I was fourteen or something close to that when I really got hooked. It happened right down the street, at my friend’s house. His older brother was the one on the block with the records, and I remember sitting there in his room with my friend when that guy dropped the needle. That was it —I was done. That guy had a fuckin’ kickin’ JBL/Pioneer system and he was blasting Zeppelin, and the only way I could make sense of everything I was feeling was to say to my friend, “Dude, your brother rules!” I was still a little kid then and that guy turned his bro and me on to Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, Van Halen, Cheap Trick, Ted Nugent, and Deep Purple. What a fucking gift. I was like, “Oh my God, this is fucking insane!” He’d play a song for us and I’d start jumping up and down, yelling, “Play it again! Play it again!” I’m still like that. When I think about how much time has gone by since then and how much music I’ve heard and how much music I’ve made, I’m so happy to say that the way I experience powerful music has not changed a bit. When I hear a song that gives me goose bumps, I play it over and over again until I’ve absorbed every bit of what’s going on. I play it until I burn it out. It’s a good thing technology has moved beyond records because I’d have a graveyard of worn-down, baldass vinyl behind my house by now. A great song hits me on so many levels. I hear it as a musician first, dissecting the chords and parts, analyzing the production, the effects, and how the final product was crafted. It’s like a puzzle that I love working on and that I have to understand. After I’ve put all the pieces together—which might take several weeks—I hear it as a fan. And as a fan, I take in the song or album’s full impact: the message the artist is trying to get across and the emotion involved. Music at its most basic and its most complicated is simply just communication. It is communication on many levels, from the heart to the mind to the soul. I hear rhythm first—of course I do, I’m a drummer. The rhythm locks me in first most of the time, then the bits of the song that reflect my life in some way. If a song is truly amazing though, it doesn’t have to have a message, feel, or vibe that has anything to do with my experience of this world. If the singer, the guitarist, or the band as a whole bare their soul well enough in those three, four, five, or six fucking minutes, they will reach me. If the lyricist and the musicians are really, honestly, laying it down, I can feel it. And that is what music is all about: telling stories, no matter what they are, that hit the listener in 3-D: mind, body, and soul.

If a song is real—whether it’s pop, rock, rap, r&b, reggae—any style can touch the entire world if it’s real. It hurts me that the state of music right now is so fucked up. Music has become an industry of copycats put out by the labels for profit. Everyone sounds the same, and everyone looks the same. I don’t know if it’s the powers that be or the artists themselves, but when I look around, it seems to me that all the hip-hop dudes are wearing basketball jerseys from their favorite teams and that’s it. That looks cool and all, but damn—this is entertainment. Change it up, dudes! The rock dudes are the same, and so are the pop stars. Music is such a versatile art form that everyone can be different, sound different, look different, and tell very different stories—so why aren’t they? And hey, what happened to the rock star? There doesn’t seem to be any new rock stars out there, no one captivating and strange and alien like there used to be, like Led Zeppelin and David Bowie. Whatever.

It’s hard for me to talk about music, because when something is so much a part of me and so important to me, it’s hard to capture the feelings in words. I’m just going to list a few of so many bands and albums that have moved me then, now, and still will tomorrow.

 

That band sends me back to the womb, and it’s scary. I had Christmas dinner at my house this one time with my ex-fiancée Mayte and some friends. I was cooking and hosting, and after we’d all eaten and were just chilling out, I put that album on and I can’t even describe what happened next. All of a sudden I’m walking around my house in a trance. I laid down on the floor and curled up like I was an infant. I couldn’t talk and I couldn’t move—all I could do was listen and be still. There’s some kind of amazing subliminal science going on in their music and I don’t know what the hell it is. They are from Iceland and they don’t sing in English, but there’s a message there, if you want to hear it, that sounds like a complex and weird mix of angels and noise. If you tap into the vibe they create, you will go on a journey, wherever your mind will take you. That Christmas, it really hit me and I had no idea where I was anymore. I left my body—I mean fully left—and I was right at home, the place I know best. For a band to take me, or anyone, that far away from what they know the best is an incredible achievement. That night, when the music hit me, all I could do was lie down and feel the floor and listen. I wasn’t sleeping, I wasn’t sad—I still don’t know what I was: I was simply in the space they created. One of the greatest things about their music is that they called the album Untitled. It leaves everything open, letting the listener paint the sound canvas however they want to. The songs don’t have titles and the album art work doesn’t have clear pictures or anything else to root the music to an image or an idea. It is up to the listener to decide what the music is all about. That is what froze me up and stopped me in my tracks. It sent me into myself, very powerfully and immediately. It’s an incredible thing to accomplish, because their art isn’t a performance, it’s an invitation to be a part of what they’ve made. I was happy to be invited and I got way too into it. Mayte shut it off because she thought I was heading somewhere far too weird, and she was worried that I’d never come back.

 

My only regret in this life is that I never got to meet or see my hero John Bonham beat the shit out of a drum kit live. By the time I would’ve been able to see Zeppelin in California, Mötley was just getting off the ground. And after that I was on tour full-time and never had the chance to see him before he passed away. He was the greatest fucking drummer I’ve ever heard. If only I could have seen him, if only there had been some way while he was alive for me to tell him or, in any other way, pay my respects to the effect he’s had on my life—I don’t know what I’d give to be able to do that. Probably far too much. I don’t even know what to say. How can I tell anyone what his drumming did to my life? He fucking rocked me and he defined how I think about rhythm. Bonham made me realize exactly what drums had the power to do.

Rock-and-roll when it’s great is a complex monster. It’s dynamic, a unit full of parts, like all amazing music: There’s the singer, there’s the guitar player, and a lot of people only pay attention to them. But you know what? I don’t care what anyone says—those guys aren’t the ones moving the house. The drums and beats do that, people. And that goes for whatever music you listen to. Drums are the base: They’re tribal, they’re primal, and they are the earliest form of music we know. Drum beats come from the rhythm that starts us off in this world, the first music we hear—our mothers’ heartbeat in the womb. Drums and rhythm are as simple and as complex as that. When you see 60,000 people going off, whether it’s at a rave, a rock show, a rap show, or a freakin’ parade or ceremony of whatever kind, I guarantee you the proceedings begin and end with the beat of a drum. That is the source. When I heard how Bonham did it, I freaked the fuck out. I can’t even begin to fully capture how I felt when I first rocked the house, or what it is like, sitting on my drum throne in a stadium, arena, or even a little club, with a kick-ass bunch of players waiting for me to start the fucking fire. That’s what a drummer does, and it’s a powerful position. Once you know you’re good enough and once you really know what you can do back there, and once when you’ve got an arsenal of songs to tear it up, it’s incredible. You look out into the crowd and you just think, “I’ve got all you motherfuckers right now. Let’s rip!” There’s been moments when I can’t believe it. I’ve watched entire arenas bouncing in time. And you know, my bandmates might do their thing, but it’s something fucking else to look out there and watch the people moving their bodies to what I’m doing. They’re not bouncing to the lyrics, they’re not bouncing to the guitar, they’re bouncing to the drums. I guess I got off the subject. Hey! Guys! Mr. Page and Mr. Plant, and Mr. John Paul Jones! If you do another Zep tour anytime soon, please call my ass—you won’t be disappointed!!!!

 

I’ll never forget hearing their cover of the Kinks’s “You Really Got Me” on the radio and thinking, “Daaaaaaamn! No fuckin’ way!” I really couldn’t believe it when I heard “Eruption.” Eddie’s guitar solo and tone was so fresh to my ears—it was nothing I’d ever heard before. I lost it just like every guitar player and rock fan on the planet did. Their first record changed my life. Then I saw them live at Long Beach Arena, and there I was standing on my chair the whole fuckin’ time trippin’ out on how this unreal band served everyone the heaviest shit around at the time. Thanks dudes! That was a great night for me: I snuck out of my window, jumped off the roof into the tree next to it, climbed down, and hopped in my friend’s car. And I stood on my seat in the arena rocking the fuck out all night.

 

Cheap Trick opened up for Mötley in 1986 for nine of our U.K. shows. We were really hitting our stride, and I couldn’t believe it—to me, it was insane that we weren’t opening up for them. They were my heroes. Dude, I sat out on the side of the stage every night watching Cheap Trick, my favorite band of all time, play—and every night I was amazed, speechless, and just like, “Woah.” It wasn’t even their heaviest period—back then a lot of my heroes were doing pop. Trick had just released “The Flame,” Robert Plant was doing the Honeydrippers, and Bowie was doing his pop thing. Mötley was in the middle of our craziest shit, but even then I could understand how those guys, who’d all been through a bunch of shit, wanted to do something new, more mellow, and mature. It was so cool to see Cheap Trick in that phase of their career, totally able to shift gears into their old stuff too, and hold it all together because they’re such amazing bad-ass players. And they were on that tour as they always are, every single night. Guys...if you only knew how much you’ve inspired me with your melodies and songs. Words escape me. Again... thank you. All I can say is go see them—they’re still touring and as bad-ass as ever.

 

One of my new favorite bands—wow! To me they are a blend of Radiohead and Coldplay. You all must hear them—you’ll be thanking me later.*

 

My love of funk was the one thing that separated me from a lot of my bandmates and friends growing up. In the late seventies and early eighties, unless a dude was a drummer, or black, most rock guys had no love for the funk. To me, that music was the black equivalent of the rock I was listening to. It is so musical: There are horns; guitars; amazing, soulful singers; and players that kick ass. I couldn’t stop listening to it: It had great rhythms, it was sexy, you could dance to it, and you sure as hell could fuck to it.

 

Funk was the original hip-hop—it was party music, it had a story, and sometimes it had a meaningful social message. I listened to a lot of funk when I was practicing the drums. I’d sit in my room with my headphones on learning funky beats for days, weeks, months, and years. It gave me more of a swing than the other rock drummers I knew, and I’ve used the lessons from the hallowed halls of funk ever since. And anyone who says rock-and-roll and funk aren’t cousins is crazy. I used a fill from the Gap Band’s “You Dropped a Bomb on Me” in “Girls, Girls, Girls.” If you don’t believe me, go listen to both of them right now.

So without further ado, here’s a list of thanks to my funk professors:

Prince

 

It’s such a huge, diverse genre I don’t know where to start. Fuck it, let’s start at the start—with my definition: Electronic music is made by machines, designed by maniacs out there in Gizmology Land (one of my favorite places to be!) who have found a way to make machines capable of doing whatever you want them to. I couldn’t believe it the first time I was shown that a computer could do what I wanted to do to music. I kept thinking, “What? I can program this thing to do whatever I want? Are you kidding me?! Let me at it!”

I first recorded with computers in 1984, when I was writing songs for the Girls, Girls, Girls record. That’s where “Wild Side” came from. I played a chunky guitar riff and chopped it into sixteenth notes on the computer—because I could. When I heard the result I freaked! And so did my band. That was it—I was hooked. That said, the technology at the time was the biggest reason not to be into it at all. I used an Apple IIci and if any of you computer geeks like me out there remember that ancient piece of shit, it was hell. It took forever because by today’s standards it was as powerful as a really good calculator, and it had shitty sound cards. It was totally wack—but I did not care! Manipulating sound like that was a whole new world to me, and I’ve been discovering how big that world is ever since and loving how it continues to expand.

The truth is, the human feel can never be replaced because a machine can not reproduce the imperfections, soul, and style of someone communicating feeling like only people can. At the same time, the rigidity of a computer cannot be reproduced either. When you mix both of them together, you create a marriage that yields something completely inspiring and original. It is a union of opposites that allows for so many possibilities and accidents. Whenever I’ve tried new things, like taking a new piece of gear out of the box and fucking with it without ever cracking the manual, I’ve come up with some of the coolest parts I’ve ever written. In my life, as in the lives of so many other artists I’ve spoken to, the coolest things have happened by trial and error—they’ve been those beautiful mistakes that were meant to be. To me that is the legacy of computers and electronic music. Computers have freed up imagination in all the arts, from movies, music, architecture, and design to every creative field you can name. If you can dream it, a computer can make it. And there’s no limit to dreams.

Anyway, here you go. Here is a list of bands across genres, from industrial rock to dance music to hip-hop, that opened my ears and my soul to whatever new sound was created by smashing human and robot together.

Nine Inch Nails

 

Get yourself some headphones and some cardboard boxes, trash cans and lids—hell, whatever you can destroy without consequences and just play, play, play! That’s how I did it: I put on what I loved, listened, and did it! Here are a few of the albums that taught me what’s what:

The Sweet, Desolation Boulevard

I’ve done my best to dive deep and lay down my earliest influences. These made a huge mark—they got me started and it hasn’t stopped. At this point in my life, there are way too many to list. I am a musician first and still a huge fan second—and I think that’s even more important. I listen to just about everything, except country music (sorry, cowboys—my dad played that shit all the time and kinda wrecked it for me). God bless music and the people who make it. It was always there for me all the times I needed it. It was there for me no matter what was going on, no matter what went wrong, and no matter what I did. It still is and always will be! I will always love you, music, as you’ve always loved me!