To make it in Hollywood you've gotta have big steel balls! Arthur Kane former New York Doll.

Every thirteen seconds a teenage girl arrives in Hollywood, searching for a dream in the land of orphans. Inside six months, most of them would have given up the case, moving back to respective bases as others, unbroken, arrive to take their place. The ebb and flow is endless, cause no one is really from Hollywood - people go there to grab a personal piece of whatever is going down. Everyone is looking upwards and everyone has got an angle…

In physical terms, however, the Hollywood that these hopefuls are after doesn't truly exist, being less a bricks and mortar (and palm trees) proposition that a state of mind. The Rolls Royces are real enough - 80% of all those made are to be found paying near silent homage in this candy floss oasis - yet convince yourself that there is an underlying logic, code of honor even, cementing the cracks in the star studded side walk and you may as well believe a man can fly. Soak up the Bullshit, live the life, and next time you pass an open window you might just put that belief to the test. Going down…

Of necessity, therefore, those who came to terms with the Hollywood thrills / hills, serving smartly round the pitfalls, pills and paranoia, are a level headed bread, tougher than a Scotts mans knee caps and often twice as hairy. Los Angeles, after all, now seems to have taken over from New York/Detroit as the prime breeding ground for fresh young metal talent, a musical generation decked out in carefully ripped cotton gonad/grinding leather and the odd strategically placed clean hanky.

There's Quiet Riot (featuring Franki Banali and Kevin 'it's the way I tell them' Dubrow, two of Hollywood's senior survivors) Ratt, Motley Crue, Armored Saint, Dokken, Malice, Black 'N' Blue and, of course, W.A.S.P. the notorious quartet handpicked from the pack by vocalist / bassist / very tall person Blackie Lawless…

Hailing originally from Staten Island, the former New York Doll has been a wild west coast resident for the best chunk of a decade, reveling in the Hollywood spirit while keeping booted heels dug firmly into terra firma. During that time he has seen and heard a lot; every drop of scandal, every whiff of under age intrigue, you can bet he is clued up on it all... which is way people don't catapult the cac towards his looming frame. Rattle any skeletons in the Lawless closet and you are likely to find a truck load of metaphorical manure landing squarely on your doorstep! Get the picture…

So what do you want to talk about then?

Blackie peers hard into the mirror, then reaching up to the crown of his head takes a small piece of hair between his fore finger and thumb, a pair of scissors in the other hand, and snip! The troublesome tress obediently stands to attention, encouraged by a quick burst of lacquer. The time, its clear, is at hand. Another Kerrang photo session is about to get underway (on this occasion and Chris Walters Studio in one of L.A's less salubrious districts) and the air is alight with (cough) creative inspiration.
WHAT? No don't lend my car to Pete Way!

Slumped across a photo filled desk, phone receiver held in white knuckle grip, clearly concerned Halfin continues to disturb the piece of a long suffering parent, 'while across in a corner "lazy" George Bodnar chews languorously on a chip. So it goes…

Err… lets not talk about music I reply, the sort of precise pressure decision usually followed by a concerned mop of the brow from an understanding hand, "lets discuss…

Actually, when I was over in England I did an hour long interview with a guy from the Sun in which we talked about nothing but my sex life! Responds Blackie, going on to point out that over the past twelve weeks he has clocked up some 200 interviews (almost 2.5 per day). Surely the last thing that he wants to be asked now is something as mundane and obvious has how many songs he has prepared for the new album (five incidentally, pretty much in the vain of the first L.P). Better think of something else…

So, Blackie… uh… how many song have you written for… uh… well, for album number 2?

Five

Aah, well a Kerrang exclusive none the less…

It's BEEN a while but I'm back: back in LA with a chance to see W.A.S.P in full blooded flow at Long Beach Arena, The Lascivious local filling in a sandwich completed by the double curs attack of (openers Helix and (headliners) Krokus. What's the more, a chance to check out the band second on the grind as it were having to make their point without ritualised grosseries and Electric Vaudeville stageshow.

In theory, an interesting prospect; in practice, well… the quality of the songs never came under threat, the likes of Tormentor and The Flame resting happily alongside set staples 'Hellion', Sleeping in The Fire' and Animal… (now almost 100,000 in sales), but it was tough for the troupe to doe them ultimate justice through Krokus supplied PA that would have been more at home accompanying an impromptu break-dancing spree in Covent Garden than attempting to ignite the rafter of a mid-sized American Arena, nicely packed.

As for the four onstage, however, they showed no signs of holding back, with Blake continuing to pump from crotch and XL guitarist Chris Holmes continuing to wield his instrument like an out of control chainsaw, in sharp contract to the slicker, more precise technique of fellow fretster Randy Piper. And behind the kit poised exactly between tow giant mirrored sawblades masking the band's backline, new(ish) boy in class Steve Riley, a consistent dealer in advanced drum dramatics who replaced original beatman Tony Richards just prior to W.A.S.P's '84 tour of Europe and Japan. Why the last minute switch? What went wrong with Tony?

Well, I've been telling everybody that I shot him! laughs Blackie backstage as the show, but seriously Steve Riley is the best thing that's happened to this band in the last year, for a number of reason It's not jus his playing ability, it's also his ability to retain things… Tony has tremendous natural talent, more than I have, but you'd tell him something and you'd wonder if he'd remember it five minutes later.

I hate going out in a situation where the guy's brilliant one night and so bad the next that he's starting songs at the wrong time - I'm telling you it was that bad on occasions and it drove everybody nuts! Steve is about as good as Tony when he's on form and he's consistent, so I'm tickled pink.

When the NY Dolls Finally fell apart (five guys all trying to be Jim Morrison and Succeeding!), Blackie, playing guitar at the time, and the bass player Arthur Kane, moved across to LA, starting up a new band that lasted about a year, Kane, however couldn't handle it and eventually went back East, but Blackie held out, knowing that to get the kind of record deal he was after he'd have to break the Hollywood bronco at some time or other. Might as well saddle up now…

Certainly experience was on his side. Prior to this fleeting five minutes as a bona fide Doll, He'd served a dues paying apprenticeship with East Coast outfits such as Black Rabbit, touting his talents around the local bar circuit. Indeed, at 15 finding himself on the business end of a genetic implosion that raised him swiftly to his present stature (bleeding huge) and threw in a fine pair of side burns along the way, he was able to play with people 10 years his senior, joining the likes of Kiss, Twisted Sister (pre Dee!), BOC and Patti Smith in a cultish musical upsurge centered around the Manhattan skyline. Writing hadn't really dawned on him as yet: he was just happy to be there…

When I was in the Dolls I was 20, really, really young. Somebody said Come here kid, We'll make you a star for a day. That's What it boiled down to and it blew my mind for a short while. You see your picture in a magazine for the first time and your ego goes right out the window.

A smart person, of course, will get it back under control, but it's the guy who gets it back then starts heading in the other direction who becomes insecure. If you walk out into an arena in front of 10,000 people thinking, I know there's at least a dozen guys out there better than me, why am I her?, it's gonna start to haunt you after a period of time.

I know the guys who used to play with Iggy when he had the Stooges - Ron and Scott Asheton - and Scott told me more than once that that was Iggy's problem, the reason he couldn't handle success.

So what would have happened if you'd been successful back then? Could you have coped?

I often think about that as a matter of fact… I used to live across the street from a guy called Freddie Prince, who was a big comic actor here. He's dead now, killed himself. He was the same age as me - his birthday was the day after mine - and he was enormously successful. But I saw what a happened to him and to a number of other young guys. Success come too quick and you're not disciplined enough mentally.

When you go without for a long period of time you either give up and get out of the business or you become really… tough, to the point where you can take the abuse and take the knocks. I mean, I can remember having hot dogs by myself on Christmas Day more than once cos I had my eye on a dream and I knew what I wanted.

In this respect as well as others, blackie's father has had a significant influence on his life, teaching him how to accept responsibility and firing a clearly fertile imagination with tales of vaudeville circuit he used to work on in the Summer when school was out. A building contractor today, as a kid no more than 12 or 13, he fetched and carried for the great Bob Hope and spent some time with a carnival, coming face to face with life at its most exotic an bizarre…

He used to tell me about this one guy, recalls Blackie, whose act was to eat live rats! I've often thought about that. He started with the head, but you can't tell me that animal wasn't scratching at the inside of his mouth, struggling on the way down… woooh! He was a 'geek' he'd eat anything - razor blades, telephone books, glass, whatever you brought him he'd eat it!

Even with the steadying influence of his father, though, Blackie doubts that he'd have walked the straight and narrow line had success pad and early call. Indeed, once in LA he almost inevitably drifted into the world of drink and drugs, a poplar downhill path. Now that's all behind him he avows, but in 1980 when he first linked up with Randy Piper, he was in the throes of a deep passionate relationship with large daily doses of vodka (he still cites his major influences outside music as films, Hells Angles, the Klu Klux Klan , My pelvis and Smirnoff).

You know, I was at a point in my life where I was unhappy with myself. My mother had just died and I was holding that responsible. I mean, naturally, you're gonna be upset by something like that, but it wasn't the whole story. I was also unhappy with my lack of success though the reason I wasn't successful was simple - I wasn't very smart! I had good common sense but at that point I did not understand the business.

A situation he corrected forthwith. Indeed, it has been known for the blackie of today to cite himself as a businessman disguised as a muscian, and while that might be overstating the case a little, it's indicative of the fact that the would-be successful muso should now be looking long and hard at the 'axe-wielding accountant' stance long favored by Kiss' Gene Simmons. If just won't do these days to crave artistic immunity and strike a cross-legged consumptive pose in some suitably dusty garret waiting for a charitable muse or patron to prod along the creative process.

Talent alone just isn't enough; it requires translation into meaningful commercial terms, and to do that you need reliable management, military-style organisation and keen, perceptive involvement from the artist himself...

I know Little Richard and he told me that he went through two fortunes. He could not read or writ, he had a couple of managers who he trusted blindly and they took him for everything he and. In 1972 he had a two year break, went to Australia and learnt to ready and write. Hey, these are horror stories, man!

Now there are some of narrow mind and jaded palate who choose to dismiss W.A.S.P as all over-hyped show and no substance - you've heard the whispers - so to them I say hold on tight to something solid as I break the new that the band was initially assembled by Blackie not to rape and pillage live but as a pure studio project. He had some songs and he wanted to get them down, the idea being to work on a three-voice attack backed by hefty melody lines and resounding chords…

I knew the guys could record well, explains Blackie, cos they'd all done studio work before. So we went in and it sounded pretty good - it just started to gel. Then we chose a name that was controversial, and the image and the show just developed from there.

I'm sure the reason the stages how came about was because we'd all been cooped up in studios for so many years that when we finally got out we were like a bunch of wild animals doing anything and everything we wanted. That's when all the rumors started…

I mean, we took some rats one night and put them on the stage. We had them in a cage and that's all we did. But now stories have got around that we let them out into the audience, and when we came to England we had to sign a piece of paper every night before going on to the effect that we would not release live rats into the crowd. The Mecca organization made us do that!

Certainly, W.A.S.P's arrival on these shores put the fear of the devil into many, upping the sales of rosaries, holy water and garlic almost overnight. At certain shows people could even be seen dropping to their knees in silent prayer, and in Nottingham the local clergy challenged Blackie to a Good vs Evil debate on TV news.

When the pope calls I'll think about it was the typical Lawless response, but that didn't stop the camera crew coming down to soundcheck to record a few words anyway. Totally daft really, since W.A.S.P are the last band to try and convert anyone to any cause.

Having seen Elvis for the first time when he was five, and never forgotten the experience, Blackie has long been a staunch defender of roots rock fresh from the source, being dead against the use of this "sacred art form" for any type of preaching, religious or otherwise. There was a time '76 when, as a reaction against a heavy, heavy religious background (his uncle was a preacher, his grandfather a deacon and his father a Sunday School superintendent) he became a serious student of the occult, attending black masses and even walking out with a witch - a gorgeous looking creature - but now all that's in the past.

Sister, his infamous pre-W.A.S.P. outfit, also featuring Chris Holmes, reflected this interest to a degree, being the first band in Los Angeles to adopt the now almost obligatory pentagram and eat worms. But ask him about it today and he'll tell you that frankly it's all a bunch of hogwash, not a patch on Little Richard, Willie Nelson or The Beatles…

Which is the essential difference between Sister and W.A.S.P; Blackie's Boys, it's clear, are simply out to dispense rather generous portions of old fashioned F.U.N, to which noble end - after due consideration with manager Rod Smallwood - they've now pumped a cool hundred grand into a brand new stage production based on the theme of a Harley Davidson chopper, a strong central motif in a champagne plan comprehensively charted until the end of '86, with the second album scheduled for late August release.

There'll be no more meat throwing and no more neck cutting (the rack will remain in some form, however), but definitely count on some spectacular Rock 'N' Roll action of the humour-tingled, non-progressive kind…