I wore one of Claude Van Damme’s jackets for years. A team jacket, a heavy thing, all lined and hip and cool and big shouldered. A friend swiped it from his dressing room. It was an extra, he never missed it (or so she told me.) That was my pre-blazer look. A Claude Van Damme jacket, Italian army boots and, at the time, strong as an ox. Stupid as an ox, too, but we’re talking looks here, not brains. Anyway, there’s a photo of me wading into a brawl, breaking it up. Probably about 1987. Some asshole punks had hauled the longhair soundman down to the floor by his ponytail and were kicking the shit out of him. It was ugly, vicious, cowardly. I started pulling them off of him. It was like tossing dolls across a room. One of them took a swing at me. I went to hit him, realized I could kill him just like that, so I bitch slapped him. Whack, whack. He crumpled, the room went silent, nobody moved. I went back to the bar, the band started up and it was like nothing had happened.
Violence is a weird thing, man, a weird thing.
The sleeve to the Brother Brick Says single by my brother Jon’s band, Claw Hammer. The long haired cat on the left is the prick who started it…he lit out quick and avoided the pounding he deserved. Used to see him slinking around, followed by a bunch of kids who for some reason idolized the guy. He gave off that weird Manson vibe…if you hang around the underground scene long enough you run into types like him. I figure he’s either in prison or a lawyer by now. Maybe a preacher. Maybe dead.