JUNE 1987


JUNE 1ST, 1987

Van Nuys, 12:50 a.m.

Rehearsals were a kick today. We’ve decided to hire background singers for the tour. As we progress as a band we’ve naturally started to use more background vocals but it can be hard to cover them live (and boring to be stuck on the mic all night), so we’ve decided to use female background singers like the Stones. We’ll be auditioning girls all week at rehearsals. Should be interesting.

The band needs less reh this tour than usual. The old stuff is tight and the new stuff isn’t far off. I think the new stuff is simpler and more bluesy at times. It just falls in the pocket easier. There’s the usual excitement about tour production going around like a virus. I love this part…the part where the visual meets the music.

We’re having the stage show evolve…more on that later. My ears are ringing. Off to bed…working out in the morning…


NIKKI: When you’re sitting on a plane 40,000 feet up in the air, looking out the window, dreaming of your future and how bright it appears to be, or maybe just watching the drops of rain being pushed into different designs from the force of air at 400 mph, well, life feels good. It feels safe, your seat belt is on and your feet are up. Then the oxygen masks fall, the plane jumps, snaps and jolts. People start to scream, babies burst out crying, people start praying all in time to the overhead announcement that we’re gonna crash. Right then, as your life flashes before your eyes, you hear yourself say, “God, if you get me outta this one, I’ll stop [insert lie] forever.” Right then the nose of the plane pulls up and the captain says, “Wow, that was a close one, folks. We’re OK, we’ll be landing in thirty minutes and we’re all safe and sound…sorry for the scare…”

That’s how getting hooked on junk is, and when the kick is over you can’t believe you ever got on that plane in the first place. The question is, Will you ever fly again?

JUNE 3RD, 1987

Van Nuys, 10:45 p.m.

We met about ten singers today. Some of them could sing and some of them could dance. The ones that could sing couldn’t dance, the ones that were pretty couldn’t sing, the ones that were ugly sang like Janis Joplin. What a nightmare!



We have more tomorrow. This one girl was dancing in front of us grinding on the mic, and then went over to Mick and was singing in his face. I had to look down and away so I didn’t burst out laughing. I almost pissed my pants laughing after she left…good times.

Mick is playing his ass off. I haven’t seen that fire in him for a while. I think the break did him good.

JUNE 5TH, 1987

Van Nuys, 11:20 p.m.

We finally picked our background singers–a girl named Emi and one named Donna. I told the band the first rule of the tour–nobody fucks the background singers. These tours have enough dramas and problems without us importing dysfunctional relationships right into the fucking heart of them. But it was amazing to hear the vocals on top of all the guitars and drums. It took it to another level…badass!

Of course, I foresee problems. I mean, chicks = trouble.

A lot of phone calls today with management about last-minute details for the tour. If we have one more meeting at reh I think I’m gonna lose my cool. They seem to think since we’re all together it’s their time to trap us, and we end up not getting to reh as much as we should.

I dunno, maybe that’s not a bad thing. An over-rehearsed rock band can sound sterile.


DOUG THALER: We auditioned the background singers at the practice facility in Burbank. One of them was Emi Canyon, and looking back I should have known from the start we’d have trouble with her. When she came to the audition she had only been married for six months, and she was already telling us she wanted to go on tour to get away from her husband.

Nikki laid down the law about nobody sleeping with the backing singers, and the band all agreed, which was highly ironic, given that Vince had already tried his luck with both of the girls at the audition and been knocked back. But when Emi later turned her attentions to Mick, it was a very different story.

JUNE 12TH, 1987

Van Nuys, 9:30 a.m.

I just realized I haven’t written in here for a week…maybe ’cause I’ve just been getting on with life, like other people do? Reh has been going great, I’ve not been drinking more than half a bottle of Jack a night. Even Jason has given up on calling me. This is like a health kick. Maybe there are two things I do when I’m falling apart–write in this book and phone Vanity, ha ha…

Now for the hard part–holding it together on tour.

JUNE 15TH, 1987

Van Nuys, 11 a.m.

So today I’m packing for the tour. I’m making a list (and checking it twice)…


Now for the killer question–how long before I can dump the psycho girlfriend? All will be revealed. Follow me…

JUNE 16TH, 1987

Sheraton Hotel, Tucson, Arizona, 2:30 p.m.

Got into the hotel from LA an hour ago. We’re all going down to the arena in a while. Can’t wait to see the stage set. After all our bombastic sets in the past and all the cheap imitations that have followed our every move, our direction is simpler this time. It’s raw, stripped back, but huge…a lot of the power will come from the lights, pyro and our wayyyyy too big PA.

We shoot the Rolling Stone cover tomorrow and I want to see what’s around there for the shoot. Since I’ll be doing my best to keep my nose clean on this tour I’ll try to write a lot every day. Someday maybe I’ll have kids, and they can read these diaries…or no, maybe not.

The Rolling Stone writer is hanging around asking us questions. I wish he would leave us alone. He doesn’t know shit about rock ’n’ roll. The same typical stupid questions: how many girls do we fuck? How much do we party? No questions about music, spirit, lyrics, soul, no questions about the Dolls or Angus Young, just the same old bubblegum magazine bullshit…

JUNE 17TH, 1987

Sheraton Hotel, Tucson, Arizona, 1:40 a.m.

Wow, the set turned out amazing. It’s exactly what we intended it to be. It has so many levels and different looks. Tommy’s solo is insane, the drums flip all the way around. In fact, I think he’s insane…Thank God!

I have to tell you, if you ever have to come to Tucson in June…don’t. It’s fucking hot. I mean the kind of hot where rattlesnakes won’t even come out. You walk outside in the day and a wave of heat slams you in the face. It feels like you’ve stuck your head in a fucking oven.

All the usual suspects came around tonight. I said no to all but two lines and a few shots. I’m not starting off the tour with a hangover. I can’t believe I’m off junk–what a horror story that was. But I have to watch it ’cause the junkies just seem to sniff me out. The word’s on the street that I’m clean and they don’t like it.

I want to help out Slash and give his band some shows. They’re not worth any tickets but I believe in them. Cool new band but the singer can be an asshole–but what’s new? I can see him and Vince bumping heads.


It’s good to see Fred again, with his perfect hair and Grizzly Adams beard, covered in tattoos. He always wears this devil’s smirk which somehow yields him more pussy than the guys in the band. As soon as Fred walks into the room I know we’re REALLY back on the road again. Everybody is hired, the plane is on the runway, trucks and buses are all warmed up, and the hanger-ons are floating outside the arena.

So let the madness commence…because I know it will…

FRED SAUNDERS: I was tour security for Mötley Crüe ever since the Shout at the Devil tour. When Doc McGhee first hired me, he said the band was so wild I should do whatever it took to keep them in line. In fact, he said he’d give me a bonus every time I hit them. I told him he’d got himself a deal.

I hit Mötley a lot. I once broke Tommy’s nose in Indiana, I broke Nikki’s ribs and I beat the shit out of Vince many times, because…well, because he’s an asshole. I think I even hit poor Mick once. That was just to complete the set.

Nikki was always the strongest of the guys. He was the brightest and had the biggest ideas. Vince had just got lead singer syndrome, and Tommy was a typical drummer–he’s always 100 mph and everything is fine by him. Mick just always wanted to drink his wine and not be bothered with anything. So it was always Nikki’s moods that shaped what happened with Mötley.

Nikki and I became friends and had a good relationship–on the whole. We’d get fucked-up drunk together, cut our hands and swap blood to show that we were blood brothers. But Nikki was a very wild, unpredictable guy. He had so many façades–he’d rarely show his true personality. I also worked with Ozzy Osbourne a lot, and there are many similarities between those guys.

ROSS HALFIN: Fred was this big ex–Hells Angels guy and part of his job for Mötley Crüe was scoring cocaine. They used to call it krell, from that movie Heavy Metal, where monsters from the planet Krell came down with big noses and snorted Earth. They’d say, “Where’s the krell man?” and ask Fred, “Dude, are you gonna krell me?” Fred’s other job was stopping them getting smashed up and getting into fights. One thing about Mötley Crüe is they will never turn away from a fight. Vince, Nikki and Tommy are fearless. If there are fifty people, they will fight them–you have to hit them with a brick to stop them. They will take on the world.


9:20 a.m.

What the fuck is wrong with housekeeping? They just keep knocking on my door. Now I can’t sleep…fucking great. It’s going to be a long-ass day.

2:40 p.m.

Just woke up. Finally about 10:30 this morning I ordered two shots of Jack for breakfast so I could go back to sleep. The room service lady was about 65 and she gave me that grandmotherly look of disapproval. The fact that I had on more makeup than she did probably didn’t help.

Vanity is coming in today and I’m dreading the drama. Why do I put myself in these situations? I really need to learn to say no. She will

  1. embarrass me
  2. be a bitch
  3. be over-hyper
  4. complain
  5. get high
  6. stumble around drunk

I mean, isn’t that MY fucking job? I’d rather sleep with the grandma room service lady.

JUNE 18TH, 1987

Sheraton Hotel, Tucson, Arizona, 4:30 a.m.

Vanity is asleep in the other room. Laying in bed, her hair is all over the pillow like a seductive Medusa, skin like milk chocolate against the white white sheets and goose down pillows. You’d think she was a gift from the gods but somehow we are like fire and ice, oil and vinegar, and mostly it’s painful. We argue a lot, not all the time, but a lot…let’s just say, everything ends in an argument, usually over some stupid stuff. Somehow I always feel like I’m in high school when we’re fighting, ’cause nothing that we ever fight about is even important. I’m sure she feels the same–in fact, I know she does, ’cause she told me so right before she told me to fuck off and went to bed last night.

I just took a celebration shot in the bathroom (OK, I admit to having brought a small bindle of gear). God, I love that warm feeling that comes over me (OK, I admit I brought one pack of rigs). It’s the best feeling in the world as you slump back and everything in life feels perfect…

I know I said I wouldn’t use again but this was just a final kiss goodbye…just a pat on the back for being off dope, right?

Now I’ll sleep like a baby. Oh ya, we did the cover shoot for Rolling Stone today. First show tomorrow. Better get some sleep…life is good…

P.S. I got the dope from Pete. He’s back on.

NIKKI: You know what I think now when I read this entry? I guess you know you’re insane when you are lying to yourself in your own diary.

BOB TIMMONS: I always thought Nikki and Vanity had an extremely unhealthy relationship. Basically, they were co-addicts. Whenever Nikki got attention, Vanity would act out her jealousy. If he was in a room talking to people, she would get up on a table and start dancing. There was no support for Nikki at all because essentially they were always in competition with each other.

EVANGELIST DENISE MATTHEWS: Live hard die young. That was where my vision was taking me until the reality of staring down that dark pit of death woke me up in shock. That is when I cried out to Jesus to save me lest I die. I was suffering in the bottomless pit playground of cocaine addiction. Lifting me higher and dropping me like a steel beam…I’d smoked enough rock that you could lift me up and stick me in the nearest cold grave.

Sinking down into deep depression, I camouflaged my pain with even more makeup and a false smile. I have a shocking medical history of high blood pressure of 250 over 190, plus a heart attack, stroke and kidney failure due to my addiction. I had blood clots in my brain and had only three days left to masquerade this miserable lifeless creature that I had become. That was fifteen years ago. I said, “Do whatever it takes, Jesus, just don’t let me die.”

7:35 p.m.

More reh today and a lot of “hurry up and wait.” Beats the hotel…Rich Fisher is still trying to get the jet together but I guess painting it black is taking longer than we thought. We’ll probably have to lease a Lear jet for a few days.

It feels so good to be out of LA and all the temptation and losers who creep around…I feel so guilty that I did some dope but it’s gone and I’m OK. I need to load up on some music. Better hit a music store. I’d die without music…I feel like I’m getting my life back.

I gotta say the band sounds killer. We always pull it together right before the tour. Reh back in LA seemed to drag on forever…playing the songs in a dingy lil sweatbox just doesn’t have the zap it used to. As soon as we have to rise to the occasion we always get energized and sound tight as fuck.

But one thing is bothering me–Vince isn’t the same guy he used to be. Since the accident he seems bitter and withdrawn. I can feel him slipping away from all of us. He seems to not want to be in the gang. He’s marching to his own drum, which is fine but I’m assuming the drift is a resentment he has towards us since he went to jail…can I blame him?

OK, I gotta get outta here right now. I’m off to a Mexican dinner with Fred and some of the band and crew. No drugs today…first show tomorrow…

VINCE NEIL: Nikki and Tommy were complete fucking assholes to me on the previous tour, Theatre of Pain. At the time I was not allowed to drink or use drugs because of my vehicular manslaughter conviction, but we’d be sitting on our jet and they’d think it was real funny to say, “Oh Vince, pass me that coke, will you?” I was supposed to be sober, and nobody gave a shit–they were just drinking and having fun. Everybody was out for themselves, and Nikki was the most spiteful of all.

So Nikki and I didn’t have much of a relationship on the Girls Girls Girls tour. Nikki and Tommy had a relationship and whatever they did, I made sure I did the opposite thing. I wasn’t included in a lot of stuff they did, and I didn’t want to be. I mean–heroin?! Dude, I might be up for cocktails, or a little coke, but there is no fun to be had in heroin! I wasn’t comfortable hanging with Nikki–I just didn’t want to be involved.

NIKKI: Vince sober on the Theatre of Pain tour? I guess if you don’t count all the pills, he was…



Sheraton Hotel, Tucson, Arizona, 3:30 a.m.

I’m a bit smashed right now…we had too many margaritas at dinner. I got into a fight with Vanity (again!). She just can’t shut up, so I told her to shut up or go home.

Good fucking night. Nice way to start a tour…

1 p.m.

Wow I just woke up. I feel great. Sleep–the great healer. I have to go to the radio station with Tommy in a while but first I’m going to go for a swim and lie in the sun for a bit.

I can’t wait until Vanity gets the fuck outta here. She’s so embarrassing, dancing around and lecturing us on shit. Who is she to tell us about anything? She’s just a fucking crack head.

4:15 p.m.

Off to the radio station and then sound check. The whole fucking world is here for the first show tonight. Damn, I wish they’d give us a few shows to iron out the kinks. Plus this is a small gig, 9,000 or so. Ya, it’s sold out, but even so…wish us luck!

See ya later, SIXX


Sheraton Hotel, Tucson, Arizona, 1:30 a.m.

Fucking show was great. I forgot how good it feels to play these songs. I admit to not being in the best shape yet so I threw up on the side of the stage during Tommy’s drum solo. It was kind of a shock to go full tilt for an hour and a half after all my body has been through.

Off to bed. We leave for Phoenix at 2:30 tomorrow afternoon. I think the weasel writer from Rolling Stone is going to fly with us. This guy–I swear he’s the guy I used to beat up in school. In fact, maybe that’s what I need to do–kick his ass. He seems like a B52s fan…weak.


P.S. Good news–the bitch went back to her brothel…or crack house.

VINCE NEIL: Nikki’s fucked-up chick Vanity came out to our show in Tucson. As usual, she started doing all her crazy dancing right in front of us while we were trying to play. It was so bad that I told Nikki, “Dude, get your fucking chick out of here!” She was driving everybody crazy. It was real fucking embarrassing.

ROSS HALFIN: Vanity was a dreadful, horrible thing. She used to dance in the photo pit so everybody could see her. All she’d do every night was dance like it was her show. She’d just crouch down with her legs wide open, like she was a pole dancer in a strip bar.

DOUG THALER: Vanity was the kind of chick who would lecture you about how Coca-Cola would rot your teeth and could strip the paint off a car, then she would go home and get shit-faced on the other kind of coke. She was always winding the band up when they needed to be mellow. I’m sorry, but she was a real pain in the ass.

EVANGELIST DENISE MATTHEWS: Don’t we just hate it when others lie to us, but we don’t feel the lie when we are doing the lying? How could I point at anyone’s window and smash their glass when my own window was already broken and I had lost all of my stones…or better yet, my marbles? Firstly I had to glue myself back together and then try to help others, but who can really clean up but God? He makes sure we don’t bleed to death from all the shards of glass thrown at our feet along the way.

NIKKI: We were all doing the best we could with the tools we had. Unfortunately the tools we had were crack pipes, syringes, coke straws and whisky bottles.

On the plane to Phoenix, 3:25 p.m.

I’m on the jet we have to use until ours is ready. The worm from Rolling Stone is with us! I’m gonna try and get him fucked up and slip him something…maybe I can enlighten him.

These writers always kiss up to you and then you get your throat slit when the magazine comes out. I say keep your friends close, keep your enemies closer…then you can see when their eyes turn brown.

Mars is hanging awfully close to Emi the background singer. Something is fishy. Mars always keeps to himself, but he seems just a bit smug and sneaky. The number one rule is nobody fucks the background singer–who would have thought Mick would be the first to try?



Clarion Inn, Phoenix, Arizona, 1:30 a.m.

Show was intense, even better than the first one. Danny Zelisko said he’s seen us a zillion times and this is the best the band has ever been. We all ended up in the bathroom at the Coliseum doing tons of blow. There were loads of hot chicks and Vince as usual picked the best ones first and rolled out. Mick was hanging with that backing singer chick and me and Tommy did blow so long there were no chicks left when we came out of the john…lame. So I guess I’ll take a Halcion, jerk off and go to bed…boring.

TIM LUZZI: The Girls tour may have pre-dated the arrival of crack cocaine but I remember some of Mötley used to make their own in the microwave in the dressing room. I didn’t notice immediately, but after a few days I noticed the attention that the microwave was getting and began wondering why it was so damn important–especially seeing as the band’s wives, girlfriends and hot chicks in the backstage holding area were getting so little attention by comparison.

NIKKI: Rule Number Two:


It’s kinda like giving matches to an arsonist.


Day off. I’m gonna lie in bed all day and watch TV. Did I tell you MTV is hammering our video? The bad news is all these bands are coming out that are B and C rate Crüe copies. In the end the record companies trying to cash in will be the death of us if this shit doesn’t stop…I feel bad for the fans.

Rich Fisher always tries to plan something on our day off and I always say, It’s a day off, leave me alone. I guess since we pay the bill it’s in his best interest, right? I’m really gonna try to be good today and tonight.


4 p.m.

Just woke up again. I was just thinking about the time me and Tommy were tag-teaming this chick behind Kiss’s drums while they were playing Rock ’n’ Roll All Night here in Scottsdale. We thought it was just fun, then we found out it was the drummer’s girlfriend (OUCH). Nice girl (I think her name was Bambi). Now there’s one you want to take home to mom. Can you imagine? Hi Mom, this is my future ex-wife, Bambi…

It was also a nice way to get thrown off our first ever tour.

NIKKI: You know what was worse than getting thrown off the Kiss tour for bad behavior? Listening to Gene Simmons talk about himself all day and all night long. Sometimes I’d just sit there and say, “Uh-huh” and “Right” until he was done. For all his ego and bullshit I like Gene. But I can’t like him as much as he likes himself. That would be impossible.


On our way to New Mexico, 2:30 p.m.

Right now I’m on our jet, we’re sitting on the runway getting ready to take off. Holy fuck, it’s insane. It’s black…have you ever seen a black jet? I’m digging this. We have a stewardess (blonde), we each have our own assigned seat (leather). I already found a nice place to stash stuff for border crossings. The show is sold out…11,000 people.


Everyone is jacked up, so we’re passing around a bottle of Jack with the stereo cranked. Tommy motioned me to the back of the plane and he slid me a bindle. That’s my boy…


We are the future but the future looks bleak I have no interest other than being uninterested All these vampires masquerade as leaders and prey on the minds of the weak All I know is I don’t care And even if I cared I’d have no hope to carry me to where I’d need to go



On the Mötley jet to El Paso, 1:30 a.m.

Good show but I’m fucking tired. I couldn’t find any blow in this fucking town. I know Fred is holding…Doug and Doc are on him to keep me under control. If I’m tired and I’m doing my job, why can’t I have a bump? They treat me like a kid.

It’s fucking stupid. I’m gonna buy an 8-ball next time I score so I don’t have to go through this drama.

We get into El Paso tonight around 2:30 or 3 so I guess I’ll just be a good boy tonight. Boring. I hate it when people try to control me.

ROSS HALFIN: Nikki was never a mumbling, reclusive junkie–he always seemed to hold it together, but he would moan all the time. I’d ask him to do something in a photo session and he’d say, “Dude, I can’t, I’m tired.” Once I said to him, “It must be awful for you, having to stand against this wall backstage for two minutes so you can be on the cover of magazines. You could have a real job, like being a miner or working in Woolworth’s.” He yelled, “Fuck you!” which was what he always said to everything. But his general attitude–which made Mötley Crüe very successful–was “Fuck the world.”

Nikki was never as bad as Vince. I arrived to shoot one session, and Nikki and Tommy said, “We’ve got to talk to you, there’s a problem with Vince.” It turned out that the previous time I’d shot them, Vince had told me to make him look thin–which wasn’t always easy–and I recommended he wear a black T-shirt. That was two years earlier, and he was still brooding about it. That’s how removed from reality Mötley Crüe was.

NIKKI: Ross Halfin was so fun to wind up. We’d just bitch and moan even if we didn’t have anything to complain about. It was fun to make his job harder ’cause he took the bait every time. I was recently in Europe with Ross and I told him that for all these years I thought he was gay. He went on and on and on about it: Why? How could I? He said that he was married and has a son. After I let him go on a bit longer, I said, “Ross, two things: Even if you were, who the hell cares? I was just winding you up (again).”

That’s Ross–the easiest wind-up in rock ’n’ roll but a hell of a sweet guy (not that kind of sweet).

Hotel, El Paso, Texas, 3 p.m.

Weird to think I used to live here. I used to ride my bike down to Piggly Wiggly with my friends to look at the newest Hot Wheels and toys. They used to have popcorn at the door when you walk in so we decided we would get our popcorn bags half full and then go to the Hot Wheels section. We would bury the cars deep in our popcorn and walk out. Man, I fucking miss being a kid. It was a time of innocence. I wish I could go back, ’cause this life is hard.

Good news. Tommy met these dealers and they’re gonna follow the tour thru Texas. We leave in the jet and they follow in their car…now that’s door-to-door service!


Balcony in El Paso Cigarette butts grace my balcony And the remains of a dead pigeon seem somewhat poetic The life form that scurries around below Is a mixture of Tex-Mex and trailer park trash I know you–’cause I used to live here, too Guess that makes you just like me Does that make you wonder about yourself? Your secret’s safe

I don’t know why I’m here but I can’t stay The more things change The more they stay the strange

Sitting here on this plane Watchin’ the empty faces crawl past me You know they all seem to have ingested The same melancholy pill Instead of warm, fuzzy and safe They seem cold and judgmental Little conversations come in and out of audio focus It’s all slow motion but somehow moving at the Speed of fear I feel such the animal, I’m always the animal My body’s the cage–I’m locked in this cage My home is worn, it’s torn, it’s been abused And I like it

I don’t know why I’m here but I can’t stay The more things change The more they stay the strange

Here I sit in another hotel and it smells like someone else I lay in bed and I can taste the smell They smell of smoke, the drink, the stink And the stain on the floor I wonder was he with his wife Or another man’s whore? Scratches upon the glass Tell of the drugs, and the radio Is still on to the music that made them dance I bet it was sweet But me? Fuck man, I gotta get some sleep


Hotel, Austin, Texas, 2 p.m.

Mars is acting like a school kid around Emi. I mean it’s cute and all but she’s an employee. Onstage last night they were looking at each other all lovey-dovey…it made me wanna puke.

Chicks = trouble.

Tommy fucked this chick Robbin Crosby used to go out with (Tawny Kitaen). Now she’s with the singer from Whitesnake and they wanna open up for us. Like I said…

Chicks = trouble.

Tawny used to shoot up with Robbin and after I met her she kept asking me to get her some dope. Like I said…

Chicks = trouble.

P.S. Speaking of trouble there’s a club here that the bartender can hook me up. Think I’ll get a bindle of china white.

DOUG THALER: I can understand why the other guys weren’t happy when Mick started dating Emi Canyon. She was an employee, and when she got together with Mick, we suddenly had a situation where the guitar player in the band was being led around by the nose by an employee. Mick is a lovely guy, but he’s one of those guys who gets totally dominated by every single female partner that he has. It’s always the same story. All that ever changes is the girl’s name.


Hotel, Austin, Texas, 5:15 a.m.

I just got back from Beale Street. Went to a few different clubs. Tommy, Vince and myself with Fred found an amazing strip club. The girls took us in the back and gave us lines and blow jobs free. Only in America. God bless Texas!

This lil girl named Ashlee gave me a number of a guy who sells packages of rigs for $5 a pop. He’s dropping off a 12-pack…just nice to have around, never know if you’re gonna need them (vitamin B? ha ha). The show is sold out and there’s no sound check so I’m gonna have a little party in my room alone but I promise I’ll be in bed by 7 a.m.

10:30 a.m.

Fuck, I did it again. I’m still up and I ended up in the hotel closet, freaking out. I took two Halcions about 30 minutes ago so I’m pretty mellow right now…but I was sure hotel security was coming to get me. I hate cocaine.



6:45 p.m.

Just woke up. Rich said everyone was freaking out ’cause I wouldn’t answer my door…fucking hell, I was just sleeping…damn, I wish everyone would just relax (I’m not gonna die). Got to go to the show right now then off to…somewhere. I need to look in the book…I have no idea.


Ross Halfin is here with some innocent-looking kid who has never left England before. I guess he might need some fucking-over Crüe-style.

JASON BRYCE: I was sixteen in 1987 when I flew out from London with my dad’s friend Ross Halfin to meet Mötley Crüe on the Girls Girls Girls tour. Ross was photographing them for an English magazine and invited me along as his unpaid assistant. My dad didn’t want me to go because he thought Mötley Crüe would corrupt me, but Ross promised to look after me.

It was the first time I’d been anywhere, really, but I could tell this was a proper rock ’n’ roll tour. Nikki was a full-on Jack-drinking, coke-snorting rocker, and as soon as he saw me, he started, “Dude, have some Jack! Have some krell!” Vince was quiet, but the rest of them were great.

On the third or fourth night I was there, we all went out for a Mexican meal. I was too young to legally drink but Nikki was pouring strawberry margaritas down my throat. There was this groupie with us, six feet tall in blonde hair and stockings, and Nikki told her, “If you want to hang out with the Crüe, you’ve got to sort my young mate out.” So she came back to my room with me. She was…very talented.


Tim Luzzi

Nikki was very moody. Before the shows he’d be really down and very solitary, just sitting on his own watching something depressing like Sid and Nancy. But after the show, if he wanted to party, he wouldn’t leave you alone until you partied with him.

He seemed to be around at weird hours, like in the early hours when everybody else was asleep. One night he came to my room with Ross and a couple of girls. It was about four in the morning and they wouldn’t give us any more alcohol on room service. So Nikki phoned down to reception and said, “Look, I’m Nikki Sixx, I need a bottle of JD now and I will give you a thousand bucks for it.” They still wanted nothing to do with him. They just told him, “Sir, go to bed. You’ve had enough.”


On Mötley jet to Houston, 1 a.m.

Tonight’s show was killer but I really freaked out. Some fucking fans in the front had this big banner that said VANITY on it. That insane bitch has been talking to magazines, telling them we are getting married…she has NO RIGHT to do that. I have got to get rid of her!


  • 1 Sweet–Give Us a Wink
  • 2 Deep Purple–Come Taste the Band
  • 3 Mott the Hoople–Greatest Hits
  • 4 Bowie–Diamond Dogs
  • 5 Queen–I, II and Sheer Heart Attack
  • 6 Alice Cooper–Billion Dollar Babies
  • 7 Sex Pistols–Never Mind the Bollocks
  • 8 Iggy and the Stooges–Raw Power
  • 9 AC/DC–Dirty Deeds
  • 10 Lou Reed–Transformer


Hotel, Houston, 3 p.m.

Checked my messages at home. David Crosby called–he said he would break my arms if I was getting high. I guess I won’t be calling him back. My machine was completely full, so I just erased the rest of them without listening…there really isn’t anyone I wanna talk to anyway.

The band is tight as hell, everything is on autopilot musically, the crowds have been insane, all the shows have been sold out. You’d think I would be happy all the time.

I’m reading Diary of a Rock Star by Ian Hunter. Maybe I’ll release my diary as a book one day…yeah, right, can you imagine?

P.S. Doug called today and said everyone liked the idea for Wild Side to be the next vid. Radio is digging the track too. I think a live video is in order. Off to the venue now…

P.P.S. I told Slash when we were back in LA I’d try and get his band (Guns N’ Roses) a support slot on the tour.


It looks like it’s gonna work out. I played the music to the guys and they liked it…there’s no interest in them right now, but maybe this will help them (anything is better than Whitesnake). Slash is a good guy when he doesn’t piss the bed…ha ha…

P.P.P.S. Maybe having these dealers follow us is a bad idea.


Hotel, Houston, 5 p.m.

Speaking of Houston…Doc was telling me how when the album was Number 2 we should have gone to Number 1. We had the Number 1 album in the country but for mysterious reasons (payola, anyone?) Whitney Houston was Number 1. That sucks. Girls should have been our first Number 1 album.

Fucked over by a black chick–it seems like a pattern is developing in my life.

Going down to T-Bone’s room. The dealers have 2 oz of blow…they’re giving it to us. Why not, it’s a day off, right?

FRED SAUNDERS: On the Girls tour, every band member had their own very different approach to our days off. Vince would always be after pussy. Mick would be with Emi. Tommy would just be up for whatever was going on, and Nikki was kind of…shifty. He’d slide in and out of the picture periodically, but he was tough to deal with because of the mood swings brought on by the drugs.

Nikki could be very sensitive and emotional–he and I would sometimes have these big late-night talks where we’d both end up crying. On the other hand, he could also be a complete asshole–I couldn’t possibly begin to remember how many times on the tour he punched me or told me to fuck off. And I always punched him back.

NIKKI: I guess that’s why they call it liquid courage. Why else would you punch an ex–Hells Angel who is a fourth-degree black belt? But Fred had a huge heart to go with all his bravado. I used to have great talks with him late into the night and we both agreed…

Chicks = trouble.

Our next album, Dr. Feelgood, went to Number 1 but I still say it was our second Number 1 album.


Backstage, 7:30 p.m.

Backstage is the most boring place on Earth when you’re trying to be good. In fact it’s the most boring place on earth even when you’re bad. I haven’t written in a while. I seem to have nothing to write about (to you, anyway). I can never keep these diaries up on the road because everything just seems to become a massive blur. It’s really the same thing day in and day out except the shows. To see the faces of those kids…I swear it’s the only reason I’m alive…

Well, I better get ready for the show. Everybody is getting along really good…no drama yet. We’re leaving after the show to Shreveport. In Houston I just played guitar in my room the whole time and wrote some cool riffs and ideas.

I’m glad we’re out of Texas, it was a cocaine blizzard there. I was heading down a street I’ve seen before and know what was next for me. I’ve been taking a lot of Halcions that Rich Fisher turned me on to. Between these little pills and all the blow, it’s like doing speedballs with the band’s stamp of approval on it.

My newest trick is crushing up the Halcions and mixing them with blow in a vial–we call this concoction zombie dust.

TOMMY LEE: Halcion was like the ’80s Xanax. You’d only need to take one and immediately it would be night-night–you would be fast out until late the next morning. Well, we would take four or five of them, then start drinking Jack–and then we’d leave the hotel and go out for the night. The next morning we would be exchanging stories–“Dude, do you remember what happened last night?” “I have no idea, but I pissed my bed!” “Hey, dude, so did I!” We would wake up and not have the first idea where we were. Those pills were bizarre–they were full-on blackout, and on that tour we were taking a fucking lot of them.

ROSS HALFIN: On the Girls tour, Nikki turned me on to doing coke all night. We’d still be wired at ten the next morning, so he taught me to drink Nyquil to knock me out. Normally people would take a spoonful if they had the flu. We would drink a bottle in one go then pass out.