MY LITTLE RUNAWAY

Former Runaways drummer Sandy West died Saturday after a long battle with lung cancer. When I heard the news, via an email from a publicist, it took my breath away. Sandy West was my first rock and roll crush, and now she’s gone.

I saw The Runaways in December of 1978 at the Whisky. I was 13, I was with my dad, and it was my first real club show. I was just a kid from the Valley. I’d never been inside a Hollywood club filled with people of all day-glo colors. And the band was incredible. The power and energy from Joan Jett, Lita Ford, Laurie McAllister and Sandy West literally changed my life. Lita was the obvious sexpot onstage, but I instantly fixated on Sandy’s steady beat and totally grooved to her solo turn on “Right Now.” It’s one of those songs that in retrospect is really not objectively very good (sort of like Bob Welch’s “Ebony Eyes”) but I nevertheless couldn’t help but love it.

My Sandy West obsession began in earnest as soon as the gig ended. Dad and I walked across the street to Licorice Pizza, where I bought an import copy of And Now… The Runaways, the band’s latest, and sadly their last, album. I played “Right Now” over and over. True luv.

My friends at school laughed at me. They said the Runaways were terrible, that Sandy couldn’t even keep a proper beat. I never backed down in the band’s defense, but I’ll tell you, it was a lonely battle. There weren’t many Runaways fans at Sepulveda Junior High.

When Dad had his birthday in May of ’79, I invited Sandy, in a roundabout way: I placed an ad in The Recycler, a weekly classified paper, inviting her to “The Caveman’s” birthday party (my dad for some reason like to call himself “The Caveman.”)

She actually responded to the ad. Unfortunately, my stepfather, Doobie, picked up the phone and blew my whole trip. Before I could get on the phone, he blathered on about what a bit fan I was and how I’d be so excited to speak with her. All pretense of cool went right out the window the moment Doobie opened his mouth. Not surprisingly, Sandy didn’t celebrate with the Caveman and his kid, and the Runaways broke up before the ‘80s began.

I still love the Runaways, and am still amazed at how fresh they sound three decades later. It’s not brain surgery; their music is merely nasty, trashy fun, created by bored suburban girls who were trying to play their way out of the dead end of teen life. It's a dream all of us had.

You finally made it, Sandy. Be well, wherever you are.