This article originally appeared on VICE US.
Before reality television, we didn’t have such a crystal-clear periscope into the dysfunctions of our favorite rich, famous trainwrecks. Sure, there’s always been the tabloids, but they’re never as reliable or as gripping as hearing the wild ‘n’ crazy drivel straight from the estranged wife or delusional has-been’s mouth. Before Rock of Love and Celebrity Big Brother and The Surreal Life, if you wanted to know what it was like to be or be with Bret Michaels or Brigitte Nielsen, you were out of luck… unless, of course, one of their exes wrote a memoir.
There’s nothing quite like the earthly delights of a juicy rock ‘n’ roll memoir. Full of casually recounted sexual escapades, unimaginably decadent parties populated by puzzling combinations of celebrities, and drug stories that would make even your most bump-loving friend blush, rock bios are the closest the vast majority of us will come to firsthand experiences of raging with Mötley Crüe.
And look—there are a lot of great rock memoirs out there. The aforementioned Mötley Crüe’s The Dirt: absolutely iconic. Keith Richards’ Life: great stuff. Even Anthony Kiedis’ Scar Tissue is a serious page-turner. But the thing with rock stars is they’re all self-important narcissists, and most of them are dirtbag men who spend a great deal of time braggadociously recounting all the beautiful women they bedded. I recommend flipping the script and seeing what the groupies themselves have to say; often, it’s a lot!
For those of us who are fascinated by the amoral STD-and-hairspray cesspool that was the 80s hair metal revolution, she penned a memoir in 2013 called Dirty Rocker Boys: Love and Lust on the Sunset Strip. If you have longed for a new season of Rock of Love that would never come, or perhaps even just love hearing about simpler times when casual sex, hard partying, and nose drugs were all just part of a chill Tuesday night, then this, my friend, is the book for you.
The book’s opening chapter, aptly titled “Cock of Ages,” starts so perfectly, so enticingly:
“Wait, what happened? Last week, Tommy Lee was my fiancé. This week, he’s married. To Pamela Anderson.”
Yeah, man. Continuing:
“It was February 1995, and in the aftermath of Tommy’s shotgun wedding on the beach in Cancún, four days after our breakup, my coping strategy was twofold.
1. Get high.
I had a line on some of the dopest trucker speed in Malibu.”
Kind reader, I hope that you’ve never had to kick an addiction to either trucker speed or Tommy Lee’s penis. One thing that this book is not really offering is a lot of self-awareness or emotional depth. But I promise that it will deliver incredible, highly uncensored entertainment. There are some grim moments, including the death of Brown's ex-husband Jani Lane and, of course, the darkness of struggling to quit drugs, but nothing that could truly overwhelm the many decadent tidbits of 80s and 90s music gossip.
If you want to know what it was like to flirt with Slash, or be dumped for Pamela Anderson, or, in vivid detail, what it was like to give 19-year-old Leonardo DiCaprio a blowjob in the mid 90s, Dirty Rocker Boys awaits, and it’s juicier than cherry pie. Quarantine is boring. This book is decidedly not.