Dancing with Myself

Dancing with Myself

by Billy Idol


$15.30 $17.00 Save 10% Current price is $15.3, Original price is $17. You Save 10%.
View All Available Formats & Editions
Choose Expedited Shipping at checkout for guaranteed delivery by Friday, February 22

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781451628517
Publisher: Touchstone
Publication date: 09/29/2015
Pages: 336
Sales rank: 236,731
Product dimensions: 6.00(w) x 9.10(h) x 0.90(d)

About the Author

Born William Michael Albert Broad, Billy Idol is a multiplatinum recording artist and two-time Grammy nominee. Known for successfully merging his signature punk attitude with an appealing blend of pop hooks, dance beats, and gritty metallic crunch, Idol created some of rock’s most indelible anthems, including “Rebel Yell,” “White Wedding,” and “Cradle of Love.” Idol’s latest release, his first studio album in nearly a decade, is titled Kings & Queens of the Underground. He lives in Los Angeles.

Read an Excerpt

Dancing with Myself


By the morning of February 6, 1990, I’d been living on a fine edge for more than a decade, always courting disaster to experience the biggest high. I’d been living the deranged life. I felt so nihilistic, yet why hadn’t I just tuned in and dropped out? Instead, I followed Jim Morrison’s credo, the credo of Coleridge and, at one point, Wordsworth, the credo of self-discovery through self-destruction I so willfully subscribed to until this moment:

Live every day as if it’s your last, and one day you’re sure to be right.

On this fateful morning, I’m standing wide-awake at dawn in the living room of my house in Hollywood Hills, overlooking the Los Angeles basin that falls and stretches away toward the high-rising pillars of downtown. I haven’t slept, still buzzing from the night’s booze and illicit substances lingering in my bloodstream, staring at the view of the city beginning its early morning grumblings. Daylight unfolds and casts shadows within the elevation, as if God is slowly revealing his colors for the day from his paint box, the hues of brown and green of earth and foliage offset by the bleached white of the protruding rocks that hold my home in place on the hillside.

Standing at my window, I hear sirens blaring in the distance. Someone wasn’t so lucky, I think as I tune in to the rumble of cars ferrying tired and impatient commuters on the 101 freeway that winds through the Cahuenga Pass, the sound of a world slowly getting back in motion. The constant moan of the freeway echoes that of my tired and played-out soul.

Just the night before, after almost two years of work, we put the aptly titled album Charmed Life to bed. I’m feeling some pressure, home early from the de rigueur studio party. I say that as if we threw one party to celebrate the completion of the album, but the truth is that the party went on for two years. Two years of never-ending booze, broads, and bikes, plus a steady diet of pot, cocaine, ecstasy, smack, opium, quaaludes, and reds. I passed out in so many clubs and woke up in the hospital so many times; there were incidents of returning to consciousness to find I was lying on my back, looking at some uniformly drab, gray hospital ceiling, cursing myself and thinking that I was next in line to die outside an L.A. nightclub or on some cold stone floor, surrounded by strangers and paparazzi.

I’ve been taking GHB, a steroid, to help relieve symptoms of the fatigue that has been plaguing me and preventing me from working out and keeping my body in some semblance of good shape. If you take too much GHB, which I’m prone to do, it’s like putting yourself in a temporary coma for three hours; to observers, it appears as if you are gone from this world.

When we began recording in 1988, we promised each other we’d be cool and focused, and not wholly indulge in drugs and debauchery. But as weeks stretched into months, Fridays often finished early with “drop-time”—the moment we all took ecstasy. And then Friday soon became Thursday and so on, until all rules were taboo. We somehow managed to make music through the constant haze. It seemed like every few days I was recovering from yet another wild binge, and it took three days to feel “normal” again. The album proved to be slow going and the only way to feel any kind of relief from the pressure was to get blotto, avoid all human feelings, and reach back into the darkness once again. Somewhere in that darkness, I told myself, there was a secret of the universe or some hidden creative message to be found.
We’d invite girls to come to the studio to listen to the music. Mixing business with pleasure seemed the best way to see if the new songs worked. We’d be snorting lines of cocaine, and then the girls would start dancing. Before long, they’d end up having sex with one or more of us on the studio floor. Once the party was in full swing, we walked around naked but for our biker boots and scarves. Boots and Scarves became the running theme.

The girls loved it and got in on the act. It helped that we recruited them at the local strip bars; they felt comfortable naked. We had full-on orgies in those studios we inhabited for months. It was like a glorified sex club. We were all about instant gratification, lords of the fix.

I’d like to think this was all in the name of song-searching: the sex and drugs amped up the music, the songs arriving in the midst of chaos, cigarettes stubbed out into plates of food, the bathroom floor covered with vomit, sweaty sex going on all over the studio as we tried out our guitar riffs and mixes. The sound of our mixes, turned up loud, drowned out the background noise of sucking  and  fucking.  Songs must be written. The ideas must flow. The flow must go to one’s most base desires. Without constraint.

Now that it’s all said and done, I feel exhausted and shattered. The keyed-up feeling that prevents me from sleeping is the result of the care and concern I put into making a record that will decide the course of my future. That’s the sort of pressure I put on myself every time. Then there’s the fact that the production costs have been astronomical; the need to keep the bandwagon rolling has drained my spirit and sapped my will.

Months later, Charmed Life will go on to sell more than a million copies. The “Cradle of Love” single and video, directed by David Fincher, will both become massive hits. But I don’t know this when I retreat to my home alone at  2  a.m.,  intending  to  get  some  rest after wrapping recording. The breakup of my relationship with my girlfriend, Perri, the mother of my son, Willem, has left me bereft, but finishing the album has been my only priority. “If the thing is pressed . . . Lee will surrender,” Lincoln telegraphed Ulysses S. Grant at Appomattox in 1865. And then: “Let the thing be pressed.” That’s a rock ’n’ roll attitude. The difficult has to be faced straight-on and the result forged out of sweat and tears. That’s where I take my inspiration.
The wide-screen version of the last few years’ tumultuous events plays in my subconscious and cannot be ignored. What can I do to keep away these blues that rack my thoughts and creep into my bones? It’s a fine day, warming up, the sun burning off the morning smog. Still, I feel uneasy, dissatisfied in the pit of my stomach. With the album now finished, I’ll have to take stock of life and contemplate the emptiness without Perri and Willem.

The bike will blow away these post-album blues, I think. As I open the garage door, the chrome of my 1984 Harley-Davidson Wide Glide gleams with expectation, beckoning me.

The L.A. traffic is thick and the warmth of the sun is fresh on my face, its glow spreading over my bare head. California has yet to pass legislation making the wearing of helmets compulsory, and I’ve always liked the feel of the wind in my hair. My bike clears its throat with a deep, purring growl. The gleaming black tank and chrome fixtures flash in the sharp, sacrosanct daylight. I’ve opted for all denim to match the blue-sky high.

Table of Contents

Prologue: They Say If You Hear the Bang, You're Still Alive 1

Part I London

1 I Let Out My First Rebel Yell 9

2 England Swings Like a Pendulum Do 16

3 Rock 'N' Roll High School: Long Hair, Flares, and Hash Tobacco Cigarettes 28

4 Sucking in the '70s 39

5 And Then There Was Punk 50

6 In a Revolution, One Year Equals Five 55

7 Generation X Marks the Spot: William Broad Becomes Billy Idol 60

8 A Night at the Roxy 70

9 Punk Comes of Age When the Two Sevens Clash 78

10 Youth Youth Youth: Break On Through to the Other Side 85

11 White Light, White Heat, White Riots 88

12 Not Selling Out, But Buying In 92

13 Bands Across the Ocean 102

14 Ready Steady Go 108

15 And I Guess that I Just Don't Know 120

16 You Better Hang On to Yourself 124

Part II New York City

17 A Rock 'N' Roll Conquistador Invades America and Burns His Boats Upon Arrival 135

18 Making Mony Mony: A Left-Coast Fusion of Punk and Disco 142

19 If You Can Make It Here 149

20 Hot in the City: The Making of Solo Billy Idol 153

21 Hollywood Daze and Tequila Nights 160

22 I Want My MTV: Video Thrills the Radio Star 170

23 Rebel Yell with a Cause 177

24 A Change in Pace of Fantasy and Taste 184

25 Everybody Must Get Rolling Stoned 189

26 The Roar of the Lion and a Nonstop Global Orgy 196

27 Just a Perfect Day 202

28 King Death: An Aborted Film Project Signals the End of an Idol Maker 210

29 Top of the World, Ma 214

30 Return to Splendour 224

31 The Luck of the Irish 232

Part III Los Angeles

32 We Need a Miracle Joy, We Need a Rock and Roll Boy 239

33 La Vie Enchanté 245

34 City of Night 249

35 Trouble with the Sweet Stuff 253

36 Drunken, Stupid, & Naked 257

37 I Bear a Charmed Life, Which Must Not Yield 262

38 Hollywood Promises 269

39 Have a Fuck on Me 274

40 The Madam and the Preacher 281

41 Mind Fire 287

42 Bitter Pill 293

43 My Road Is Long, It Lingers On 298

Epilogue 307

Acknowledgments 313

Index 315

Customer Reviews

Most Helpful Customer Reviews

See All Customer Reviews

Dancing With Myself 4.2 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 10 reviews.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Outstanding book by a artist who has had a amazing life with fascinating stories to tell. Very well written. What I can't understand it is how someone could have given this book a bad review. The person who did that obviously doesn't have a clue of what he is talking about it since what he is saying doesn't make any sense! I have to agree with the other reviewer said, I think his motive is personal.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
From the minute I started reading this book I was taken. I couldn't put it down. As one might expect, Billy has had a amazing life, and surely has many stories to tell. In this case it is not only the stories, but the way in which he tells them that is fascinating. He made me relive a lot of fun moments from the 80's and from the 90's that i have forgotten already, what a fun ride! I haven't read something so good in a long time and I am so glad Billy shared his life story with us. If you are fascinated with the lives of Rock Stars it is a great read, and even if you aren't the book is surely entertaining! I can't believe it the comments of the last reviewer saying that the book is filled with grammar errors and punk for the masses. For his information, celebrities like Billy Idol have editors to make sure the book was well written, which is. Based on his review doesn't even sound like he has read the book. He is just a angry person who is out to hurt the author's image! 
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Really interesting story from a legend!
Rose-R More than 1 year ago
Very interesting reading this autobiography of Billy Idol since I have known him since 1980. Brings back a lot of memories especially from the 1980's and 1990's.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I love billy his song was at my white wedding. How come you have to be so hateful mr.blogger person? ?
Bloggabook More than 1 year ago
What a painful book to get through. Not for the tragedy or struggles of the author, but for the writing style and the content. This is the book to read if you only have one day left to live and you want it to seem like the longest day in history. There sentences are choppy, repetitive and not fully formed. Information is repeated over and over in several chapters. Paragraphs are inserted in places that don't make sense, like some strange stream of consciousness just written down as it happens and never edited. Quotes scattered everywhere don't enhance the story but instead call out the lack of originality in this book. Even the wild stories are tame. Not what you would expect from one of the original Punks.  This is Punk for the masses which means it is without purpose and drivel.