Ice by Ice-T

Author:Ice-T [Ice-T]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-345-52330-3
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2011-04-18T16:00:00+00:00

ON THE STRENGTH of that first record we hit the road. Pretty fast, Body Count picked up a following, especially internationally. Soon we were jetting all over the world. By 1993, we were touring Europe, even hitting Australia, New Zealand, and Japan.

It was during our first gig in Italy that some real craziness popped. The thing about playing a rock gig in Italy—which I didn’t know at the time—was some of the fans were a bit behind the curve. Back in the day, the old punk bands like the Sex Pistols and the Clash used to tour Europe, and the Italian punks, just like the English punks, used to spit on them. Freaky as that sounds, unloading a big gob of spit on your heroes was a sign of respect. Punk turned everything upside down that way. That was back in the mid-seventies, before AIDS, before everyone was freaked out about bodily fluids. These punks in Italy never got the memo that spitting was played out, and when we opened up our Italian tour these cats in the Milan arena were still on that trip.

In the middle of the stage, I grabbed the microphone and laid it down.

“Dig,” I said. “You can go ape shit, you can jump on the stage and wild out—I don’t give a fuck! But one rule: Don’t fucking spit!” Most places they understood it, but maybe the Italians didn’t understand my English. We soon found there were a few of these cats—soccer-hooligan-looking dudes—who were still into that spitting game.

We’re into our first song and these dudes in the front row are spitting at us. Now I’m getting offended. Because number one: I’m not the Dead Kennedys or Jello Biafra. And number two: This ain’t no 1977. Dog, spitting is fucking nasty—I don’t know what kind of diseases you got in your fucking mouth.

Actually, the spit hadn’t touched me yet. But from the first song, this one group of fans is steady spitting on Ernie. He’s playing guitar right near the edge of the stage and there’s this actual waterfall of saliva going over in his direction.

A few songs later, as we’re getting ready to go into “Cop Killer,” I walk over to Ernie. His guitar is drenched in spit. Ernie says, “It’s mostly that one motherfucker in black right there.”

I see this kid in a black T-shirt, stringy black hair. They’re not even punk rockers, just some young asshole Italian kids. I looked at the kid in the black. He responds by spitting right on me.

Okay, cool, I got this.

At that moment, I forgot I was Ice-T, forgot I was onstage, forgot every goddamn thing. I just had to fuck this kid up. I went out to the edge of the stage. The stage didn’t have a pit, it just had a gate, and I was able to get right out there to the edge above the kid in the black T-shirt.

“Yo!” I shouted. “Everybody put your hands in the air!”

And when they all put their hands in the air, I just leaned over and clocked the dude in his fucking nose.

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