I’m A ’90s Rock Star Trying To Make A Comeback, And I’ve Been Encouraged To Apologize For A Few Things In My Past
Rumors that I used to sleep with underage fans are both appalling and, most importantly, unprovable.
Ciao, bellas! It’s me, the lead singer of Lot 48, the band I almost named for a Thomas Pynchon novel except “Lot 49” was taken. Remember my first Rolling Stone cover photo — head tossed back defiantly, suggesting an upbringing much tougher than the one I had in Scarsdale — and how you tacked it up on your bedroom wall? Or those lyrics from my chart-topping power ballad that you used as your AIM away messages? Well, dust off your slip dresses and butterfly clips, because I’m getting ready for a BIG comeback. But first, my publicist says I need to make some apologies for my past behavior.
1. Regarding that rider from our 1996 world tour which recently resurfaced: We did require to be provided backstage with “ten pairs of black thong panties, lace, new, freshly laundered, women’s size small.” The panties were a joke, okay? It’s not like we were asking girls — I mean, women — to model them for us. If something like that happened, and I’m not saying it did, I was probably back at the hotel with Carmen Electra and missed it. But theoretically, it would have been inappropriate.
2. My fine blond hair was indeed done in cornrows in that video for the big hit from my band’s second album, and I have read all the harsh comments. My publicist begged me not to say this, but stuff like that was totally cool in the ’90s! At any rate, I have no hair left, so this kind of cultural appropriation won’t be an issue in the future.
3. It’s true that our 1994 U.S. tour rider required “a different exotic jam for each day of the week, including pineapple and excluding elderberry.” If you think this was some kind of sexual thing, jeez, I’m just very particular about my jam, okay? Not sure why my people got so worked up about this one, but I agreed to apologize mostly out of relief that the rhino horn rider from our 1998 tour hasn’t surfaced.
4. My new record label — not the big label I had back in the day, but a much cooler indie one run by millennials and whatever generation comes after that — insists I address the social media rumors about my “lewd drunken behavior” on our 1997 Down Under Tour. First of all, I was specifically told by a long-ago-fired manager that because Australia started as a penal colony, nothing really counts there. Second, I don’t remember anything from that tour except waking up in a Brisbane hospital after trying to fondle a kangaroo.
5. Regarding that viral essay from last year about my “moderately problematic” love songs: Sure, I’ll cop to “employing the male gaze.” I’m a dude with eyeballs, okay? Would it help if I said I truly think all chicks — I mean, women — are beautiful? Because I honestly believe that, especially the blonde, size small ones under the age of 25.
6. A few words about my frequent visits to the Playboy Mansion in the 1990s. Look, I got a B+ in Women’s Studies back in my college days, so every feminist on the internet doesn’t need to school me about the whole Playboy concept being misogynistic. At Hef’s place, I mostly hung around by the pool, drank martinis, and maybe once or ten times snorted Special K off a Bunny’s boobs. It’s impossible to be a “predator” when you’re in a K-hole.
7. Rumors that I used to sleep with underage fans are both appalling and, most importantly, unprovable.
Look, I’m not naïve enough to think that what happened in the ’90s can stay in the ’90s, but how about a little context here? Compare me to Phil Spector or Marilyn Manson and I come out smelling like a fucking peach — which happens to be one of my favorite exotic jams. So gather your high school besties and catch me on my upcoming tour where I’m booked in some of the smallest venues I’ve played since 1992 — which is fine by me because this tour is all about the fans, and the music, and perhaps getting some unproblematic, age-appropriate, 100% consensual pussy.
