Devils & Blue Dresses: My Wild Ride as a Rock and Roll Legend

the foot. So in addition to A.A. meetings and getting a sponsor, I began seeing a psychologist.
    Randy, over the years, became one of only a few men I could trust to be honest with me. He helped me repair a lot of the damage I had done. He helped me see life as something not to be wasted, but more than anything, he helped me get over the bitterness I used to justify my rage and self-destruction as a result of the music industry. When that happened, a great change came to my music as well. Not that it had ever been boiling over with rage or bitterness. No. My music now became more precious and demanding; kind of like a growing child. I was changing for the better in body and soul. Not a lot at first, but definitely in a direction I hadn’t seen in decades.
    In my mind, it appeared that Kimberly wasn’t about to change, and in spite of my re-dedication to my art, I still held on to parts of my original mold that was my parent’s gift to me as a child. I continued looking for that thing called love, even though I still did not know the meaning of the word. Maybe what I was really looking for was companionship, because I knew for certain what it felt like to love music, but humans . . . that was another question. So, I began seeing other women in increased volume.
    Things on the road were making a dramatic change, too. For the first time Randy was approached by two promoters who wanted me to become a part of a package show. I was unfamiliar with package shows and how they worked, unless you wanted to go all the way back to the sixties with the Dick Clark Caravan of Stars, but all of those acts appeared with their own bands. The promoters, Donnie Brooks and Ron Kurtz, wanted me to appear as a solo artist backed by a common band for the entire show. I initially refused, but Randy convinced them to let me bring my band.
    In the future, as I became more confident with the situation, I did a good number of performances that way. In addition, the new advent to occur in music was the hiring of artists for work at the ever-growing number of casinos that were springing up all over. We had done Vegas and Atlantic City, but in coming years, thanks to the foresight of white men seeking justice for the Native Americans, hundreds of new casinos would open on tribal reservations. If there were only two descendants of any particular native tribe, it was probably enough for selfless white men and women to help them extract revenge on the scurrilous descendants of whites who, centuries earlier, had stolen their land and their dignity. It was as if white people thought ignorant Native Americans needed white guides to help them navigate the deceiving intentions of fork-tongued businessmen. Hell, I could use that myself.
    So that became the routine. Casinos, package shows, and solo appearances with my band. Fortunately, that was only in America. Don’t get me wrong. Work is work and I was grateful, but what I had in Europe was so much more special and dignified.
    My interest and attention was now fully focused on almost yearly releases of new material, a regular steady band, and legitimate tours of Europe which, when held in contrast to my condition the States, was quite good for my ego. Most American artists don’t even consider Europe as a market worth exploiting. It is, for many, somewhere to make quick money when they need it. I viewed Europe as a place to freely practice my art, and in light of the fact that the industry in America no longer considered me relevant, I also viewed Europe as my salvation and a means to remain sane.
    One of my favorite stories is about Bob Seger, who to my knowledge has made only one or two trips to Europe in his entire career. His publisher was talking to me and said that he had been holding onto royalty checks for Bob for well over a year and a half that were worth several hundred thousand dollars, and that the Seger management didn’t feel it necessary to collect. Ah, the good life.

     
a window to my soul
     
    
Comparing East to West in Germany was to contrast poverty against wealth. Germans who lived under the communist government all had jobs (mostly ones they may not have liked), housing, health care, and education, but not much more. After the Russians took control of the East in 1945, the short story was simply about holding onto their conquered territories and bleeding them dry. Their factories were damaged or old, and ecologically damaging. Their rivers were foaming with deadly