Sunset Strip Quotes

“I've already spent ten years of my life apologizing for that band. As their manager, that's all I really did. Apologize. For years afterward I'd walk into a hotel lobby and the receptionist would call to me, 'Mr. McGhee.' And I'd run up and drop to my knees and say, 'Oh, Jesus, I'm really sorry.'
They'd look at me funny and say, 'No, nothing's wrong. You have a telephone call.'
And I'd breathe a sigh of relief and thank the good Lord above that I wasn't managing Mötley Crüe anymore.

~ Doc McGhee.”
― Motley Crue, The Dirt: Confessions of the World's Most Notorious Rock Band

“Many years later after the sell-outs, betrayals, and hatred which would tear us apart, when our brotherhood had been destroyed, I’d always look back and remember that night. That fucking wild night at the KeyClub, when the smoke stung my eyes but my world was full of nothing but blind hope. When life was not a mockery, but a very real fire which flamed through my veins like the most incredible drug... the night when Kelly-Lee Obann, drunk, high and barely 20 the time, looked out through his hair with a terrible nakedness and said to me;
“We’re not gonna make it out of this alive. You know that, right?”
― H. Alazhar, City of Paradise

“You just don't get it, do you, man?' I said. 'In the '80s if you were in a rock band, when you asked for a hummer, you got a hummer.'
Dr. Roberts nodded and wrote something down on his pad. Maybe it was 'motherfucker'.”
― Stephen Pearcy, Sex, Drugs, Ratt & Roll: My Life in Rock

“By the time 1987 rolled around, the Sunset Strip was absolutely crazy. Fucking madness. One day, I watched Bobby Dall from Poison beat the shit out of this guy with a steal pipe.
[This] guy kept covering up their flyers with his band's shit. Finally Bobby caught him at it. He followed him in his car to a Quik Stop, and then he just fucking ambushed the guy. Beat him senseless with a steel pipe. 'Who the fuck are you to cover my band flyer!' he kept screaming.
It was brutal. Absolutely brutal.
And someone else goes to the guy afterward: 'Hey, you just got your ass beat by a chick.'
~ Big John, Ratt & Poison Security.”
― Stephen Pearcy, Sex, Drugs, Ratt & Roll: My Life in Rock

“I applied at Tower Records on Sunset Boulevard after my band broke up. I really wanted to work there because it involved the love of my life, music. It was also located on the world famous Sunset Strip, a place I dreamed of going to ever since I was a teenager in the 80's to become a rock star.”
― K.D. Sanders

“We rolled down the boulevard, like so many of my idols had. Movie stars, rock stars. They‘d all walked these streets where dreams were contagious and the energy was thick and palpable.

As we drove, we passed many sites I’d longed dreamed of seeing. The billboard at La Cienega where all the iconic albums appeared. Jay Ward Studios, home of my childhood favorites Rocky and Bullwinkle. Sunset Strip Tattoo. Tower Records. The corner that appears on the cover for Sweet’s Desolation Boulevard in front of what is now the Viper Room.
And then the Whisky a Go Go came into view. We took a left at San Vicente, in search of a parking spot. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see it was already teeming with flaming youth and locating a spot on Sunset would be impossible. Finding a spot on Harratt Street, we trekked up to Sunset, happy to have found a spot within walking distance. We piled out, excited as hell. As we stopped at Clark to cross the street in front of the Whisky, I couldn't believe what I was seeing. From Clark to Doheny, Sunset Boulevard was packed with guys and girls. And they all looked like me. In Madison, I stuck out. I was tall, had hair to my elbows, and wore loud outfits. It got me threatened many times. And complimented occasionally. On this summer night in 1985, I got my ass handed to me: I was not unique. Good Lord. Here were hundreds chasing the same dream, stretching out for a quarter mile. What was I thinking?
We walked over to the Whisky a Go Go. I’d heard of it for years. Legendary. Iconic. Everyone played here. The Doors. Alice Cooper. Van Halen. Now, here it was, staring me in the face. When was my fucking turn?
We took a left, west on Sunset, and trudged uphill, like aqua-netted sardines, packed asses to elbows. Flyers, stickers, tickets for shows all being handed out like confetti. Ticker tape parades for bands that may never make it.

Pants that were lacquered on. Hair like a tesla coil. Perfectly placed smoky eye shadow. And that was the guys. The girls, who all looked like they’d been peeled off the pages of Penthouse, were outrageously friendly, gorgeous, playful, and plentiful. This was a Roman orgy on a summer evening.
It was all I could do not to induce whiplash as we took it all in. The night’s goal was to absorb the Strip and what it had to offer, but I was hoping to see a band, too. At some point we had to see what we were up against.”
― Chris McLernon, Screaming in Hollywood: The Last Gold Rush