On Voodoo Fest 2008’s opening night, Stone Temple Pilots frontman Scott Weiland produced one of my favorite concert moments ever. For all I know it might have been a drunken ad-lib or a swinging dick mini-lecture he provided at every show.
“There is rock,” Weiland said in between songs, his voice booming like god’s own in the Crescent City darkness.
“There is rock’n’roll.”
“This,” he concluded, pausing for effect, “is rock’n’fucking roll.”
I must have been a Superdome’s distance from the stage for STP’s headlining set. When I heard this self-congratulatory toast, I instinctively howled, “FUCK YEAH, SCOTT WEILAND!!!” (I also laughed at the outlandishness of such a statement coming from Scott Weiland circa 2008.)
By that time, Stone Temple Pilots were far from their 90s alt-rock radio halcyon days. Weiland, ravaged by drug addiction, was a man who looked like a distant stick figure dancing amid the storm of life. His voice was a ruin but his larger than life persona remained.
Today is a sad, though not unexpected day, amid reports Weiland died in his sleep at age 48.
RIP Scott Weiland. You were rock’n’ fucking roll.
Image via Rolling Stone.