What About Drugs?

Sex, sex, sex, is that all anyone writes about in the gay press anymore? A sex club south of Market on Tehama St. gets hassled by the police and suddenly the local gay rags editorialize on the possibilities of reopening the bathhouses. Granted, gay sex is a huge, extremely important issue for the ‘90s, but what about drugs? Talk about an issue that really takes a bashing! And to make this trio of issues complete, what about rock ‘n’ roll? Censorship, liability lawsuits for teen suicide, and undying protest by Christian fundamentalists plague rock more forcefully now than my memory serves. How many pro-marijuana legalization editorials sprung up in the gay press in the wake of Dennis Peron’s current possession charges? And how many times did the gay press address the issue of censorship in relation to rock music rather than simply photographs of boys pissing or someone getting fisted? “Nope, sorry. Karen Finley is as close as we get.” I’ve long ago come to terms with the fact that rock ‘n’ roll music will forever be shunned by the gay community in favor of disco as the Qu’ran of gay culture, but there~ s no I 2-stepping around the fact that drugs have had an undeniable influence on us too, and far from a totally negative one. And yes, that means poppers and cape cods, too. Even the S.F. Examiner recently ran a very logical editorial entitled, “Legalize Drugs,” shaking a bit of that stodgy, right-wing image, while leaving the polititically progressive gay rags to titter away about healing crystals, parade committee bitch fights, what to boycott, and other often tedious issues that threaten to polarize a community that needs so much to progress toward unity. But let’s get back to drugs. I bought a box of candy the other day and on the inside of both ends of the box it read, “Say No To Drugs.” It spoiled my appetite to think that Nancy Reagan’s campaign has seeped that far into the nation’s consciousness, but when you think about it and look around, it has clearly gone much further than just the inside flap of a box of lemonheads. In fact, Geraldo recently featured an episode devoted to kids who turned their parents in for drugs. I watched a young girl say, “I knew they were smoking pot because I could smell it. It smelled really.. .um. . .gross.” Then, in one of those rare moments when I talk to the television, I yelled, “Not half as bad as the bargain- bin orphanage I’d send you to if I was your father.” If she had only missed that one anti-drug episode of Punky Brewster, this might nothave happened. Maybe it was that episode of Different Strokes that Nancy Reagan appeared on, co-starring with that bitter child actor with bad kidneys who’s really 28, and that teen actor whose work beyond that series included shooting his crack dealer in the head five times in L.A. Who knows what caused the little narc to tip off the cops about her dad? There are too many possibilities. Maybe she bought a box of lemonheads, too.

Earlier this year, Drug Czar William Bennet blamed Satan as the cause of this nation’s drug problem. He is paid a lot of money to come up with answers like that. He could have said elves or Bigfoot or anything else no one has ever seen. More recently, on the first anniversary of the Bush administration’s war on drugs, L.A. Police Chief Daryl Gates claimed that casual drug users “ought to be taken out and shot.” This tough-guy stance was aimed at those “who blast some pot on a casual basis.”

Well, hand me my blindfold and put me in front of a line of men, aiming and ready to shoot. Sounds like a normal night at the aforementioned Sex Club I guess, but the actual thought makes me slightly fearful. I “blast pot” far more than occasionally, have done so since I was a freshman in high school, and don’t plan on stopping. I could understand authorities wanting someone like me to stay away from schoolyards, or stopping me from making big money by selling it (they really hate that), but shoot me? C’mon! Would you shoot Marion Berry or just re-elect him after a first- class rehabilitation?

Actually, that wasn’t the first time I’ve heard the instant execution threat. When I was a junior in high school, my science teacher, a winner of the esteemed Oregon State Teacher of the Year Award, told the class after a riveting lecture on drug-related chromosomal damage, that if he ever caught someone giving his daughter drugs he would shoot them. It didn’t stop me from getting high at lunch time with her like I did almost daily, nor did it stop me from passing a few triple-beam scales out the classroom window to a business-minded buddy outside with an empty gym bag, ready to embark on a venture that would teach him more about money than Personal Finance class ever did. All of the “dangers of marijuana” lectures and anti-drug films (my favorite was hosted by Sonny Bono and replete with simulated LSD trips and pill party busts), I suffered through for seven years were, upon reflection, 100 percent right about one thing: Marijuana does lead to harder drugs.. . thank God! And God bless the person who altered the “Don’t do drugs, call a friend” billboard at Haight and Divisadero. Paying close attention to detail, someone neatly added the word alone right after drugs and punctuated properly. Newly altered, the message was good advice, sensibly educational and pro-generosity. My heart is full!

One wouldn’t need to peruse the annals of Rock ‘n’ Roll history very carefully to find numerous indications that drugs and rock have co-existed hand in hand all along. While many would focus on all the choked-on-their- own-vomit overdoses in rock and roll heaven, my favorite example of the glorification of this unholy alliance has to be the fact that Elvis Presley, The King, was granted an honorary badge and title as a drug enforcement agent by President Nixon. I think that’s neat, but what’s even more bitchin’ is the fact that the U.S. Army actually introduced Elvis to the wonderful world of amphetamines during his famous tour of duty in Germany. The “soldiers’ little helper” thus insured that the Mystery Train didn’t run on coal alone ever again. The ‘80s proved to be the rock ‘n’ roll rehab decade, and the ‘90s so far have continued that sentiment with a host of bands and stars endorsing sobriety and even composing anti-drug anthems. Record albums are now embossed with parental advisory warnings for explicit lyrics, cover art with a hint of nudity can often delay a record’s release indefinitely, and penning a pro-drug song could probably land an artist in court, facing liability for every teen overdose in the country. That is, unless Police Chief Daryl Gates doesn’t pump you full of lead first for treason. We are at war with drugs, you know.

It’s hard to believe that 24 years ago The Velvet Underground recorded the song “Heroin” with little or no adverse consequences. Now, former Velvet Lou Reed is a member of R.A.D., Rockers Against Drugs, not to mention a reformed queer. All of this is why I so enthusiastically embrace the group Jane’s Addiction, their new LP. Ritual de lo Habitual, and their outspoken vocalist Perry Farrel. When I bought their latest album, the person behind the counter said, “Did you hear about Perry Farrel?” Three people in line inquisitively chimed in unison, “Did he overdose?” I love that. He didn’t overdose, but what he did do in response to the controversy over his chosen cover art was release an alternative white cover with only the first amendment printed on it.

Ritual de lo Habitual has a Spanish language introduction, spoken by what sounds like a young girl. Translated it says, “Senores y Senoras—We have more influence on your children than you do, but we love them. Welcome, from Los Angeles, Jane’s Addiction.” This intro is a stark contrast to a statement made by one of the members of Judas Priest during their recent trial for suicide liability due to subliminal messages in their music: “When we made that record five years ago, I didn’t even know what subliminal meant!” This quote was a perfect pie-in-the-face of the whole trial, a painful media circus of idiocy set in motion by some parents who must have got bored with playing Keno and decided to play lawsuit instead. Ritual de lo Habitual’s intro literally takes all responsibility for the possible influence Jane’s Addiction may have on young listeners. It renders parent/teen “quality time” and “bonding,” already weakened by adolescence, practically meaningless. Think back to your teenage years, and you’ll remember how dreadful and embarrassing it was when your parents tried to do their idealistic, rites-of-passage Mother/Father duties. I think Jane’s Addiction’s Ritual is the teen ritual of choice. It beats the shit out of Dad buying Son his first prostitute at the Mustang Ranch for his 16th birthday.

Musically the record is far more complex than their last. It’s a dense and quirky smattering of styles with fragmented, often narrative lyrics and extremely fine production qualities. The song “Been Caught Stealing” is the big standout cut. Lyrically, it sounds like an existentialist telling his story or “sharing” at a shoplifters-anonymous meeting while musically, the double-time hand-jive riff and power-thumping bass make for one of the best dance songs I’ve heard all year, something one wouldn’t expect from Jane’s Addiction. And it’s all about shoplifting!

Perry Farrel doesn’t mind copping to illicit activities at all. He recently showed an interviewer from Melody Maker a video of himself and his girlfriend shooting up, their arms tied off with the phone cord while his girlfriend’s mom was talking on it, and a ritualistic Santaria wedding ceremony in which they both slit their wrists and mix blood. Kids, please, do not attempt this at home. The press release for Ritual is in the style of a religious pamphlet, printed once in English and on the reverse side in Spanish. Perry rises to the occasion with some great comments. Here are a few: “The fact that everybody gets to die is to me, the ultimate gift, everybody’s a winner...So, if everybody realized that they should play for fun instead of for keeps, then everybody would be a winner.” “I’m a good trash picker. That’s the best thing my mother ever taught me, was to go through the garbage.” “If I were to try to please MTV instead of myself, I’d be miserable and they’d be dictating my life. In a way I’m indebted to people like those at MTV, or evangelists, or women who are married to Senators, cause they force me to change. They’re actually doing me a favor. I won’t compromise, but they do force me to be more creative.” “I want to bring love back. I’d like to see men feel love and romance instead of macho, which is so fake and phony. Nobody should feel ashamed or dumb, but feel love and honesty, bisexuality, homosexuality, heterosexuality, anything. If I can make that cool, I would feel like a champ.” He sounds positively satanic, huh? Must be all those drugs.