by Michael Diamond
11:00 a.m.
Spike and I let our fingers do the walking (that's 70's speak for check the Yellow Pages) and decide on Hollywood Wigs on Hollywood Boulevard in Hollywood, California. We are reassured that the Mullet wig is in stock when the woman on the phone goes, "Ohh, the shag!"
12:00 p.m. Depart for Hollywood dressed in vinyl trousers and listening to KNAC to get in the right mood. This leads us to our first and most important Mullet discovery of the day: Smashing Pumpkins are in-fact a heavy metal band, and KNAC is nothing more than a heavy alternative to the already heavy alternative KROQ. We'd bargained for some Priest and Sabbath but got Al Stone Gossard's Pilots instead.
12:30 p.m. Arrive at Hollywood Wigs, purchase light brown shag and obtain custom Mulletization from perplexed Asian proprietor. Only after repeated requests to look like Billy Ray Cyrus does reticent barber cut sides to desired length.
1:00 p.m. Pull up to the Musicians Institute of Technology, aka Mullet Institute of Technology, just as classes are letting out. With gig bag in tow, I muster the courage to mingle with students and initiate conversation by asking how the school is. Student Mullet Number One aske me what style of guitar I enjoy playing. I respond, "rock, riffs, licks, you know," while looking at the ground. Then I ask if the school is very expensive and he confims that "it's expensive, but I'm doing it all on loans. I'm paying for it later." Next I ask if it's hard to get in, and he states somewhat cryptically that "anyone can get in, but it's hard to get out. By the time you reach the third level, it's very difficult unless you have a theory." He pauses and then asks if I have any theory. I sheepishly but honestly reply no. "Then I strongly suggest you get some before coming here," he advises. Defeated, I try to mill around for a sec but soon head for Hollywood Boulevard in search of more like-minded Mullets.
1:30 p.m. Proceed to generic rock t-shirt shop on Hollywood Boulevard. Amidst row upon row of black Cypress Hill, Pantera and Megadeth merch, we overhear our favorite Mullet quote of the day: "What I like to do is overdub a bunch of tracks of my leads first, and then do my vocals." We're not exactly sure what that means, but we definitely agree that it's awesome.
2:30 p.m. Following an uneventful lunch as heavy metal Denny's, where no significant Mullet citings can be reported, we head for Aron's Records in hopes of getting dissed by the high-brown indie-rock cashiers for buying a Joe Satrianni box set. Unfortunately, we soon realize that there are way too many Mullet Heads and assorted Hollywood freaks already frequenting the place for management to be fazed by our appearance. I do, however, earn bonus points for spotting DGC A&R honcho Mark "Kato" Kates and conspicuously brushing up against him with my gig bag while sifting through the bins. As first mildly annoyed and then positively terrified, Kates moves away with increasing alarm before retreating to the far wall of the store, where I finally corner him and brandish a "demo tape" of "my band". Kates begins to bolt, but upon closer inspection recognizes and curses me. I finally go to the counter, ask for new Smashing Pumpkins and am mortified to find that the salespeople are more than happy to offer me assistance. (Reached for comment later, Kates revealed that "all I could think was, 'Git!' I know it's been a few years but this is still L.A. and there are a lot of these guys around. They make me uncomfortable.")
3:30 p.m. After a quick stop at K-Mart to pick up some more Mullet haberdashery, we arrive at Mullet Mecca: The Guitar Center on Sunset. We bow in front of Eddie Van Halen's autographed guitar in the front window and enter the same shrine where some of the most important Mullets in history have shopped. I test-drive several different Flying Vs, but when Spike's wig becomes entangled in his camera's motor drive, suspicion is aroused. The store manager walks over and asks us if he can help us with something. We try to keep a straight face and say that we're just lookign for a "gnarly tool". He then asks us what we really want, and we use the tried and true "we're not from around here" excuse, claiming to be students from out of town in search of only a few snapshots of the world-famous G Center. So why were we putting on wigs and changing out outfits in the parking lot, he asks. We realize that our time as Mullet Heads is almost up.
4:00 p.m. till? Return to studio for rehearsal in my Fletch disguise, which fools Heart Attack Man for a good five minutes. Following rehearsal (during which Chris Rock compliments my phony Air Jordans), I'm dragged to a chi chi Hollywood Hills shindig with my wife, Tamra, who soon becomes buttonholed in conversation with James Woods. "Who is that long haired gentleman that came with you tonight?" the notorious thespian asks with a hint of a smirk, but is visibly dismayed (and Tamra even more visibly embarrassed) when she is forced to admit, "It's my husband." I continue partying on till the wee hours while facing the wrathful snarls of the assembled glitterati. *****
