I guess I was on a bit of a high, I’d not long ago met a guy who despite his death in 1982 was still a major influence in the world of hard rock and heavy metal, a guy who’s guitar playing was emulated by millions of people all around the world. Not only that I’d spent well over an hour talking to the guy. It’s not hard to be on a high after something like that.
I wont go into full details of what Randy Rhodes and I spoke about because it is between us and most of it probably wouldn’t interest anyone else but needless to say it was a conversation I wont soon forget. Although I suppose if these journal entries ever get out into the public maybe I will forget them, from what Lemmy said I’ll forget everything.
Ok so where was I? What was I talking about? I can’t remember.
Ok that was a poor joke but my timing was impeccable.
One of the things Randy and I did talk about was his plane accident. I was shocked to see just how much he wanted to talk about it. His reasoning was that he’d had thirty five years to dwell on it and while he didn’t tell me what he’d been doing before Angel City he did suggest that in that time it was hard not to contemplate how much different his life would have been if he had not got on that ill fated plane in 1982.
Randy actually explained the entire accident, from the minute he chose to get on the second flight, to the minute the plane crashed. It was the sort of accident account that people don’t hear, for obvious reasons, and it’s one I will take to my grave. I’ve heard people in the past say that they wanted to hear what their loved ones had gone through in an accident, the things that led up to it, the final moments and while I’d never question another persons own thoughts, having heard Randy tell me what happened I can tell you it’s not something I’d ever ask.
Although Randy didn’t tell me exactly what he’d been doing for more than thirty years he did tell me that until Lemmy showed him Angel City he’d been a bit lost. He wasn’t bored, he wasn’t lonely, he just didn’t know what to do. Semi regular gigs gave him something to do and he was appreciative of it.
It was amazingly easy to talk to Randy. I don’t really know why I feel the need to say that because even megastars are just people and despite a few pampered shitbags who treat everyone like dog turds on the bottom of their shoes most of them are easy to get long with people. Randy was one of those and the only question he didn’t answer was “will I see you in Angel City again?”, which when I thought about it later was probably a reasonable question not to answer.
I don’t know which direction Randy went in when he left the bar and I didn’t go looking for him when I made my way towards the bedroom. I’d be lying if I didn’t say I wasn’t intrigued but I definitely didn’t go looking for him.
My thoughts about choosing a bedroom that was either occupied or was the wrong one was unnecessary, because the room I walked into was of course vacant and my bags were sitting on the couch thingie, there is probably a special name for it, at the end of he bed.
In my bedroom I did the usual things one did in such a place and I wont bore you with those details because I’m sure you don’t need a blow by blow account of them. When I lay my head on the large, over stuffed pillow I felt tired enough that I would immediately drop off to sleep, especially given my long drive and the earliness of the morning I was getting to bed but of course that didn’t happen.
The interviewer in my mind was going over my conversation with Randy, looking for highlights, looking for by lines and looking for hooks to keep people interested. I had no intention of writing up said information as an interview, at least I didn’t think I did, it was just the way my mind worked. It took me nearly forty five minutes to convince my brain to stop being an interviewer and finally allow me to fall to sleep, but for some reason I wasn’t that annoyed by not sleeping.
The following morning when I woke it was quiet an interesting feeling. The first thing I did was roll over and look at the clock beside the bed, the digits told me it was 7:14am, I’d managed to get less than four hours sleep. The interesting part was that I felt completely rested and raring to go. In my working life I was often required to keep ridiculous hours with little sleep, or snatches of sleep where I would wake up feeling worse than when I went to sleep, that’s how I expected to feel when I realised how little sleep I’d had. However I felt the opposite, which had me wondering if maybe sleep in Angel City was a bit like alcohol and cigarettes.
Thinking of cigarettes I reached to the bedside table and grabbed the packet of Marlboros that I’d left there, it was of course full and I took the first smoke out of the packet. Angel City was a different place and left me with different feelings and thoughts but in my head it was still 7am and I didn’t feel like a Jack Daniels before breakfast.
Wondering if anyone else would have surfaced at such an early hour I decided I would make my way down to the dinning room I found Lem and the boys in the last time I was in Angel City. I had no idea if that was the only place I could get breakfast, it probably wasn’t, but it was good enough the first time I figured there was no reason not to choose the same place again.
I was only half a dozen steps out my door when I was greeted by Philthy Phil walking out of his room. “Headed down for breakfast are we?” he asked.
“Yeah, seems like that time of day.”
“Yup.” There was a brief silent pause before he added. “You seemed to be getting on alright with Randy last night. Did he hang around long?”
“Yeah we talked for quiet a while, must have been 2ish before he left.”
“Shit, that’s longer than usual.” was all he said.
I wanted to ask how often Randy visited but again I decided against it.
When we walked into the dining room Lemmy was already there eating. We were only three steps into the room when Lemmy said.
“Phil, good to see you. We need to talk about your next job.”
“Do ya own bloody work Lem, I’m not your slave!”
Previous Angel City story here.
There is no Precipice in this story