When you live in LA, you inevitably cross paths with celebrities. You walk by them on the street. You sit next to their tables at restaurants. It's inevitable. But very rarely do you have the opportunity to actually sit down and talk to one of them. One on one, in person.
I did once. The celebrity I conversed with was a rock star named Scott Weiland, who died last night at the age of 48.
Weiland was the vocalist and songwriter for the incredibly popular alternative band "Stone Temple Pilots." STP was one of the most popular bands of the 90's grunge era. Considered less influential than Nirvana or Pearl Jam, yet with just as much crossover appeal, if not more. The band became the one of the centerpieces of the grunge wave, largely due to Weiland's incredible vocal skills and songwriting ability.
I ran into Weiland at a bar in the San Fernando Valley, roughly 10 years ago when I was in my 20s. Weiland was in his late 30s. He looked like he was in his 50s. And at the time, he was basically homeless.
When Weiland took off to the bathroom, his friend informed me that the singer had been sleeping on his couch for several weeks.
This really threw me off.
Like most people, I assumed that a rock star of Weiland's stature would be living in a mansion surrounded by Playboy Bunnies. But despite the royalties he was getting from the multitude of hits that STP had racked up over the previous decade, it turns out that Weiland's money had evaporated.
Weiland was a heroin addict. We didn't discuss this in our conversation at first, but it was a well known fact in Hollywood at the time. Instead, we discussed politics and movies -- typical Hollywood bar talk. But being a inquisitive guy who would eventually become a journalist, I eventually took a chance and asked him about his addiction. I was surprised that Weiland didn't hesitate to discuss the topic.
He insisted he was clean, and at the time I had no reason to doubt that. He may have been. But rock stars don't sleep on people's couches unless something other than poor record sales has relegated them to that situation.
Weiland hated heroin. He described the high to me as being the greatest experience of his life, and the process of quitting as the worst. He knew he was an addict and was clearly proud of the fact that he had kicked the habit.
Weiland explained the perils of addiction to me, admitting that his habits had essentially destroyed his career in its prime.
He knew.
Toward the end of the evening, after a series of beers, shots and Marlboros, I asked why someone who was seemingly living the American dream of being a world-famous rock star would allow themselves to be seduced by a habit as devastating as heroin. He was not offended by the question, nor did he hesitate to answer.
"Boredom." That was his answer.
We didn't go into detail as to why Weiland was so bored with his celebrity lifestyle. But over the years, I think back to that conversation, and I think I realize why Weiland and so many others in the entertainment industry succumb to deadly addiction.
When you have everything, when you have accumulated wealth and fame due to your talent, when you can get anything you desire with virtually no effort, when you are at the top of your profession, what else is there to challenge you? What further goals do you have to reach for?
It's the dark side of being a famous, creative genius. At a certain point, the thrill is gone. There are very few things left to evoke that passion that first inspried you to chase your dreams. They have already been realized.
We don't know exactly what caused Scott Weiland's death. I don't want to speculate. But on that night, two things kept popping into my head. First, that I was was hanging out with a rock star whose voice I had heard on the radio hundreds of times. Second, that I was talking to a man who would never live a full, normal life.