.  He had always hated us but now we were his heroes.  He invited us to an after party and we accepted.  When we arrived at the apartment building, the glass entry door was locked with other Hollywood types waiting to get in.  Thrall walked up, punched his fist through the glass and opened the door.  His hand spurted blood as he laughed and the people looked in horror.  We hit the bathroom and denied the whole thing.   Another night with The Reign.  One night we headlined the Whiskey to delight and fanfare.  Hours later the Moose was missing in action as he was passed out in some bushes on Hollywood Blvd.  After his moosenap, he heard voices and realized it was Howard Teman and friends walking by on their way to a party.  The Moose rose out of the bushes, dusted himself off and was invited as the toast of the penthouse crowd.  He told me it was funny to go from the adulation of the show to passed out penniless in the bushes and then back to the penthouse schmoozefest all in a few hours.  That’s the way the Moose lived at that time.  Pablo from Mondo Kane had a Doberman dog named Belvedere who was mean and large. T he Moose took pleasure in allowing the dog to maul his hand until his hand was a bloodied mess.  The Moose thought that was funny.  Then he’d rip some bass lines and all was well.  But all wasn't well.  The Moose was walking that fine line and retreated from his meet-up with The Reaper.  People were dropping like flies and The Moose (to this day) has avoided being a casualty.  He is a fucking great bassist and a cool mother to boot.  I haven’t quite forgiven him for quitting but I love him like a brother.  Anyone who is still alive that witnessed Ron knows he did not give a flying fuck.  We admired him for that.  -Turmoil

My West Arkeen Story- by Turmoil