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I don’t know about you, but I am a huge Velvet Guillotine fan. I think I probably saw them eleven times back in the day. So, if the rumors are true about a Havoc solo album? I am HERE for it, you guys.
Of course, while Havoc has been uncharacteristically OUT of the spotlight, it would seem Judy Blue is pulling enough of it for the both of them. Her explosive new book, which allegedly details a relationship with Havoc and a ton of behind-the-scenes details into Velvet Guillotine, drops next month alongside the launch of her new reality television show, House of Rock.
Billing itself as Kardashian-esque reality show, House of Rock stars Judy Blue alongside her current romantic partner, rock musician Kurt Harrison, as well as her daughter, Melody. The show’s premise is the three of them living in a Soho loft while navigating the launch of Ms. Blue’s new fashion and home goods line, Mr. Harrison’s new record, and the younger Ms. Blue coming to terms with being rock royalty.
House of Rock premiers next month, but WFUV will be on-site at the Beacon Theatre in three days for the Kurt Harrison album release concert. In the meantime, in keeping in theme, here’s classic Velvet Guillotine with Wreck Me Gent—
My fingers slam the radio alarm clock off.
Yeah, no. I’m all set with that at the moment, thank you very much.
In the ensuing silence, I groan and finally drag myself from sleep. I exhale slowly, rubbing my eyes before I sit up in the bed and glance around the basically empty apartment.
But then, it’s time for my routine.
Routine keeps me sane. Routine keeps me living. And yes, maybe at times it feels like living with the house lights perpetually on after a show. But it'sliving.
More or less, at least.
These days, my routine starts about now, at ten AM. No, I'm not sleeping past noon or until it gets dark outside anymore, because I'm not staying up until four o'clock in the morning poisoning myself. But I’m still nevergoing to be a morning person, because really,fuckmornings.
So, ten o'clock it is. I wake up, roll out of bed, and meditate.
Yeah.I’mactually fucking meditating, like some sort of new-age hippie guru bullshit. But it's supposed to do something good for my blood pressure. Which, after twenty years of sustained abuse, is…”hesitantly open” to the idea of something healthy.
To that effect, after meditation, I work out. Like actually working out and lifting weights. And afterthat, I shower, get dressed, and sit at the breakfast table of my loft. I drink black coffee—and these days, it’sjustcoffee, without anything fun in it. And I eat away-too-healthy breakfast devoid of sugar, cocaine, weed, or prescription narcotics.
I’m not going to lie. It’s a fuckin’ drag.
After that, I try to write, with “try” being the operative word. I don't have to commit words to paper. I don'thaveto walk away from the breakfast table with my magnum opus, and I don't have to cut my veins open and bleed pure genius onto the page.
The important thing is to sit down, stare at the paper, and see what happens.
One moment at a time. One day at a time. God grant me the strength, blah blah blah.
Except, I don't know. I stopped asking God for things a long time ago. And when you’ve been branded as the Antichrist by no less than three major publications in the course of your lifetime, honestly, it just feels a little cheeky to ask Him for anything anyway.
Besides, I'm not in the program. There are no steps I'm following except the ones I lay out myself, and I'm making peace with that.
The steps—as in AA, or NA—dowork for some people. I mean I've met people in the last few months who aren’t altogether that different from me. They just didn't have the random dice roll in life of becoming rich and famous to go along with their demons.
For some of them, the steps work. The program works. AA works.
For me, not so much.
Maybe it's the “rule breaker” in me that was never an act. I'm justactuallybad at following a path someone else lays out in front of me. I'm the stubborn asshole who has to cut his own way through the world. And so, I guess that's what I'm doing.
Because, as the fucking radio keeps blathering on about…Jackson Havoc is back, baby.
Whatever the fuck that means.
Except, what itseemsto mean is the same three questions over and over: Will there be a new record? Will there be a new tour? Will he form Velvet Guillotine again? But to these questions and more, my only answers are simply “fuck” and “off.”
For now, it's one day at a time. Routine keeps me sane. Routine keeps me moving. But most importantly, routine keeps mesober.
I’m still learning about sober me. He’s a little less fun, granted. But so far, he seems okay. He’s certainly easier to live with, I’ll say that much.
So, this is me now: the “best version of myself” as I once told…
