Scott Weiland: My Distincitve Idol

The nightly mist had kissed my hair, as it became damp and unruly. I would have been upset if it was any other day, but that night, it didn’t matter. I was about to experience one of my greatest dreams come true. It was November 1st, 2015. That night was the night where my childhood self would meet my adult self. Not literally of course, but I would finally see one of my favorite rock and roll stars, since I was a little girl, perform live. 

For this occasion, I invited my right-hand man and wing-man, Jack. We dressed fashionably and celebrated this dream with a fancy dinner and even fancier champagne. I was so ecstatic, singing all the songs and dancing on our walk from Harris’ Steak House on Van Ness down the street to the Social Hall. While the opening band played, we toasted with some more champagne and scoped the crowd...I mean, Jack is my wing-man after all. Then, Scott Weiland came out. The crowd cheered and I was so happy and excited, that I somehow managed to spill my glass of champagne on my dress and the floor.The bassist for Scott’s band, Tommy Black, and I had met while the opening band was playing and he was checking out the stage from the audience’s point of view. He said he’d introduce me to Scott after the show and he kept his promise. I was anxiously waiting outside the venue, in front of their tour bus--I know, such a groupie, but I’m not ashamed. 

He was just how I imagine he’d be in person. He sang many Stone Temple Pilot songs and Velvet Revolver. In all honesty, he did not perform as great as I had anticipated and it was so obvious that he was on drugs--but I wasn’t sure which ones. Surely, this concert took place only weeks before he passed away and I am forever grateful to the universe for allowing me such an opportunity. Tommy came out first and then Scott. He was thin and I could see the fine lines on his face, so telling of his age and of his struggles. I promptly stuck out my hand and I squealed with glee, “Scott! Scott! I am a big fan and I have been since I was a young girl and I’m now 23!”.

He stopped and looked at me and then continued to chat. I told him he was my hero and that I used to blast his songs when I played baseball and it helped me keep going and practice until my hands blistered and bled during batting practice. And that my best friend and love in high school would play ‘Sour Girl” whenever I was mad at him and I’d laugh and get over it immediately. I also got to take a picture with him, alas we don’t look our best. As he was high as a kite and I had had ¾ of a bottle of Dom Perignon. Surely, we were two peas in a pod then. I asked him if he was feeling okay and I was getting upset, why wasn’t anyone doing anything to look after him?! Here was one of my rock idols, looking so helpless. I squeezed his hand and all he could mumble were some lyrics from one of his songs, "went too fast, I’m out of luck and I don’t even give a…”.

This alone should have foreshadowed his death. Some scummy looking guy, not sure if he was the manager or promoter, whisked him away as Scott looked back at me. It was as if the universe was filming its own movie because the mist turned to rain. My hair was wet and I walked down an alley in my pink dress and heels to meet Jack at a bar on Polk street. I pulled up a seat next to him and ordered more champagne, and I said, “Well Jack, I met him…”