Steve Hochman on October 9th, 2015

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If you know Bob Forrest only as one of the most visible figures in the world of addiction counseling, you might be surprised to find out about his rock ’n’ roll past as leader of the much-heralded ’80s-’90s L.A. band Thelonious Monster and later the Bicycle Thief.

“The girl I’m going out with — she was surprised,” Forrest says. “She didn’t know I had bands and records. All that time running rehab centers, people forget.”

If you know Bob Forrest only from his Monster days, you might be surprised that he became a leading figure in the rehab realm with not just deep wisdom about the issues, but expertise in the workings of the medical business world, as well. As a songwriter he earned deserved comparisons to Paul Westerberg and Kurt Cobain. As a combative addict, he earned deserved comparisons to, well, name your combative-addict-of-choice.

“Not something you’d say: ‘That guy in the corner with Top Jimmy at the [now-long-defunct L.A. punk club] Cathay de Grande? That guy’s gonna know everything like the top guy at a hospital? I wouldn’t bet on that!’”

He peels off a hearty laugh at that thought of how far he’s come since his running-partner days with the L.A. blues belter, now deceased.

It’s both sides of that which spurred Forrest to make a new album, aptly titled “Survival Songs” (out today via Six Degrees Records). Well, really it was spurred by producer Ian Brennan, a long-time friend and Grammy-winner, who’s been behind key words by acts ranging from Peter Case and Ramblin’ Jack Elliot to Saharan rockers Tinariwen. The album brings together songs from his Monster repertoire (from the Blind Willie Johnson classic “See That My Grave is Kept Clean,” to his own affectionate look at teen rock fans of the ’80s, “Sammy Hagar Weekend,” the one TM song that made any headway on commercial radio) as well as some newer things, in immediate, intimate acoustic performances largely accompanied by Monster guitarist Zander Schloss.

“In the 21st Century world, you can make a very raw, immediate sound, like four people sitting in a room at one mic.”

“We recorded live here, basic tracking with guitars and singing at the same time,” Forrest says. “Then he brought it to Italy [where he has been living in recent years] and the harmonica and other things were added by friends of his. Pretty amazing. In the 21st Century world, you can make a very raw, immediate sound like four people sitting in a room at one mic. And it’s me and Zander at Flea’s house in Big Sur recording, emailing it and then Ian taking it to Italy. And it sounds the same as it would have a hundred years ago.”

There’s an arc to the presentation that somewhat tells his life story. And it is quite the story, that of a Southern California boy who learned that the couple he thought was his parents were in fact his grandparents, while the woman he thought was his sister was really his mother, having given birth to him as an unwed teen. It all goes from there to, well, where he is now, with addiction nearly doing him in, 24 attempts at rehab before it took. Inspired to help others, he was mentored by Musicians Assistance Program (MAP) founder Buddy Arnold, taking a leadership role with the organization, and then going on to certification as a drug counselor. Most visibly, he’s worked alongside Dr. Drew Pinsky both in clinical settings and on the latter’s “Celebrity Rehab” TV series. Not to mention that he’s a dad raising his own son. (He has a grown son from an earlier relationship, as well.)

And some arc it is. Early on we get “Cereal Song,” in which he almost imparts a sad, poetic yet matter-of-fact roundup of ravages of addiction — loss of friends, loss of any meaning in life, as well as “teeth so bad, I can’t chew my favorite cereal.” But at the end there’s the bald sentimentality of “Elvis, We Are Waiting for You” about his young son and the folk-gospel classic “Peace in the Valley” (with Carla Bozulich, formerly of L.A. band Geraldine Fibbers, singing along), the contentment of a man who at 54 has a very nice life that seemed impossible not all that long ago.

Of course, much of this is told in the 2011 documentary “Bob and the Monster” and in his 2013 memoir “Running With Monsters.” But the album gives a concise presentation, Forrest’s songwriting talents and very personal approach in full, intimate display.

||| Stream: “Truth, Chaos & Beauty (Peace in the Valley)”

He’ll be doing a Book Soup reading and acoustic performance with Brennan on Oct. 15 to mark both the album release and the publishing of the book’s paperback edition. But first he had a typically freewheeling conversation with Buzz Bands LA about the album and the life behind it:

How did this album come about after all this time of not making records?

Bob Forrest: It was Ian’s idea. It’s funny. Everything that happens in my life comes from the ’80s. I made some many friends, thousands of acquaintances in the ’80s. When I got sober, Ian got ahold of me at Millie’s [the Silver Lake eatery where he was washing dishes to get back on his feet] and said, “Hey, you should come up to San Francisco and play!” I hadn’t thought about playing or anything.

It was the first time Josh Klinghoffer, now in the Chili Peppers, played on stage. Chuck Prophet, me and another person performed, singer-songwriters sitting on stage going song, song, song. But I can’t play guitar good enough, so Josh was sitting on the floor playing.

Then Ian was saying, “You should do an album of all your songs.” I said, “Why would anyone want to listen to an album of songs of the ’80s and ’90s?” He said, “If you ordered the songs right, it’s the story of your life. The good, the bad and the ugly.” And in the end it gets pretty corny. My life is pretty great! Power of self-destruction, power of wisdom. I don’t know about the wisdom, but I am much more easy-going.

“He said, “If you ordered the songs right, it’s the story of your life. The good, the bad and the ugly.”

Most of these songs come from when you were in a very different state than you are in now.

So much of this is my attachments — moms and love and relationships. And so many are about “You done me wrong.” Blues and country music. Me and Top Jimmy and all of them. It fits so much my personality. It’s not about the kid from Palm Springs hanging with Top Jimmy — our trauma was the same. We listened to Jimmy Rodgers and Merle Haggard and Webb Pierce and all that. So I wrote those songs. The couple that are about that strike me as wrong. I don’t see myself as a victim anymore. But all that blues music, so many of those songs, so many Delta blues songs, acoustic blues, and all country and western under Toby Keith are about how the girl done me wrong. Seems a real deep-seated collective consciousness that we like to revisit and relive over and over.

How were the songs selected?

Ian would call, there were always certain songs he wanted to do and certain ones I wanted to do. “Heroin Song” — “Cereal Song,” it’s called. When I’m singing that I get non-language ideas or senses in my head. When I sing that I think of all of us, Anthony [Kiedis, of the Chili Peppers] and [former Peppers guitarist John] Frusciante and Rob Graves [guitarist in Thelonious Monster, Gun Club and 45 Grave, dead of an OD in 1991]. There’s a sense of, I don’t know, a very cool place to be in that sense of some of us survived, some of us didn’t. Almost not good or bad. Just makes me think, “Hello.” A really good kind of feeling about that song.

The words that come to mind with that song are frightening. Or maybe unflinching.

[Laughing] I have a psychoanalytic view of it all. Poor attachment, all those people I mentioned who were heroin addicts — inability to attach or unattached. Bob Graves, it wasn’t his shades that made him stand-offish. It was a deep-seated trauma we were all bonded by. Heroin is the drug of trauma. Fact is so many of us who have gone through that learned the ability to attach and detach, and are still alive. So when I’m singing that I feel good.

There’s a different kind of nostalgia in “Sammy Hagar Weekend,” a song inspired by hearing a radio station devote a couple of days of airplay to highlighting the rocker’s music and set in the scene of one of his concerts at Anaheim Stadium.

Having “Sammy Hagar Weekend” on this album was Ian’s idea. I went “NOOOO! I don’t want to sing that song!” But it really gets back the essence of the time I was a kid, the friends I had. Putting it on the album is not about it being the only time we were on the radio as a joke song.

It’s not a joke at all. That’s a characteristic of yours, how you can take an offhand quip and find some real depth in it. It reminds me of the cult short documentary “Heavy Metal Parking Lot” talking to kids outside a Judas Priest concert in the ’80s.

Oh yeah, I’ve got a copy of that on VHS. That’s who I was! If you were born in ’61 or ’62 or ’63 or ’64, you were in a parking lot outside a concert at one time — Led Zeppelin or KISS. You can’t tell me you weren’t! I love younger guys like Dave Grohl or Tom Morello. They love Rush! I really sang this song the way it was written — a teenage rite of passage, not a joke just because I picked Sammy Hagar as the musician it was centered around.

Some songs are updated a little. “Lena Horne Still Sings Stormy Weather” originally came from when you were supporting Jesse Jackson’s presidential campaign in 1992. He was named in the original lyrics.

Ian said, “Change Jesse Jackson to Barack Obama and it’s perfect fit!”

And then there are new songs, or songs you hadn’t done before, with a very different tone.

I had these new songs I’d written — writing songs for no reason, usually pretty songs, like the one about my son, “Elvis, We Are Waiting For You.” It’s pretty happy. My life is alright. I think it’s too happy! But when you contrast “Peace in the Valley” and the Elvis song with songs of girl-done-me-wrong and heroin, it’s a great contrast. If you just took all the happy songs, I wouldn’t make a record!

So I’m sitting here in my living room, don’t have to be at work until later today, looking at my beautiful garden, took my son to school, am not addicted to drugs. And it’s great. But if you don’t contrast that with the songs of desperation …

||| Watch: A mini-documentary about “Survival Songs”: