Gazette. It can be compared in spirit only to the hush that laid on Oscar Wilde’s name for a
decade after his disgrace, and in extent only to the fate of that sinful King of Runagur in
Lord Dunsany’s tale, whom the gods decided must not only cease to be, but must cease
ever to have been.
- H.P. Lovecraft, The Case of Charles Dexter Ward
You must stop imagining that posterity will vindicate you, Winston. Posterity will never
hear of you. You will be lifted clean out from the stream of history. We shall turn you into
gas and pour you into the stratosphere. Nothing will remain of you: not a name in a
register, not a memory in a living brain. You will be annihilated in the past as well as in the
future. You will never have existed.
- George Orwell, 1984
In the very first episode of the recently-revived Twilight Zone television series, a man
telephoned his home only to find the call being answered by his double - a Doppelgänger (as
Goethe called such magical mirror-images). This story of an “ultimate identity crisis” was
resolved only when the double finally killed the progressively-more-insane original ... or was it
the other way around?
Stories involving doubles created by magic, science, or impersonation have always been
fascinatingly shuddersome. Who can forget the Metropolis robotrix, who went on a rampage of
apocalyptic destruction while the real girl whose features she had taken lay imprisoned in the
pentagram-emblazoned house of Rotwang the magician? Who was “the Man in the Iron Mask”
immortalized in Alexandre Dumas’ tale - said to be a double of the King, and to possess “too
much” knowledge of the infamous chambre ardente Satanic orgies whose exposure scandalized
the French court?
To many people, one’s appearance and one’s name have a significance beyond mere
convention. They are “extensions of the soul”, as it were. To know the true and/or complete
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name of a god or daemon was often to have power over him; the mere utterance of the 72-letter
name of the Hebrew God - known as the “shemhamforash” - was reputed to destroy the universe
if pronounced correctly. An Indian legend says that if the name of Shiva is uttered repeatedly, he
will open one of his eyes, again destroying the universe [if YHVH hasn’t trashed it first].
To take away one’s name, or to deny him the right to assert it, is thus an act psychologically
akin to murder. Without a name, one is merely a piece of animal flesh displacing time and space.
With a name, one has identity. In Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World the bewildered
humanoids constantly spoke of themselves as “we”; the climax of the story came when one bold
soul struggled upward through the mists of this confusion and began to speak of himself as “I”.
“To be or not to be: that is the question,” said Shakespeare’s Hamlet - as indeed it is.
In 1985 another young man was fitted for an "iron mask" - rather a different type of heavy
metal than that to which he had previously been accustomed. His name is Matthew Trippe, but
he is better known to rock music enthusiasts as Nikki Sixx, cofounder, composer, and bass
guitarist for Mötley Crüe.
Who or what is Mötley Crüe? The most controversial, if not notorious branch of rock music is
“heavy metal”, known for music, costumes and lyrics which espouse Frazetta-like fantasy,
intense sexuality, and an exultant, emotional, neo-barbarian life-style. While its roots can be
traced back to such groups as the 1960s’ Iron Butterfly and Alice Cooper, contemporary heavy
metal might be said to have come of age with the band KISS, whose musicians invariably
appeared in exotic black/silver costumes and face-paint. KISS concerts went beyond mere
musical recitals; they were orgies of fireworks, hydraulic stages, hyperamplified sonics, and
general audience hysteria unequaled for spectacle since Adolf Hitler's Nürnberg rallies of the
1930s. Bat-winged Gene Simmons, famed for his fire-breathing and prehensile tongue, would
taunt the audience for not screaming loud enough: “You know you can do better than that - I
want to see you bring the roof down!” - in answer to which there would erupt a feral roar that
would come pretty close to doing just that.
Why heavy metal at all? The answer is not at all difficult to see. This is not the secure 1950s,
when the world was America’s backyard to work or play in; nor the 1960s, when - secure in our
virtue - we set forth from Camelot to slay the dragon of monolithic communism; nor the 1970s,
when we immersed ourselves in nostalgia, backbiting, and escapist fantasies.
These are the 1980s, when all of our comforting illusions have been shattered, and when
Americans of all ages find themselves surrounded by depressing and dehumanizing realities
which they shrink from confronting. We thought we had conquered racism, only to find that
tensions are higher and more destructive than ever. Neighborhoods once secure are now fortified
with steel bars, alarms, firearms. We are dismayed to see that America, far from being the
world’s savior, is intensely hated by many people who consider it as the “great evil”.
Commercially we are increasingly despised by those who consider us merely a spoiled consumer
economy, ripe for the plucking - and the most profitable destination for heroin, cocaine, and
angel dust. Even the beautiful governmental temples of Washington, D.C. are blighted by ugly
concrete barricades against terrorists. Commercial successes still occur, but are increasingly
characterized by a “yuppie” ethic that views the dollar not just as the supreme god - but as the
only god.
In this “arid wilderness of steel and stone” it is not surprising that the spirit of Moloch
prevails. It is a time for witch-hunts and scapegoats. Elder America scrabbles for solace in
“moral majority” religious fundamentalism, but younger America- having been brought up in a
de facto materialist environment, is not so easily coaxed into a primitive religious stupor. Rather
it responds with passionate frustration at being so near to a technological paradise, yet ever
denied it by the inexorable decay of the social and moral fabric so necessary to support it. Heavy
metal, like the torchlight pageants of Nazi Germany, is an explosion of fury - fury at being
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hemmed in by the problem and seeing no rational solution to it - of creativity prevented from
creating - of idealism without meaningful ideals. [“Yes!” thundered Hitler, “we are
barbarians!”]
Under the cruel and jagged armor of heavy metal, therefore, one frequently finds a
surprisingly rich outpouring of artistic, poetic, and musical talent - which in turn explains the
seductive appeal of this type of music to a wide range of audiences. One does not go to a heavy
metal concert to lighten one’s heart, but rather to drive oneself to heights of raw emotional
frenzy, followed by a dizzying descent into emotional exhaustion. Thus are the grinding
frustrations of reality at least momentarily bludgeoned into the background.
By the early 1980s a number of heavy metal bands had begun to appear on the scene, and the
race was on to see which could be the most outrageous. Twenty years ago we used to think that
the Fugs, the Stones, the Fish, and the Mothers of Invention were just about as ra
unchy as you
could get, but now they appeared as models of drawing-room decorum next to metalloids who
looked and sounded rather like the beast-men from the island of Dr. Moreau. Of these, one of the
most bizarre was Mötley Crüe. Formed in January 1981 by Matthew “Nikki Sixx” Trippe together
with Mick “Mars” Reese, Tommy “Lee” Bass, and Vince “Neil” Wharton, the Crüe was signed by
Elektra/Asylum Records in mid-1982 and went on to become one of the flagships of the heavy
metal fleet after the 1983-84 smash success of its second album, Shout at the Devil.
Middle America - still dominated largely by the generation who thought Elvis' hip-
movements too shocking for television - reacted to heavy metal with increasingly hysterical
alarm and indignation. Writing in the New York Times earlier this year, columnist William
Safire praised the U.S. Senate’s hearings & citizens’-group efforts to censor or suppress heavy
metal. “What’s to be done about sex-violence, sadomasochism, and Satanism being sold to
youngsters?” he fumed. “I am a libertarian when it comes to the actions of consenting adults.
With complete consistency, I am anti-libertarian when it comes to minors. Kids get special
protections in law and deserve protection from porn-rock profiteers.”
Allegations that serial murders and teenaged “Satanic” gangs were inspired by heavy metal
music fueled calls for censorship-ratings in music similar to those applied to pornographic &
violent films, and Mötley Crüe - as Mick Mars later told me - appeared to be careening straight
for an “X”.
In mid-1984 the buildup of such public pressure resulted in a decision by Mötley Crüe’s
management to sanitize the band. The leather, chains, flames, and Satanic insignia of Shout at
the Devil gave way to circus-clown attire - pastels, polka-dots, and garter-belts - on the cover of
Theatre of Pain, Crüe’s third album, released earlier this year. Composer Nikki Sixx, whose
Satanic lyrics had already been censored on the second album [even to its title, which was
originally Shout With the Devil], was warned that he was the main cause of the Crüe’s Satanic
image and instructed to deny it publicly.
There was, however, a problem: Nikki Sixx happened to believe in the Satanism he espoused
in the songs he wrote, and he didn’t want to be “sanitized”. What to do? On April 1 road manager
Richard Fisher told Sixx that he would be replaced upon the expiration of his contract that year.
It is entirely possible that, at that time, it was contemplated that Sixx’ departure from the band
later in the year would be openly acknowledged and a replacement just as openly added to the
group. But now events took a turn which would ultimately result in a maze of intrigue, deception,
and cover-ups to rival Watergate itself.
“In April we had just gotten off tour with Ozzy [Osbourne],” recounts Sixx, “and the band
members decided to go our separate ways for a couple of weeks. I chose to go and stay with Jeff
Rogers, whom I had met in Naples, Florida while doing a publicity stunt in February. On June 1
Jeff and I were invited to a party by a friend of his named John Spears. We got there at 8:30 PM
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and got stoned. At 10 PM Jeff and John asked me if they could use my car to get some more
beer ...”
Sixx refused, but said he would drive them. Directed to the Pavilion shopping center in north
Naples, he parked the car and strolled into a movie theater to visit the manager, whom he
remembered from a previous publicity engagement, while the others headed for the row of
shops. Leaving the theater, Sixx walked back towards his car, then noticed a man walking out of
a bookstore in front of him.
“Out of nowhere I saw John catch up to him, and by the reflection of the light I saw a knife,
which John put up against his throat. I panicked and ducked down behind a car. John ran to my
car and called, "Come on, Nikki!” I stood up and looked at Sam [Weiss, the bookstore owner],
who saw me. Then I ran, jumped in my car, and sped off.”
At first it seemed that there would be no aftermath to the incident. On June 22 Sixx returned
to work with the band, making a series of publicity appearances in Arkansas, Tennessee, North
Carolina, West Virginia, and Pennsylvania to promote Shout at the Devil. Unknown to him, a
second robbery had since been committed - this time using a rifle owned by Sixx. In Erie,
Pennsylvania on August 28th, Sixx was arrested by two policemen who showed him a warrant
for his arrest on the charge of armed robbery.
“I waived extradition and was returned to Florida. I spent 39 days in seclusion. Then our
record company put up the $50,000 bond so that I could work on our latest album, Theatre of
Pain.” He returned to Los Angeles for recording sessions from November 27 to December 21,
1984 - after which he helped make the video for the song “Smokin’ in the Boys Room” from
Theatre.
On December 8 disaster struck. Lead singer Vince Neil’s sports car went out of control in
Redondo Beach, California, resulting in Neil’s arrest for vehicular manslaughter and drunk
driving. Intensive efforts were made to overcome the adverse publicity of this incident, to
include dedication of Theatre of Pain to Nicholas Dingley (killed in the crash) and a message on
tribulations in Los Angeles, however, another drama was taking place - unnoticed - in Florida.
Nikki Sixx’ trial was scheduled for December 27, and after finishing Theatre he and Mick
Mars drove to Florida in Mars’ Lamborghini (which Sixx had decided to buy). December 27 came
and went; Sixx could not bring himself to appear and had jumped bail. Four days later, shortly
after midnight on New Year’s Day, Sixx and Mars took the Lamborghini out for a spin,
whereupon there followed an episode straight out of Smokey and the Bandit. Recalls Sixx:
“The speeding ticket was quite a laugh. I was moving at 102 down U.S. #41 when I passed a
Highway Patrol car. He put his siren and lights on, and caught up with me. When he was about
50 feet behind me, I floored it. Then I had to make a turn. I slowed down to 130 and spun the car
to make it turn around 1-1/2 times. Then I had an 8-mile straightway. I floored it again, going
past 170. In a little over a minute I saw a massive roadblock and slammed on the brakes. One
thing I learned is that you can't outrun a radio!”
Sixx received a ticket for (a) 189 mph in a 45 zone [which means the entire 8-mile stretch in
under two minutes!], (b) speed too fast for conditions, (c) ran stop sign, (d) willful & wanton
reckless driving, (e) ran red light, (f) driving on wrong side of road, (g) improper change of lane
or course, (h) careless driving, (i) improper passing, and (j) improper turn. [“How,” I later asked
him, “does one make a proper turn at 189 mph?”]
For these transgressions Sixx was slapped with a $750 fine by Judge Anderson the following
day; he recalls that passenger Mars - who had been rather vocal in his annoyance at the arrest -
was hit for twice that amount. Little did Sixx realize, however, how important that traffic ticket
would be in the months to come.
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Sixx’ failure to appear in court on the armed robbery charge had app
arently not filtered down
through the police bureaucracy by January 2, so he and Mars were able to pay their fines and go.
Sixx headed for Erie, Pennsylvania where his ex-personal manager resided. “She hid me until
March 4th, when I was caught and taken to the ‘Erie county prison’. I fought extradition for three
more months, but on June 28th was finally taken back to Florida’s Collier County Jail.”
Meanwhile Mötley Crüe was on tour. Nikki Sixx’ replacement, however, was not appearing
under his own name of Frankie Ferraro; rather he was appearing as ... Nikki Sixx!
How could such a transpersonation succeed? It is not as difficult as it might seem. Sixx had
always appeared in exotic face-paint and with a shaggy head of hair. On neither of Mötley Crüe’s
first two albums is there a close-up photo of him in which all of his features are clearly visible,
and on Theatre of Pain the lower half of “Nikki Sixx’” face is covered in both photos, so that any
difference between his jawline and that of the previous Sixx cannot be seen. As bass guitarist and
background vocalist, Sixx is not as instantly recognizable to live audiences as, say, lead singer
Neil or lead guitarist Mars. Ferraro’s eyes are blue while Trippe’s are green, but rock-concert
audiences are not usually fine-tuned to such details - particularly when they are not alerted to
the fact that an impersonation is taking place.
So all through the spring and summer, while thousands of Mötley Crüe fans were applauding
the new “Nikki Sixx”, the old one remained locked up in the Collier County Jail. In July he spoke
to Elektra’s New York office, which assured him that he could still write music for the Crüe, and
that he would continue to receive royalties for the band’s performance of his songs. [“Did you
ever see any of that royalty money?” I later asked him. He responded, “Not a cent.”]
At the end of October, still sincere in his personal commitment to the Prince of Darkness, he
wrote to the Temple of Set, identifying himself and applying for admission. Since it seemed a bit
odd for a rock star to be buried in a Florida jail, we called Elektra Records’ Los Angeles and New
York offices. We were informed by both that the real Nikki Sixx was on tour, and that this