Press Kit
Screaming in Hollywood
The Last Gold Rush · Chris McLernon
A memoir of four years in Los Angeles, from the Sunset Strip in July 1985 to a major label deal. Everything a host, editor, or booker needs is on this page.
One-Sheet
- Title
- Screaming in Hollywood: The Last Gold Rush
- Author
- Chris McLernon
- Publisher
- Oldsmobuick Records
- Publication date
- August 21, 2026
- Formats
- Paperback, Kindle. Audiobook coming soon.
- Price
- Paperback $17.99 · Kindle $7.99
- Pages
- 226
- ISBN-13 (paperback)
- 979-8-9968810-0-0
- ISBN-13 (e-book)
- 979-8-9968810-1-7
- Library of Congress
- LCCN 2026917087
- Where to buy
- Amazon
- Press contact
- chris@chrismclernon.com
About the Book
Short description
July 1985. Chris McLernon arrives in Los Angeles in the thick of the last great rockstar gold rush, chasing his fame, his future, and his fate. Screaming in Hollywood: The Last Gold Rush follows his first four years there, from rockstar rookie to a major label deal. Flaky musicians, friends with massive drug hobbies, panic attacks, and auditions that went nowhere. Dogged, broke, and occasionally delusional, he kept moving until the city blinked first. It is a gritty, glam, affectionate look back, and a valentine to the people who made it unforgettable.
Long description
July. 1985. Arriving in Los Angeles during the thick of the last great rockstar gold rush, Chris McLernon moved west to seek his fortune. His fame. His future. His fate.
Hollywood had beckoned him from the Midwest, but McLernon had no idea what LA held behind its back while batting its eyes at him. Everything from constant disappointment, career derailment and Richard Ramirez wandered these streets in tandem. This was a big city with big rewards if you could handle the heat. Nevermind the temptations, chemical and human.
Screaming in Hollywood is a unique glimpse into those first years as McLernon went from rockstar rookie to signed artist. Flaky musicians? Check. Friends with massive drug hobbies? Gotcha. Whispers of self doubt? Deafening.
Yet something pushed him forward. Dogged, broke and occasionally delusional, McLernon kept moving until the city finally blinked first.
McLernon tours the LA of his twenties with affection, amazement, some cringing and a bit of counsel to his younger self. Screaming in Hollywood revives a place and time that was as gritty and glam as you’ve heard and sends a valentine to the people who made getting through it so unforgettable.
About Chris
Long bio
Chris McLernon spent the '80s and '90s writing, recording and touring the world with the gold and platinum selling Saigon Kick (Atlantic) and Cold Sweat (MCA). After leaving the road to raise a family, he looked to the world of TV, Film and Advertising to continue playing music and satisfy his creative and eclectic musical tastes, placing his music with cable and broadcast networks along with indie films and national ad campaigns.
Recently, Chris has reunited with Saigon Kick, Cold Sweat and cult favorite Cold Gin along with recording new solo albums despite a Parkinson’s disease diagnosis in 2019 and conquering throat cancer in 2025. He plans to produce more new music by RFK Artists The Fifth, Kinell and Cold Sweat and play more gigs in the not too distant future.
He hosts the Plus One Rock ’N’ Roll Podcast. His first book, Screaming in Hollywood: The Last Gold Rush (2026), tells the story of his first four years in Los Angeles, from arriving in July 1985 to landing a major label deal.
Story Hooks
One-line teasers for hosts. Page numbers refer to the paperback.
- Rick Nielsen walked up to the band’s table at the Cat and Fiddle the week they got signed and told them they looked like lambs being led to the slaughter. Then he sat down and schooled them for half an hour. p. 181
- On contract day there were balloons, champagne, and a special pen. Then the singer announced he was quitting for George Lynch. p. 202
- A teenage kid pulled a gun on the band in a Valley Carl’s Jr. while two LAPD officers ate burgers a few feet away. p. 186
- He was a guitarist for twelve years. A drummer told him “you should play bass,” and he got the first bass gig he ever auditioned for. p. 118
- His audition for Ferrari was a sold-out show at the Palace. MCA signed the band that night. p. 165
Suggested Interview Questions
- You moved to Los Angeles in July 1985 to get signed. What was the lowest point in that stretch?
- The subtitle is “The Last Gold Rush.” What do you mean by that, and what did that era have that is gone now?
- You were a guitarist for twelve years before a drummer told you to play bass. Why did you say yes?
- What did the dream cost you in money and relationships that nobody warns you about?
- Your singer quit for George Lynch on the morning you were supposed to sign with MCA. Walk us through that room.
- What was the hardest chapter to write, and did you leave anything out?
- You wrote this through a Parkinson’s diagnosis and a cancer fight. How did that change what the book became?
- You have reunited with both bands. What was that like after all these years, and how did the book come out of it?
- You host the Plus One Rock ’N’ Roll Podcast. What did being the interviewer teach you about telling your own story?
- You wrote a bit of counsel to your younger self. What is the one thing you would tell him first?
Images
Free to use with coverage of the book or Chris. Please include the credit line. Click any image for the full file, or grab everything at once.
Hear Chris Read It
Chris reading from the book in his own voice.
Ch. 6 · Whisky Guitar Contest
Ch. 20 · Every Day Is Fryday
Excerpt: They All Looked Like Me
Chapter 4, complete (pp. 16–19). Free to run with credit. Contains strong language.
Listen: Chris reads this chapter.
The band lived in the Copa Capri at 1844 N. Bronson Ave in Hollywood. How rock star could I get? My first LA address was in the thick of it all. I could see the Hollywood sign from my front door and TV stars on my morning runs! Never mind that I was broke. Never mind the shitty apartment. I had a Hollywood address. Clearly, I was on my way.
It was July. Hot. We'd been in LA a few weeks already and hadn't yet fully explored the Strip. We figured it would be a good distraction to go and see what this place had in store for us. We later found out the owners of the Copa were all Scientologists, a mindset that typically attracted actors. They made a few attempts to recruit us, left pamphlets, invited us to “auditing sessions,” but we ignored them, and they gave up.
One Friday night we piled into Ralph’s van. Two years before, Ralph had been to the city to bolster his musical education by attending GIT. Like Paul, he came back to Madison and swore we all needed to go west if we had any hopes of making it. Laughing and joking, we drove west on Sunset, reeling in the warm California night. It was a lot to take in: palm trees, neon, billboard after billboard, the Hollywood sign looming over our shoulders. This was a place I’d spent the last three years dreaming of, and here I was. It was nowhere anyone in my family had ever been. It felt very close, even if I was far from “home.”
I was the black sheep and my path was wildly divergent from what was in my family history. Before me, my uncles (the eldest in their tribes) had become priests. That’s what you did in an Irish family to guarantee your mother’s ticket to heaven. Leave it to this eldest son to break the mold. I was a prime candidate for the Jonas Salk School of Saving Humanity. Educated priesthood status without the celibacy. Still got mom into heaven, no questions asked.
“But you want to play rock and roll?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Excuse me?”
Fuck the family expectations.
We rolled down the boulevard, like so many of my idols had. Movie stars, rock stars. They‘d all walked these streets where dreams were contagious and the energy was thick and palpable.
As we drove, we passed many sites I’d longed dreamed of seeing. The billboard at La Cienega where all the iconic albums appeared. Jay Ward Studios, home of my childhood favorites Rocky and Bullwinkle. Sunset Strip Tattoo. Tower Records. The corner that appears on the cover for Sweet’s Desolation Boulevard in front of what is now the Viper Room.
And then the Whisky a Go Go came into view. We took a left at San Vicente, in search of a parking spot. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see it was already teeming with flaming youth and locating a spot on Sunset would be impossible. Finding a spot on Harratt Street, we trekked up to Sunset, happy to have found a spot within walking distance. We piled out, excited as hell. As we stopped at Clark to cross the street in front of the Whisky, I couldn't believe what I was seeing. From Clark to Doheny, Sunset Boulevard was packed with guys and girls. And they all looked like me. In Madison, I stuck out. I was tall, had hair to my elbows, and wore loud outfits. It got me threatened many times. And complimented occasionally. On this summer night in 1985, I got my ass handed to me: I was not unique. Good Lord. Here were hundreds chasing the same dream, stretching out for a quarter mile. What was I thinking?
We walked over to the Whisky a Go Go. I’d heard of it for years. Legendary. Iconic. Everyone played here. The Doors. Alice Cooper. Van Halen. Now, here it was, staring me in the face. When was my fucking turn?
We took a left, west on Sunset, and trudged uphill, like aqua-netted sardines, packed asses to elbows. Flyers, stickers, tickets for shows all being handed out like confetti. Ticker tape parades for bands that may never make it.
Pants that were lacquered on. Hair like a tesla coil. Perfectly placed smoky eye shadow. And that was the guys. The girls, who all looked like they’d been peeled off the pages of Penthouse, were outrageously friendly, gorgeous, playful, and plentiful. This was a Roman orgy on a summer evening.
It was all I could do not to induce whiplash as we took it all in. The night’s goal was to absorb the Strip and what it had to offer, but I was hoping to see a band, too. At some point we had to see what we were up against.
Praise
“The best book I’ve read this year! This isn’t just another rockstar bio.”
Aaron R. Fischer, Amazon review
“Excellent book by Saigon Kick/Ferrari/Cold Sweat/Kinell musician Chris McLernon.”
Patrick Breen, Amazon review
Press & Interviews
Podcast, radio, print, and event requests: chris@chrismclernon.com