Music is kind of big for me. Always has been. I dip my toes into many pools of influence and genre. Scattered indiscriminately amongst these pools and such are a select few heavyweights. The biggies in my world. The straws that stir my drinks. Anyone that knows me will instantly rattle off U2, The Doors, Zeppelin as bands that are important to me. Coming out of the Wild and unfettered 80's, I was a naive twenty-something that was still clinging to the notion that my hair band phase was going to last forever. I will love that time, love those guilty pleasure groups till I'm hopefully a wheel chair bound old man. But, times were a-changing. I didn't yet realize it, but we could only stomach frilly, hard-edged songs about groupie sex and binge drinking for so long. Substance was being yearned for. The kids of the states were losing touch with the fast car/fast women mentality represented by the likes of the Crue, warrant, etc. We were all going through adolescence and early adulthood with no manuals. No blueprint other than our parents humming their old Beatles tunes. And then....seemingly overnight, we got our manual. Nirvana burst on the landscape with the bombacity of a nuclear warhead. In an instant, the 80's were over. We had our voice. We had a new look. Tossed out the hair spray and raided dad's closet for flannel. Intro Kurt. Intro Eddie. Intro Layne. After a decade of Los Angeles decadence, we were introduced to Seattle. Rainy Monday's never looked so good. Suddenly, grunge took over. Songs of angst and anger pervaded our senses. If you weren't depressed already, by God, you were about to be. But this was no fluke. The standard bearers, the so called heavy weights, were talented superstars. And almost without exception, they would be and will be immortalized forever. Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Alice in Chains, and Soundgarden. And, in a scene that would plague them forever, standing in the shadows of and coming after the big boys, here came Stone Temple Pilots. Fronted by a big voiced screamer with bright pink hair. Now, I admittedly don't know a whole lot about the early years for STP. This is a blog, not a research paper. But I do know this. Back then, and pretty much for the whole of their career, the band was forced to deal with the tag of "copycats", or far worse. They had to fight for scraps of respect and relevancy in the wake of the nirvana and Pearl Jam tsunami.
I'm going to skip to the first time I heard STP. It had to have been 92 or 93? My memory ain't what it used to be. I had jumped on the grunge train and as such I listened almost exclusively to "The Point", an alternative radio outfit in St. Louis, Mo. The first STP song I ever heard was "Creep". A melancholy little ditty seeped in self depracation. I was more than intrigued. Scott's smooth and deep voice showcased against the subtle arrangement of the band. Who was this guy? The song worked its way into the stations regular rotation. And then, song number 2 hit me and the rest of the world. Plush. For the rest of my life, that smallish word will only mean one thing. The song that invaded my soul, and forever cemented my love affair with Stone Temple Pilots. I finally purchased Core, the bands studio release. I probably played the cassette no fewer than 1,000 times that first few months. I still have it to this day. Each song a masterpiece. Each one unique and haunting. Scott Weiland, a crooning and dark siren that pulled off the craziest shit with his voice. Copy cats? Please. I've heard it suggested that all those early 90's bands "copied" each other at least a little bit. I personally don't adhere to that notion, as I feel that each one more than stands firmly on its own accord. Scott would go on to become one of the greatest front-men that I'd ever seen. Period. End of story. His voice, with all its variations and props, combined with the sinewy contortions that this modern era lizard king would manifest itself created the "look" and "feel" of STP. Even in his later years, his body undoubtedly ravaged by years of addictions, Scott was a showman. He was Barnum. The music would commence, and his body almost acted Pavlovian. Then his voice would follow and the party had most definitely started.
I'll never forget the first time I saw him and them live. I had maintained my love of their music, but I just didn't go to many concerts. Wish now that I had, but back then I just didn't. It must have been around 99 or 2000. STP was going to be at the Riverport amphitheater outside of St. Louis. I think they were touring in support of "tiny music"? I went with my good buddy, Joey Noel. Joey was the biggest STP fan that I've ever met. Ever, even to this day some 15 years later. Sort of a disciple of the "church of Scott". It was a sultry Midwestern summer night. The skies had just darkened. The house lights went out, and the crowd roared with anticipatory gusto. That magic that happens as the band begins and the crowd offers itself. STP blared its way into "Crackerman". And here came Scott Weiland, from the darkness, adorned with a flowing purple robe, tipped in garish fur, a floppy red fedora on his head, and a megaphone in one hand, and a mic in the other. The coronation was complete. I had my new king. Scott Weiland, we are and were yours.
Of course I knew of the demons. The vices. Couldn't go a whole year without news of a stint in rehab or a relapse of some kind. Each time you hoped it would pass. And, it usually did. Over the years, it got to the point that Scott became the punch line to some lazy late night writers joke. I think we all succumbed to the notion that the path Scott was on didn't lead itself to long life. I lost track of whether he was in or out of the band, and whether he was clean or not. All the while, his bands songs still a major part of my soundtrack. Took my oldest son Morgan to see them at a stop in illustrious Maplewood, Mn in 2012. I didn't know what to expect. But, he delivered. The smaller venue, and the lizard like movements? Oh yeah. This man was still the maestro. Holy shit, what a front man. I came away wanting more. Sadly, predictably, the same old stories followed. In or out? Clean or not? There would be no more new STP music. At least not with Scott. The band booted him and tried continuing as STP, but with...gasp...a new frontman?! Chester Bennington of Lincoln Park fame. In all fairness, he didn't sound bad. BUT....they should've called themselves something else. They were not Stone Temple Pilots. In hindsight, I feel dirty for ever having listened to them. At all. And I sincerely hope that going forward, the band retires the name. It's sacreligious. Blasphemous even. Without Scott Weiland, there simply is no Stone Temple Pilots.
Which brings me back to now. Maybe it always was going to end this way. Probably. Alone on a tour bus, parked in front of a non-descript shitty hotel in Bloomington Minnesota. I don't even care as to the cause. In or out. Clean or not. The reality is that Scott, you deserved more. You deserved better. Maybe your body was simply done. Done fighting off the years of abuse. And a cold night in Minnesota was finally it. I've wrestled with the idea that perhaps it was BECAUSE of your demons you became the rock god you did. Rock gods deserve more. That without the heroine, without the booze, without the poisons....that maybe, just maybe there would've been no magic? And, as a lover of that magic, would I be willing to make the trade? Scott's lift for the astonishing and hypnotic collection of musical genius? So I'm left wondering about the man. Scott Weiland. A hero? Probably not. A role model? Probably not. Someone I'd let date my daughter? Certainly not. So...just what was he. What is he? An icon? Yes. The lizard king? Yes. A mother fucking rock and roll star? Yes.
