The Story of Red Wedding

"Twenty years after the fact, I still remember the first time I saw Red Wedding. It was at Madame Wong's East and I had gotten one of many free tickets with which clubs used to paper the places back then. I was 20, single and passionate about what was known then as the underground music scene ( I certainly had no use for the popular bands of the day such as Journey or the Eagles).

The moment Red Wedding began playing, I was transfixed. The style, the sound, the physical beauty of these boy-men hit me hard. Ultimately it was the music, though, that kept me in my seat, eyes riveted. I was floored by the echoes of Roxy Music and Bowie that had been fashioned into something new, yet oddly familiar. The Edwardian dress reminiscent of my childhood idol, Mick Jagger, circa 1971, the dramatic makeup, the lanky, charismatic singer, and a guitarist whose technical skill (he's still up there with Jeff Beck and Mick Taylor in my book) was matched note for note with a Hendrix-like passion, completed the picture.

I was in love. The lyrics appealed to my love of imagery and poetry and mystery. Though I couldn't make them all out at the time, I heard shards and lines and phrases that were evocative of Bryan Ferry and poets Rimbaud and Ezra Pound and Wallace Stevens. Those writers' poems, along with Ferry's lyrics, were highly visual, richly opaque and carried multiple layers of meaning. That's what I was hearing here, too. And the more I got to know the lyrics intimately, the more I knew I was accurate in making these comparisons.

The keyboard player also caught my eye; he had one of those sculpted faces with high cheekbones, alabaster skin and, again, that androgynous quality I'd always admired. Was he gay? If I thought about it at all, which I doubt, it only made him that much more appealing. (Yes, I was one of THOSE girls - I despise the term "fag hag," as I find it insulting to all concerned, but I'd always had many gay men as friends.)

I approached the bass player, probably the most approachable of the bunch as he was young and small and vulnerable. Do you have a manager? Do you need one? I had spent two years in the music business and had always followed my gut. My desire to manage the band was simple: I believed in these guys, I was passionate about the music and I had overwhelming urge to help these guys "make it". Eventually, this led to a meeting with the band and an agreement that we would give it a try. They were cautious, at first, waiting to see if I was reliable, if they could trust a 20-year-old with their careers, yet once I was in, I was in.

Michael became one of my best friends and Marc O became my obsession. The first gig at which I was officially their manager was at the Brave Dog sometime during the mid-summer. That first night, Marc O and I "made out" in my car. He was enraptured by my total admiration and perhaps a bit curious. (That was the extent of our actual romance, the rest was conducted in my head.) I was in love....I thought, something which became increasingly painful and caused the dynamics between Marc, Michael (Marc's best friend) and I to become infinitely complex.

I now see it as a fantasy love, an obsession with the unobtainable and self-destructive for me. Despite that, there was something intense between Marc and me for as long as we were friends. He did have an attraction to me in some strange inexplicable way - his nickname for me was Glamour Puss — and he loved to advise me on clothing and makeup. I was his mannequin at times and at others he was Narcissus staring into the pond of my adoration while I reflected back to him his captivation with himself.

My relationship with Michael was quite different. We were very close; we could see each other every day and still spend an additional hour on the phone talking about everything from religion, music and politics to how much we hated the sun and hot weather ( I find it amusing that Michael now lives near Tucson!) I also shared my inner struggles with depression and my loneliness with Michael and he was always there for me.

Most people saw me as upbeat, outgoing, self-confident and unafraid. Michael was one of the few who saw my vulnerable side and loved me still. At the same time Michael was my confidante, in my role as manager, I was his rock. Michael shared his panic and fear about each upcoming performance with me, and I would reassure him night after night, before and after each gig. He worried about his performance, his voice, the band and the material. The fears were unjustified, I knew, but being insecure myself, I understood his feelings and could intuitively offer him what he needed. I felt endlessly patient with Michael and believe he knew I loved him unconditionally and believed in the band completely.

In a way, I relished my role as the one he could rely on for reassurance for two reasons: First and foremost, I felt this was my contribution to the band's actual performance; before each show everyone knew that Michael needed me and if I wasn't already backstage, I was summoned (Get Claudia! Michael's freaking out! was a familiar refrain); second, perhaps selfishly, I loved being needed. It gave me a sense of fulfillment.

I think it's no surprise to Michael and Spider that today I am a professional psychotherapist. I didn't know I would end up here, but it's where life led me. There's far too much to tell than can be contained here. I did all I could for the band, getting them high profile gigs, a fair amount of press and a small record deal. I do believe this: Had it all happened 10 short years later, they'd have been picked up by a major label. The music business changed drastically from 1980 to 1990. In 1980, labels were looking for bands that could become mega-acts, ala The Rolling Stones - they were looking for hits and chart-toppers and stadium fillers. By 1990, labels were much more willing to nurture a number of smaller scale bands on smaller scale tours - witness Ben Harper, Cowboy Junkies, Mazzy Star - rather than looking for one big band that could make or break them.

I left the band due to personal problems - depression and heavy drug and alcohol use in particular - and it was hard and in many ways devastating; I remained friends with Michael for some time, but my relationship with Marc faded. I think he was angry with me and that, perhaps my obsession with him had "grown tiresome." Tragically, we were estranged when he died. I still miss him. I didn't think I could stay sober and remain in the music scene, though I'll never know if that is true. What I do know is that my association with Red Wedding was an exceptionally significant time in my life - I shared my youth and my wildness with the guys and they shared theirs with me. It was magical. So was the band."

—Claudia Miles
Mallikah@aol.com
(currently a psychotherapist in Marin County, Northern California)

"In early 1982, my lover Stephen and I moved into the apartment next door to Spider and Michael on Bellevue Avenue in Silverlake. After a "welcome to the building" joint tossed down to us by Michael one afternoon from the shadow of the upstairs balcony (he wouldn't come out into the sunlight) while we sat playing in backgammon in the backyard, numerous encounters in the hallway, and cards and gifts left tapped to our door (which displayed Michael's quick and rich sense of humor), we became fast friends. Not even their cat, Pumquat (to whom I was deathly allergic, but always insisted on being in my lap), could stop me from hanging out with these guys. I was 21, in college, hated the disco-driven gay scene that prevailed in Los Angeles back then and was awed by Spider and Michael's gay-led alternative band, Red Wedding. The first time I saw them perform was at Al's Bar on July 9th, 1982 (Spider's birthday). I saw them numerous times over the following years at places like Cathay De Grande, the Whiskey, the Roxy and the first Theoretical at the One Way bar on Hoover. I was there at the listening party for the release of their first EP in 1982 (we partied till the sun came up at Marc O's apartment on Oxford across from Paramount studios) and at the listening party for the release of their second EP in 1984 (at the Anti-club on Melrose).

Stephen and I broke up in 1983 and I moved out of the Bellevue apartment, but it didn't keep me (along with my friend Karen Schneider— the character featured in the song "Scarecrows") from hanging out with Red Wedding, holding court at their shows, and on other evenings going out dancing with Michael, Spider and Marc to various clubs or to parties given by Jack Marquette, Jim Van Tyne, and Jim Yousling. No matter what the occasion, we would always end up eating Thai food on Hollywood Boulevard at 4:00 am, while Marc and Karen (both originally from Baltimore) entertained us with their colorful 'Bal'more accents!

After Red Wedding broke up, I remained friends with Michael and Spider (now Jim). I ended up living in the Valley and they moved to Long Beach. It was through them that I kept in touch with Marc O, and, after Marc's lover,Tom, died in 1990, I moved into Marc's house on New Hampshire in Los Feliz to become his roommate. Sadly, I was there to witness Marc's final days before he succumbed to AIDS in January of 1992. He had changed from the days when I first met him. Always a person full of energy and a strong lust for life, he was very tired and angry when he died.

I will occasionally play one of Red Wedding's records, and I am immediately taken back to a time that I will always treasure. Those days had their ups and downs, but it sure was a lot of fun (and thinking back - seemed so innocent).

—Greg Miscikowski
(now living in San Francisco and working as a medical manager)