分享
MidReal 故事
Resonance Overcame: The Steve Clark Story
设定:Def Leppard guitarist Steve Clark tells the story of how he survived his alcohol addiction in 1991, then toured with the band on the Adrenalize tour, before beginning work on the band's next album, Slang.
创建我的版本
Steve Clark
guitarist of Def Leppard,friends with bandmates and struggles with addiction,tall with unkempt hair,resilient but plagued by inner turmoil
Joe Elliott
lead singer of Def Leppard,close friend and confidant to Steve Clark,has a strong build and charismatic presence,supportive yet stern when needed
Rick Allen
drummer of Def Leppard,bandmate and source of inspiration to Steve Clark,athletic build despite his amputation,optimistic and encouraging
Chapter 1
I was a mess.
I was a fucking mess, and I knew it.
The guys in the band knew it, too.
They’d been trying to help me for years, but I just couldn’t seem to get my shit together.
I’d go through periods where I’d be sober for a while, but then something would happen, and I’d fall off the wagon again.
And when I fell off the wagon, I fell hard.
I drank myself into oblivion every night on the Adrenalize tour in 1992.
Somehow, I managed to keep my problem hidden from the public—until the final show of the tour in October.
We were playing in Bonn, Germany, and I was so shitfaced that I could barely play my guitar.
In fact, if it hadn’t been for Rick Allen’s clicking hi-hats in my headphones, I wouldn’t have played anything—I couldn’t even hear myself over all of the noise I was making.
And then there was Joe’s look:
He turned around and shot me this look of pure disgust and disappointment, and it cut through me like a knife.
As soon as the show was over, I walked offstage and headed straight for the dressing room without looking at anyone.
I didn’t want to meet anyone’s eyes—I knew they were all thinking the same thing that Joe had just shown me.
And they were right.
That night, I drank so much vodka that I passed out in my hotel room.
When I woke up the next morning, my head was pounding, and my mouth tasted like death.
I felt like hell—and then Phil Collen walked into the room.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he said as soon as he saw me.
"You were terrible last night."
I glared at him through bleary eyes and tried to focus on his face.
"Go to hell," I slurred.
"I don’t have to listen to this shit from you."
Phil just shook his head and walked out of the room, but his words kept echoing in my head: You were terrible last night.
Yeah, I had been terrible, but it wasn’t because I’d forgotten how to play guitar overnight—it was because of all of the booze that I’d put into my system.
I was sitting on my couch in my London flat, nursing yet another beer when Joe came over and plopped down in the seat across from me.
"You’ve been drunk every night since we left rehab," he said without preamble.
"It’s not good for you."
I stared at him belligerently, trying to ignore the way his words made something inside of me ache.
"That’s not true," I said finally.
"I can handle it. It’s fine."
Joe just shook his head and continued to watch me steadily.
"We’re going back on tour in three weeks," he said quietly after a long pause.
"And if you play even one show like you did in Bonn last year…I don’t know what I’ll do. But it won’t be good."
I opened my mouth to argue with him again, but he held up his hand and cut me off before I could say anything.
"Look," he said, sighing deeply.
"I’m not trying to yell at you. But I care about you, and so do the other guys. We can see what this is doing to you—what it’s done to you already. So why don’t you just take a break for a while? See if you can go a few days without drinking."
I wanted to argue with him, but the truth was…he was right.
I’d been drunk every night since leaving rehab in Los Angeles, and even though I’d kept telling myself that it was fine, nothing bad would happen…something inside of me knew that wasn’t true.
But still…
One night wouldn’t hurt anything, would it?
"One night," I told Joe firmly as I stumbled over to the bar and poured myself another drink.
"That’s all."
He nodded slowly and patted me on the back as he stood up to leave.
I watched him go, then turned around and poured myself another drink.
I was already looking forward to tonight—the bars were open late in London, and I had no doubt that I’d be able to find someone who could hook me up with whatever I needed.
"Slang" - the eleventh studio album by Def Leppard
1996
I was so fucking drunk, I could barely see straight—and I didn’t know why I did this to myself.
It wasn’t like there was a reason for me to get this drunk; it wasn’t like I was trying to drown out the pain of some tragedy or anything like that.