(King Khan and the Shrines, The King Khan & BBQ Show, Louder Than Death, The Almighty Defenders, Tandoori Knights)
If you’ve never heard of King Khan, I implore you to read this chapter immediately. I guarantee, it will turn into your dark horse favorite. Khan chronicles his mental and drug-addled breakdown, which culminates in the flicking of Lou Reed’s nose.
We were playing the Musicbox Lisboa Festival in 2016, which is this huge festival in Portugal. I was hitting the wine really hard that whole day, and remember I was drinking from the bottle with a straw. In the Shrines, we’ve got two Frenchmen and one who was born in Bordeaux. He was basically born in a puddle of wine, so when we hit the vino, it got crazy. This was a really mainstream festival, with Kanye West and all that. The day of our set, David Guetta was headlining, and he was DJ-ing atop this gigantic, neon pyramid.
Maybe it’s because I’m bipolar or the fact that Guetta’s music makes me aggressive, but at that moment, all I could think about was climbing that pyramid and tackling him. I was completely fixated, and I turned to Fred from the Shrines and said, “I’m gonna get kicked out of this festival. Tell my wife and kids that I love them.” I got a running start and started climbing the pyramid. There were two big, buff security guards at the base of the thing, and they spotted me right away but couldn’t intercept me. The pyramid was quite high, and I had scrambled up to the middle of it.
The guards finally caught up with me and threw me off the thing. I landed on my leg really badly, and I couldn’t walk. I screamed and tried limping away. They started dragging me away, and the whole time I was trying to explain that I was an artist, but they just thought I was some crazy person. They threw me out of the festival. It reminded me of this one time that I pulled my pants down at some club in France. As they were throwing me out, I was screaming about how I knew Jean-Claude Van Damme. That security guard actually stopped and said, “Really?”
So, I get thrown out of the festival, but luckily we had a shuttle coming in twenty minutes to take us to the airport, so it was good timing. It was around three in the morning, and I was this staggering wine drunk with a busted leg. The shuttle van pulled up, and the whole band was inside. I hobbled in and started throwing up all over myself. We got to the airport, and my band guys helped me into the bathroom to wash off. I came out looking semi-normal but still couldn’t walk.
I found an empty wheelchair right outside the bathroom, which was a miracle. I’m convinced God left me that wheelchair. Fred was wheeling me around, and when we got to the gate, I told the attendants that I needed support getting into the plane. I was still viciously drunk, and there was a twisting ramp that led into the plane. Fred shoved me down the ramp, and I smashed into one of the corners, sending me toppling out of the wheelchair. Everyone boarding looked at me, and they were so shocked that this man had pushed a handicapped guy down the ramp.
The whole band was pointing and laughing, and none of the passengers or crew knew what the hell was happening, as there was also a language barrier. These people were horrified and thought it was some kind of weird hate crime. When we finally landed, I had to wait until everyone got off, and then this elevator thing lowered me off the plane. I kept thinking about the poor person whose wheelchair I had stolen. The rest of that tour I had to sing with a cane, and people thought it was some kind of pimp affectation I had adopted.
Here’s a good Lou Reed story, and it begins with director Alejandro Jodorowsky. I was thirty-three, and this was in 2010, before I had been diagnosed as bipolar or properly medicated. I had become friends with Jodorowsky’s son, and I was a huge fan of his dad. Not just his movies, but his philosophies and belief in tarot readings. I waited three years to accept his invitation because I didn’t feel that I was prepared. Finally, one day I was ready. Alejandro had sent me this email about how to get to the house, and it was so intense. “Come to the door. Push the button. I will be there,” it read.
I had slowly been losing my mind that year, but when you’re going crazy, you don’t really know it. I just knew something was wrong, and the non-stop touring and partying wasn’t helping. Jodorowsky read my tarot cards, we talked for a few hours, he gave me a deck of the tarot de marsielles, and called me his “cher music-shaman”. As I was leaving, he said, “You must be careful. This is the year of your crucifixion.” That was it. I was like, “OK…thank you. Bye.” It just felt so ominous, as those were his parting words, but believe you me, I was really mentally crucified about a month later.
At the end of the tour, we played the Primavera Festival in Barcelona and immediately had to fly straight to Australia for a festival that Lou Reed and Laurie Anderson had curated. We were one of the eight bands they chose, so it was a huge honor. The last night of Primavera, I had been partying all night with the Black Lips, and when I finally went to leave, there was chaos in the streets. It was a total Beatles moment as fans surrounded the cab and started banging on it. They’re yelling, “King Khan! King Khan!” and the driver doesn’t understand what’s happening. We had about four hours to catch our flight, and I stepped outside the cab to try and explain that we had to leave.
The fans picked me up and put me on top of the car. I pulled my pants down, and because of my girth, I partially collapsed the roof. There were a bunch of cops around, and when I got back in, the cabbie was shouting at me in Spanish. I had two Spanish friends with me, who translated that the driver was complaining that I had broken his cab. As I’m trying to get the guy to pull over, he stopped at a police station. He had already called the cops on his phone, and ten cops walked out of the station and surrounded me. They took me in, and I had to wait for an English-speaking cop. He started reading me my rights, and I was freaking out.
I was trying to explain that I had to catch a flight to Australia to play for Lou Reed, but the cops didn’t give a shit, or certainly didn’t know who Lou Reed was. They put me in a holding cell, and I looked so ridiculous. I was wearing this weird, ill-fitting track suit and a necklace with fake shrimp on it. I looked like a complete freak. I was trying to explain to anyone who would listen that the whole thing was a huge mistake while begging for help to get out of there. An hour later, two Spanish cops approached my cell and started saying, “Foto! Foto!”
At this point, I’m just pissed but posed for the photo. One of the cops started playing “Blitzkrieg Bop” on his phone, and it was obvious they just thought I was some weirdo rocker. Suddenly, the guy says, “OK, you’re free to go.” As I’m walking out of the station, the cops are singing, “Hey, ho, let’s go! Hey, ho, let’s go!” One of them touched my shoulder and said, “Always remember the Barcelona police.” Goes to show that the Barcelona police can be quite punk rock. The cabbie whose roof I bent insisted that he drive me to the hotel free of charge and played me all his favorite Johnny Thunders songs on his tape player in the cab, and we actually made our flight and went down unda!
When we got to Australia, I realized that I had some MDMA in my shirt the whole time and could easily have been arrested for it. At that point, I was beginning to realize that I really needed some mental help, but I just kept going. When we finally got to the Sydney Opera House to meet Lou Reed and Laurie Anderson, I was coming unglued. It was a couple days before the event, and they asked if I wanted to come hang out for some private rehearsals. I was still in shock that they were fans, let alone allowing me to watch a private rehearsal. I go in to this secret room in the Opera House and sat down next to Lou, who was singing. Aside from a piano player and a sound guy, it was only us, with Laurie on violin.
I hadn’t slept in so long and had been partying, so I was basically crazy at this point. He sang a song I had never heard called, “The Vanishing Act,” which, to this day, makes me weepy. When he finished this beautiful song, I turned to him and said, “Lou, that was amazing. But, you have something on your sweater.” He looked down, and I flicked his nose with my finger. It’s that thing you would do to a little kid—fake them out and flick their nose. I have no idea why I did it, and I flicked his nose kinda hard.
He’s just starting at me, the way an ancient turtle would look when bitten by a mosquito. Finally, he said, “Please…don’t ever do that again.” I said, “Sure…yeah, no problem,” and walked away from him. Then it hit me: What the fuck had I just done? I walked up to Laurie, who is super sweet, and asked, “Do you think Lou is pissed at me?” She laughed and said, “What, the nose thing? All the best uncles do that!” I sat back down next to Lou, and these four Tuvan throat singers by the name of Chirgilchin come in to perform for Lou and Laurie.
It was these crazy, super psychedelic, guttural sounds, and I was getting insanely sleepy. I kept pinching myself to stay awake, thinking how rude it would be if I fell asleep. I look over at Lou, and he’s sound asleep, snoring really loudly. I took that as a cue, so I fucking nodded off. After we woke up, I got to do Tai Chi with Lou and his Tai Chi teacher Master Ren. The rest of the festival was pure insanity. I befriended a homeless, indigenous Australian guy on the street. I think he might have been on crystal meth, and I brought him to the Opera House to meet Lou and Laurie, just another sign that I was losing my mind.
Lou and Jodorowsky are the two artists that have had the most influence on me and meeting them both in the same month just felt ordained. That year was a huge turning point, as three of my close friends had passed away. I was touring all the time, too, and hadn’t grieved properly. It was all coming out during that Australia trip. I’d be talking to someone, and the next moment I’d burst into tears.
After the first King Khan & BBQ Show performance at the Opera House, I was wasted and brought all this Chinese food back to the venue. I dressed our tour manager up as a woman, in a wig and dress, and sent him out into the audience with all this food to serve people. We broke all the rules of the Opera House the first night because you can’t bring food into the venue or bring people on stage. At one point, we invited all the Chinese women in the audience on stage. I had a rubber snake that I was throwing at the audience. I approached Lou and Laurie in the audience and brought them a tray of food after it had been poached by the audience already. Laurie was polite and ate some broccoli.
The second night was insane as well, and afterwards, me and BBQ broke up. The following morning, I had to go back and pick up some gear. Laurie saw me outside and sensed that I was in a weird place. I told her that the band had broken up and everything that was happening. Laurie told me to meet her back at the exact spot in three hours, as she had to go do a performance. I followed, and she did a whole concert for dogs, in this open space outside the Opera House. It was the most surreal thing I had ever seen. The dogs were in the first few rows, and she was talking to the dogs the whole show. She’d ask, “Which one of you dogs is afraid of thunder?” Then the dogs would start barking, and it was like they were carrying on a conversation.
It brought me back to a really beautiful place, and when I tried to go meet Laurie back at the Opera House, the security guards wouldn’t let me in. They said, “You’re that artist who brought all the food into the place and threw snakes. We have specific instructions not to let you back into the festival.” I was about to cry again, and I yelled, “You can’t kick Jimi Hendrix out of Woodstock!” (a line I had stolen from the late, great Jay Reatard). They didn’t find it amusing and shut the doors on me.
I didn’t know what to do with myself, so I was just pacing outside the Opera House. I started having this existential crisis, thinking, “What am I doing here? I’m a total wastoid.” My tour manager called, and he yelled, “What the fuck are you still doing there?” I said, “I’m waiting for Laurie Anderson!” Apparently, they had been calling my tour manager all day, telling him that I wasn’t allowed on the premises. They didn’t want to call the cops, but they were giving him grief. Finally, Laurie’s manger appeared and said, “Hey, King Khan! Come inside, Laurie’s waiting for you.”
When I finally got to her, I started bawling like a baby. She was very comforting, like a mother. I told her how I was banned from the festival, so Laurie and Lou became my babysitters for the rest of the festival. They’d say, “Who do you want to go see?” I’d sniffle and say, “The Blind Boys of Alabama,” and off we’d go. If I wandered away from them, I’d immediately see the security guards get nervous and ready to swarm, so I literally had to stay with them as my guardians.
When I came home from Australia, I was unrecognizable to my family. I had a blond mohawk and black nail polish, rambling about how I was gonna quit music and join a Buddhist monastery. Shortly after, I was properly diagnosed as being bipolar and found the solace of medication. I’ve been relatively stable ever since, and I’ve noticed that the medication doesn’t harm my creativity. That was the thing that I was most worried about. I thought that psychiatric meds would wipe out my personality. It hasn’t at all, and I feel very lucky. I’ve had many friends enter mental hospitals and never return. I gotta thank my wife Lil and my two daughters Saba Lou and Amabelle whose support and love has made me an even better man than ever before.