Living with Legends

It’s getting ridiculous to see the extent these fuddy-duddy hotels will go to show they’re rock-and-roll, now that old rockers have money to spend.  Here’s an article about a really rockin’ hotel in Des Moines, Iowa, of all places.  They have a list of all these over-the-hill rockers like Ozzy and Jon Bon Jovi and Neil Diamond who have stayed there over the years, though obviously they did so because there was no place else in town.  The real question is, what the hell were they doing in Des Moines?  Who would attend their shows?  I doubt that there’s even one person in Des Moines who rocks, and if there is, I’m sure he’s doing his damnedest to get the hell out. (Photo: Tiny Tim at the Hotel Fort Des Moines)

            Even the Holiday Inn has a more authentic rock pedigree than this place, Hotel Fort Des Moines.  And though I’m being facetious, the article actually goes on to consider the claim that the Holiday Inn is a rock-and-roll hotel.  And answers, bizarrely, in the affirmative.

            Here’s the best example they could come up with of an actual, real life “rocker” who will admit to staying at the Fort Des Moines hotel, some guy named Tim Reynolds.  For some reason they mention that he drinks a six-pack of pineapple juice a night.  That’s right, pineapple juice.  Dude, there’s your problem.  Chug some Jack Daniels and snort a line of coke if you wanna rock.  What kind of half-assed rock-and-roll could possibly be fueled by pineapple juice?  Oh, now I see: he plays for the Dave Mathews band.  That explains that.  And since when does pineapple juice come in six-packs?

            The pineapple juice is emblematic of a larger problem here.  Why on earth did they even mention it?  Well, I think there’s a dual message here.  First of all, they want to validate the lifestyles of all the old farts out there who can’t party anymore: look, codgers, even the rockers are drinking prune—er, pineapple–juice.  Secondly, it’s an attempt to convince you that rock-and-roll, though cool, is safe.  There will be no naked groupies wandering the halls of the Fort Des Moines, no TVs tossed drunkenly through the windows at midnight.  Another hotel mentioned in the article has a tanning salon because, “Even rockers with violent onstage antics require a good tan.”

            Well, excuse me, but I for one demand that my rock gods live life in the fast lane.  Otherwise, what kind of gods are they?  It’s simply part of the job description.  If they don’t like it, they can go back to school and study accounting.

            The reason our attention was drawn to this article is that it claims that Sid Vicious died at the Chelsea Hotel.  This is false: Sid killed Nancy here, but he himself died in a house in Greenwich Village.  (Today, in fact, is the anniversary of Nancy’s death.)  Obviously this serves to erode the rock-and-roll street cred of this article’s author, but more importantly, it goes to show to just what shameless lengths these hotels will go to demonstrate that they are cool.  Book a room at the Fort Des Moines, the article implies, and perhaps similar spectacular events will occur during your stay—or at least you can view the scene of the crime.

            On the other hand, “Several years ago Reynolds and his crew rejected spooky digs where they spied bloodstains on the walls through the window.”  Now that was a rock and roll hotel.  Sounds suspiciously like the Chelsea.  (Ed Hamilton)