Scott Weiland's heroin problem grounded the Stone Temple Pilots. Can he put drugs and grunge behind him and make it as a glam rocker?
by Lorraine Ali
from Rolling Stone April 16, 1998
"That's the guy from Stone Temple Pilots?" asks a disbelieving waiter at the exclusive restaurant atop the Peninsula Beverly Hills Hotel, where Stone Temple Pilots singer Scott Weiland is having lunch and talking aboout his solo debut, 12 Bar Blues, "I saw them play last year, and that is not the same person."
The thirty year old Weiland hardly resembles his former self- his six-foot frame is down to 145 pounds, his formerly cherubic face is gaunt, and his golden hair is not brittle and black. His demeanor has changed, too. While Weiland used to appear uneasy with the attention brought on by STP's mullitplatinum success, ne now basks in the glow of patrons staring as he saunters across the patio in a wide-brimmed pimp hat, groovy scarf, and big, round Gucci sunglasses. Once seated, he draws more attention to himself by embarking on loud tangents on everything from masturbation to Eastern drug philosohpies, intermittenly breaking into song ("Fly me to the moon...") and- in his most inspired moments- jumping to his feet to feverishly demonstrate a point.
"I like rock stars," says Weiland, "I'm a rock star. I'm glad rock stars and supermodels are becoming popular again. They are the only superheroes we have. Because life is painful, life sucks, you want things that seem fun, exciting."
The role of carefree pop star is one Weiland has grabbed onto as though it were a life preserver in a storm. In the past year alone, STP ousted their singer after he violated a contract to stay clean while touring; his wife of three years left him; he underwent rehab for a nasty heroin habit; and, if that's not enough, he developed an obsession with his weight. Though Weiland the escapist has been able to outwardly reinvent himself, just how this fragile, flighty man was able to pull off the realities of a making a record and launching a solo career seems a mystery.
Weiland's longtime friend Victor Indrizzo, his drummer and writing partner for 12 Bar Blues, says Weiland "clung to work,'cause it's the only thing to make you sane when your life's falling apart." The singer, who says he's been sober six months, built his own studio (which he fashioned to look like an opium den) while still on tour with STP last year; negotiated a solo record deal with STP's label, Atlantic; and spent months writing with Indrizzo and countless hours recording. But Weiland also has a support team around him at all times to make it all possible. At the hotel, his mom and an assistant have also checked in, his publicist stays nearby,and his estranged wife, Janina, waits back in his room. Those around Weiland often affectionately refer to him as a child, but like support beams, they seem to be here to keep him from crumbling.
"I'm like a combination of David Bowie and Henry Rollins," exlpains Weiland, who can't stop talking, even while drinking, and now has droplets of cappacino rolling down his chin. "I like the flash and glamour, I like driving nice cars, but I'm so dedicated in my ambition, it's almost overwhelming. I learned alot from Henry Rollins. He told me, 'Hey man you've gotta have self-discipline. If you lose that you lose self respect and people don't believe in you anymore.' I found that to be totally, exactly, nothing but the utter truth."
Weiland says his self repsect took major blows during his five years with the Pilots. "Making out last album was brutal," he says. "I was the whipping boy. They just beat the shit out of me." This solo album is a declaration of his own talent. It's a creepy mix of lounge tunes, melodramatic pop cabaret and nihilistic, self-loathing lyrics. In the glammy first single, "Barbarella," he begs the sci-fi sex kitten to save him from his misery: "I'm a selfish piece of shit." Later, in "Cool Kiss" he whispers, "Kill me, thrill me, kill me." To propel the music, Weiland hired ex-Porno for Pyros bassist Martyn LeNoble and guitarist Peter DiStefano along with Indrizzo and guitarist Tim Gilman, then brought in producer Daniel Lanois to add the final, surreal touches. It's quite a departure from the Led Zeppelin-like sound of the Pilots. But early reactions from the STP fan base seem to be more concerned with Weiland's appearence and demeanor that with his music. "I know I'm thin, but I like to be limber when I move around onstage, like a ballet dancer," he says, lifting up his tight black shirt to show off a toned but pinched torso. Weiland constantly checks himself out in the hotel's many mirrors or in the reflection of its glass doors and windows. He is obsessed with his appearence.
"Some people are naturals when the camera starts rolling, and some aren't," says Weiland, who, in order to stave off hiccups, puts his head between his legs, causing the restaurant manage to scurry over in a panic. "But I think it's made those guys [in STP]feel uncomfortable because it came so easy for me. If Courtney Love and I were sitting together, you could get five hours of tape. She and I are close friends, and we can work a journalist like nobody's business. I think my band felt jealous."
He relationship wiht fellow STp members, who released an album last fall under the name Talk Show with a new singer, is tenous. He is angry ("They fucked me"), then forgiving ("I love those guys"). He says that STP will continue as a band but adds that he would not collaborate with them now because it would "distract from my solo career."
Weiland talks at length about his dismassal from STP, as if trying to understadn why it happened. "The day the limos came to pick us up to go to Anchorage, Alaska and do a show," Weiland says, "I called Dean [DeLeo] to tell him I had slipped two times: 'I've got a little bit of a habit. I'm going to bring meds so I can detox on the road.- just Vicadin and Valium.' Then Dean called back and said, 'We cancelled the shows. We can't rely on you.' I was like, 'What do you mean? It was only a three day slip!' He said, 'We're tired of this; we don't want to have anything to do with you.' I just said, 'Fine! Have a good life.'"
Inside is $750-a-night bungalow at the Peninsula, where Janina is watching TV, Weiland pulls out a journal labeled "Words 'n Stuff," flips past Dave Navarros' phone number and ultrapersoneal notes to his wife, then stops at a sketch of a stage plan for his next tour, which is slated for late spring. Notations read "blood-red velvet curtain," "two female go-go dancers," "red chinese lanterns," etc. "Being a solo artist is both vulnerable and freeing," says Weiland dreamily. "If there's a fuck-up, it's because of me. If there is stuff that's beautiful, if people are touched by it, it's because of me, too."
But that freedom is not enough for Weiland to rule out an STP reunion. "It would have to take the four of us getting away to Bali on a deserted island, totally rustic," he says. "Just surfing, enjoying music. Just rbing acoustic guitars and hand drums, sit on the beach, just where the water's breaking, quiet, in the middle of the night."
