Cherie Currie - Neon Angel

by Joan Jett

I met Cherie one night in the San Fernando Valley, at a club called the Sugar Shack, which had become the place to go, since Rodneys had recently closed. Kim Fowley and I went there specifically to find a lead singer for the Runaways. I remember seeing Cherie and her twin sister, Marie. They were standing togetherthey were quite striking, and they definitely stood out.

Cherie had her hair in kind of a grown-out Bowie cut, and I picked right up on that. When Kim and I spoke to her about trying out for the band as a lead singer, she said yes, but the rest I wont chronicle here, since its all in the book. The thing is, she got the job! For me, Cherie was a great lead singer, perfect for our band. The Blond Bombshellshe had total command of the stage. A little tough, a lot nasty.

We were always well-rehearsed, so the shows were tight. As I watched from my position to her right, Cherie was always very compelling. We were very close friends, too. Besides our own music in the band, we both loved Bowie and a lot of the same music. (There was plenty of disconnect about favorite music, too.)

When the Runaways went to Japan with a hit record, it was so thrilling, so big, so hystericaland so different from Americait seemed like all we had dreamed of. We lost one of our members in Japan, and Cherie soon followed after we got home.

She had a big following, and was on a lot of magazine covers, so she figured she could do better on her own, or at least thats what I thought she felt. When Cherie quit the Runaways, I was so pissed! She had bailed on the dream! I was very angry and hurt for several years after that. Of course, I never stopped loving the Runaways, and Cherie, too.

She left in 1977, and after that Cherie and I didnt really know each other for nearly two decades. Ive grown up a lot since then, and now I realize things happen the way they are supposed to happen. Im not mad at Cherie anymore, either.

And during the past fifteen years or so, since we have been working on the business and legacy of the Runaways, we have rekindled our friendship. I must say, I really only knew a small part of Cherie. Neon Angel is a chronicle of a remarkable journeythe story of a remarkable woman who has an uncanny knack of reinventing herselffrom singer to actor to drug counselor to physical trainer to mom to author to painter to chain-saw carver. Anyway, when Cherie and I recently got together to record our songs for the Runaways movie, it was like we never left. Thirty-two years had passed, but time stood still, and we never missed a beat.

While excelling at every turn, she has also exhibited an ironic flair for finding herself in dramatic situations.

So, to conclude, Cherie Curriemother, uniquely devoted ex-wife, musician, versatile visual artistis really so talented. (I still cant believe Cherie carves wood with a chain saw, and is so good at it!) But what truly amazes me is what a fine, honest, introspective author she iswith an incredible tale about an incredible life, and a fascinating personal odyssey, as she lived it.

Joan Jett

January 2010

September 8, 1974

M y twin sister, Marie, and I looked uncharacteristically plain that night. In fact, we looked like any pair of normal fifteen-year-old girls from the Valley. A pair of blue jeans, our plainest, most boring blouses. No makeup, no nothing, but the plain Jane look was deliberate. Tonight was a special night, and the outfits were carefully chosen.

When we snuck out of the bedroom, the duffel bag slung casually over my shoulder, our mom sensed movement immediately and called out from the kitchen, Girls? Is that you?

Yeah, Mom, Marie called back as we headed toward the front door without pausing, its us. Were just heading out...

Where are you going? she called again, her voice betraying a hint of suspicion.

Babysitting! we chimed in union, before I added, We told you already!

Babysitting was what we told our mom whenever we were doing something that we knew she wouldnt approve of. Babysitting was code for going to the nightclubs where we dressed outrageously and danced all night. Babysitting was code for smoking pot and drinking Mickeys Big Mouth beer with the neighborhood kids. On this particular night, babysitting was code for a rock concert. The lie fell easily off my tongue as we pulled open the door and the murky San Fernando Valley air hit our faces, sweet with the scent of juniper and the promise of freedom. I was fifteen years old, and it felt like lying had become almost second nature recently. That sickly feeling I used to get with every half-truth or outright lie was now so mild, it was almost unnoticeable. Anyway, tonight I had bigger things on my mind than the white lies I told my mother to keep her blissfully unaware. Tonight was a special night: it had been marked in my calendar for months. Tonight was my first-ever David Bowie concert, and nothing on this earth was going to stop me from getting there.

The door closed behind us, and we crept into the night.

We started off walking casually down the block, in case Mom was peeping out from a kitchen window. After all, we wouldnt have wanted to make her suspicious. I walked with the easy gait of someone who had nothing to hide. Marie was looking over her shoulder, creeping along the sidewalk like a fugitive on the run.

Calm down, will you? I hissed. You look so nervous! Moms cool. Shes so busy with Wolfgang she wont even suspect anything. Were just babysitting, remember?

Wolfgang was my mothers new boyfriend. Wolfgang was German, and extremely wealthy. He was handsome I supposefor an old guyand always dressed in expensive tailored suits. He worked for the World Bank and traveled a lot. All I really knew about his work was that he made a lot of money doing it, and lived in Indonesia. When he was here in California, my mom seemed happy. When he was gone, she would be quiet and a little sad. I had the feeling Wolfgang disliked me, but that was okay with me. I disliked Wolfgang because Wolfgang was not my father, and he never would be.