Читать книгу Bringing Metal To The Children: The Complete Berserker’s Guide to World Tour Domination - Rob Zombie - Страница 7

I’VE BEEN IN SHOW BUSINESS FOR OVER TWENTY YEARS AND IN THAT time, between wrestling, music, writing books, and acting, I’ve met a lot of characters: freaks, geeks, sheiks, big jerks, young turks, Captain Kirks, Aussies, Ozzys, Fozzys, chicks, pricks, dicks, dicks with chicks, chicks with dicks, and everything in between. But I’ve never met anyone like Zakk Wylde. In a world infested with obnoxious egomaniacs, backstabbing charlatans, temperamental prima donnas (of which I confess I am one), world-class fakes, and all-around Grade-A Assholes, Zakk Wylde is real.

A real nice guy.

A real family man.

A real fan of music.

A real kick-ass guitar player.

And a real stinky son of a bitch.

Yeah, stinky! You want an example? One afternoon, following one of our notorious all-night drinking binges in New York City, I met up with Zakk and noticed he was wearing the exact same clothes he’d been wearing while throwing back cocktails the night before. His hair was a cross between Bozo the Clown’s and Dee Snider’s circa 1984, and good lord in heaven did he reek of alcohol and odors I’ve never smelled before or since.

“Great Caesar’s ghost, Zakk!” I bellowed in disgust. “Why don’t you take a shower?”

“Vikings didn’t have showers, brutha,” Zakk replied.

“Yeah, and Vikings didn’t travel in their own private tour buses and sleep in the Waldorf hotel either. Take a shower, ya fuckin’ scumbag!”

And therein lies the genius of Zakky. He is a stellar musician and one of the greatest guitar artists of any generation, a man who has written some of the most classic riffs and songs in Heavy Metal history. He is a talented vocalist with a style completely his own and a vastly underrated piano player who can make grown men weep with his emotional ballads. But he is also a guy who considers himself to be some sort of Nordic warrior and has no problem farting in public, bragging about his sexual prowess (but only with his Immortal Beloved, Barbaranne), using more cuss words than a fleet of soused sailors, and washing that confused mess he calls his hair at best once a week, probably much less.

As I said, Zakk is real.

Really funny.

Really genuine.

Really obsessed with James Hellwig.

Really respected by one Chris Jericho.

And now really sober.

Yeah, you read that right. Sober. Zakk is one of rock ’n’ roll’s last true characters and the tales of his drunkocity will live on in the annals of rock history forever. I should know; I was a part of many of them. But Zakk was getting near the end of his lifetime cocktail punch card, and instead of using it up taking a seat at the bar in God’s tavern with so many of his peers and heroes, Zakk chose to stop. Cold turkey. No therapy, no rehab, no Dr. Drew. He just stopped. And that’s what I respect most about my friend. He recognized the problem and eliminated it. And he’s a funnier, more talented, better man for it. I’m proud of him for that.

Now without the excess booze baggage, Iron Chef Zakk is out there working harder than ever to make those doughnuts. This book explains in every way, shape, and form how he has created those delicious treats for the last twenty-plus years and how he will continue to do so for decades to come. Zakk discusses what it takes to become an SDMF-certified Berzerker and will take you step by step through the mind of a Truuuuu Rockaaaaaa!!

So sit back and enjoy. Pay attention; read slowly and maybe you’ll find out a little of what makes our intrepid protagonist tick. And maybe you’ll understand why he always wanted to be a Solid Gold dancer.

And that’s for real.

Chris Jericho

October 4, 2011

Lady Gaga’s dressing room