Alice in Chains: The Untold Story

Darrell Vernon arrived at the Music Bank at some point in 1986 as the guitarist in a band called De Oppresso Liber—later named Triathlon. Though he wasn’t supposed to, he had been living in his room at the Music Bank and eventually got a job there running keys. Vernon said of Layne, “He was definitely a big presence there.” He said that under the previous management, there was “a lot of snobbiness and sort of meanness at first,” and that even Layne could come off that way.

Their friendship began while both were living at the Music Bank. Vernon got to know him because he lived there and had a few necessary supplies—hair spray and a hair dryer—that Layne would borrow on occasion. He and Layne spent many late nights sitting around the office. There was a TV and VCR, and if nothing was going on, they would watch videos of The Terminator or Purple Rain.

“One of my main [memories] of Layne is, every time when I would come into the rehearsal space in the Music Bank, he’d be in the office with his feet up on the desk watching Purple Rain, like a million times,” Dave Hillis recalled. “It could be a week later: I’d come in, and he’s still watching Purple Rain.”

According to Vernon, “They had this really old, like, bootleg copy of The Terminator. It was just kind of a joke. ‘We’ve got nothing else better to do. Put The Terminator in again.’ And it got so worn out it was almost unwatchable, but we still put it in.”

Layne would also practice. He’d put on Dead or Alive’s “You Spin Me Round (Like a Record)” on the PA and sing along until he had gotten it perfect—to the point where he nailed every note in the wail near the end of the song. One time Layne was in the office when he started singing a song by the band Mistrust, whose singer, Jeff L’Heureux, had somewhat of an operatic voice, which Layne mimicked perfectly. At that point, the people in the office saw L’Heureux himself walking up, having heard Layne. He watched Layne through the office’s window, remarking, “What the hell is going on?” According to David Ballenger, “Everyone [was] just laughing like crazy.”

Pranks and practical jokes were part of life at the Music Bank, although sometimes they could push the envelope. Layne put a dead rat inside the bass drum of the band Sex. As payback, someone from Sex set up a large cup filled with flour, mounted it on top of a door, and tied it to the doorknob. According to James Bergstrom, Layne had a big date that night, which he had taken time to prepare for. He stepped through the booby-trapped door and was covered with flour. Bergstrom isn’t sure, but he thinks the members of Sex may have followed up the flour immediately by dousing him with water. Layne was furious and suspected Bergstrom was behind it because he was there at the time, a charge Bergstrom denied.

Another time, Tim Branom was on duty with the keys one night when Layne brought a girl back to his room for a tryst. Branom and a group of about a dozen people were standing outside. They barged in and pulled the two of them apart. “I remember the condom flying in the air and us all laughing, but Layne never got back at me or anything. That was all part of being friends. The girl was screaming, of course, but she wasn’t screaming that bad. It was almost like you just knew that was going to happen.”

One night at the Music Bank, Layne; Dehumanizers drummer Infra Ed; Barry Oswald, who worked at the Music Bank; and graphic artist Steve Alley were watching This Is Spinal Tap—“in an altered state of being,” according to Alley—after which everyone decided they could do it better. They formed a band called Penis NV—pronounced “penis envy”—which Alley designed a logo for. They booked a show at a club under the Aurora Bridge, which sold out. Before the show, Layne and Ed drank a fifth of Jack Daniel’s by themselves. When they took the stage, Ed tripped and kicked his drum set into the crowd. After this, Layne went to the microphone, said “Thank you,” and walked offstage. The performance lasted about two minutes, and they didn’t play a single song. “We had a bunch of pissed-off people who spent five bucks to get in the door,” Alley said. “But they got what they got.” They hurried out of there as fast as they could.

Drug use was also part of life at the Music Bank, usually marijuana, cocaine, and acid. Multiple sources consistently say heroin was not part of the scene. “I didn’t know anybody that did heroin back then, but pretty much everybody did coke. It was just standard,” Tim Branom said. “It was the eighties—everybody did it. It wasn’t considered that bad, because people weren’t doing it out of control. It was just like somebody would drink a beer, they would do a few lines.”