by JULIET WATERS

Back in the late ’90s, I remember reading an article about the falling fortunes of the metal scene. One word summed up the sad situation. Skid Row was now touring in a van. Sebastian Bach was 6’6”—could he even fit in a van? Who was going to be car vacing the hair? And where were the groupies going to ride? I was never a Skid Row fan, but I actually couldn’t help feeling a gut moment of pity.

Or maybe it was a gleeful moment of schadenfreude. Whatever it was, it’s the reason I couldn’t resist Lonn Friend’s Life On Planet Rock: From Guns N’ Roses to Nirvana, a Backstage Journey Through Rock’s Most Debauched Decade.

Friend actually started his journalism career closer to Planet Cock, as chief film critic for Hustler, until he was put in charge of the Flyntowned music magazine RIP. Obviously he had a lot going for him when it came to landing those allimportant early exclusive interviews with Guns N’ Roses, Aerosmith and Metallica. Nothing like having a steady stream of highquality porn at a time when it wasn’t so easily available. He’s no Lester Bangs or even Cameron Crowe, who at least had some ambivalence about being more of a fan than a critic. As Lars Ulrich puts it so well in the introduction, Friend was no fly-on-the-wall, he was more like a “fly-on-the-wall, inthe- face, in-the-shit...”

There’s no doubt he was definitely there. There on Gene Simmons’ airbus. There on Metallica’s Black Album tour. There introducing Guns N’ Roses to a stadium, dressed only in underwear and a black top hat. And to give credit where it’s due, even when he wasn’t there, RIP seems to have been. A quick Internet surf reveals that the magazine sent a journalist up to Montreal to do a feature on Voivod, who weren’t exactly chartering any airbuses at the time.

And he was there when grunge began to sound the death knell to metal. This is where Planet Rock becomes more than a mildly interesting rock chronicle. Friend is a born storyteller, meaning he’s probably more interesting in person. He doesn’t have the eye for detail or sharpness of insight that distinguishes a storyteller from a writer. But he was there when RIP threw a Seattle party in 1991 headlined by Soundgarden, Pearl Jam and the cast from Spinal Tap. And there is one truly meaningful story in here about how deep the insecurities really run in the music biz.

Friend recalls an afternoon spent desperately trying to impress a dour and taciturn Kurt Cobain with a visit to the offices of RIP. When Cobain basically refused to talk to him, Friend wrote it off to Cobain being put off by the obvious attempt to impress. In fact, not long before his death, Cobain recounted his own version of the story, focusing on a picture in Friend’s office. In it, Friend is being mooned by the members of Metallica. It’s clear to even less than sympathetic readers that this picture is mostly a joke about Friend’s tendency to kiss ass. Cobain saw it as an intimidation tool meant to bully bands into believing that Friend had the power to fuck them over.

It’s a sad story that gets sadder as Friend leaves journalism, does a disastrous stint in A&R for Clive Davis, loses friends, influence and the ability to even make a living. This all precipitates a deep midlife crisis, which this book seems to be an attempt to crawl out of.

It’s not much of a book, but somewhere in there is a great story about rock ’n’ roll, debauchery and the real desperation that drives most of these egos. If there are any brains in Planet Hollywood a smart L.A. producer will option Planet Rock. If nothing else there’s a fantastic dramatic role in here for Jack Black.

Life on Planet Rock by Lonn Friend,
Morgan Road Books, pb, 290pp, $18.95