It's So Easy - Duff Mckagan [0]
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Copyright © 2011 by Duff McKagan
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Touchstone Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.
The names and identifying details of some of the people described in the book have been changed to protect their privacy.
First Touchstone hardcover edition October 2011
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Designed by Joy O’Meara
Manufactured in the United States of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
McKagan, Duff.
It’s so easy : (and other lies) / Duff McKagan.
p. cm.
“A Touchstone Book.”
1. McKagan, Duff. 2. Bass guitarists—United States—Biography. 3. Guns n’ Roses (Musical group) I. Title.
ML418.M2A3 2011
787.87'166092—dc22
[B]
2011013545
ISBN 978-1-4516-0663-8
ISBN 978-1-4516-0665-2 (ebook)
For Marie Alice McKagan
He went on and on down the road, finally coming to a black woods, where he hid and wept as if his heart would break. Ah, what agony was that, what despair, when the tomb of memory was rent open and the ghosts of his old life came forth to scourge him!
—Upton Sinclair, The Jungle
CONTENTS
AUTHOR’S NOTE
PROLOGUE
PART ONE
KNOCKIN’ ON HEAVEN’S DOOR
PART TWO
JUST AN URCHIN LIVING UNDER THE STREET
PART THREE
LOADED
PART FOUR
I’D LOOK RIGHT UP AT NIGHT AND ALL I’D SEE WAS DARKNESS
PART FIVE
A GOOD DAY TO DIE
PART SIX
YOU SHINED A LIGHT WHERE IT WAS DARK, ON MY WASTED HEART
PART SEVEN
FALL TO PIECES
PART EIGHT
YOU CAN’T PUT YOUR ARMS AROUND A MEMORY
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
AUTHOR’S NOTE
My friends and old band members may remember some of the stories I recount differently than I do, but I have found that all stories have many sides. These are my stories. These are my perspectives. This is my truth.
PROLOGUE
August 2010
DJ Morty is standing behind a table in the backyard. The anemic last rays of a late-afternoon California sun stream over the adobe roof tiles of the single-story house I share with my wife, Susan, and our two girls, Grace and Mae. In front of the DJ table is a small patch of polished wood planking—a portable dancefloor we rented along with a few little tables and chairs.
Morty scans the tracks on his laptop, fiddles with his MP3 console, and double-checks the cords connecting it all to the amp and speakers. He’s getting ready for the party. I’ve met Morty a few times at other events around town; I often end up feeling like the middle-aged dork at hipster shindigs, and sometimes the most comfortable thing to do is chat about music with the DJ.
Today, though, as the afternoon fades to evening in Los Angeles, I’m even more out of place than usual. Or at least less welcome. Grace is turning thirteen today and we’re throwing a party. Grace has already told me and her mom to stay completely invisible. Her exact words: “You’re not invited.”
Ah, the joys of parenthood.
Still, Susan and I are going all out for the party. Birthdays at this age are a big deal. I remember when turning eighteen was considered a milestone, but even at that age my celebration had been limited to a few good friends and family members. Partly it’s to do with socio-economic differences between my childhood and my children’s. These days we live in a far more affluent area than the one where I grew