It's So Easy - Duff Mckagan [150]
I also have a strong dislike for the term rock star because I do actually know some people in the biz who refer to themselves as rock stars. These people really think they’re better than their fans. I, for one, find that kind of behavior embarrassing. Don’t get me wrong. I get why the term is used and I was myself easily smitten with rock stars as a little kid—I was mesmerized by the likes of Jimi Hendrix and Led Zeppelin. Over the years, though, I have had the distinct honor of meeting some of the artists who occupied my classroom daydreams and have been pleasantly surprised at the regular-dude quality of these older rock musicians. I guess the assholes get weeded out and longevity tends to happen for those who see themselves as serving the music. I like that.
The term seems to have evolved a lot, too—from a noun into a much overused adjective, as in, “he sure has on some rock-star clothes.” Families of touring musicians can attest to the fact that rocking is just a job, really, one that allows, at times, for the clan to see some cool places together. At other times, it brings forth almost desperate loneliness for all. Those times aren’t very “rock star.”
A moment of great humility came for me a few years ago after I played a huge stadium in Buenos Aires, Argentina, with Velvet Revolver. I was in the midst of finishing an online course at the time and had a question for the professor of the course. I told my wife that I had to call him when we got back to the hotel—we were getting a police escort back because the fans there can get a little, um, overzealous. When we got back to the room, fans had surrounded the hotel, singing soccer chants modified for the occasion. I had timed my call to catch this professor during his office hours.
When he picked up the phone, I said, “Hi, Professor Greene, this is Duff McKagan in your Business 330 class and I want to ask you a question about this week’s assignment. I am calling from out of the country, so I was hoping to make this quick.”
I had just played a stadium, been given a police escort, and now people were chanting my name on the street outside.
“Duff who?” he replied.
I came back down to earth in a hurry. And somewhere Joe Strummer was probably laughing his ass off.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The idea of writing a book would never have occurred to me if I hadn’t already started to write in public forums where others could read my work. For that I must thank Chris Kornelis at the Seattle Weekly and Tim Mohr, then at Playboy, for believing in me enough to give me a chance as a weekly columnist in their respective publications back in 2008. These two editors gave me fruitful ideas, helpful advice, and ample room to grow.
It was through those columns that I learned I could actually get my ideas across much more clearly in written form. Talking or doing interviews was one thing, but committing my thoughts to paper became—and remains—a passion. I also have to thank and give props to my readership at the Seattle Weekly. I have been honored to receive your comments, and the constant exchange has given my writing more depth, insight, and color. My fellow writers at the Weekly also set a high bar for me to aspire to—especially Krist Novoselic and John Roderick.
When I approached my erstwhile Playboy editor Tim Mohr with the idea of writing a book, he gave me the confidence and energy to give it a proper go. Tim has been with me every step of the way on this book, and was my daily editor and consigliere. It’s So Easy (and Other Lies) is as much his baby as mine.
Long before I ever thought of writing professionally, back when I first tried to enroll at Seattle University in 1999, I had to compose an admissions essay. I hadn’t written an essay since sometime in the very early 1980s. My good friend Dave Dederer—Brown graduate and Presidents of the United States of America alum—walked me through those first scary steps of writing again. I still have his gift of Strunk and White’s Elements of Style proudly displayed on my library shelf.
My wife,