Las Vegas wasn’t to blame. A native son should probably know better than to embrace Sin City clichés. But Paul Summers Jr. wrongly thought he could leave his vices behind when he surrendered his local rock-star status and moved to Oregon in 1996. Looking back today, he realizes it was addict behavior — a way of not holding himself accountable. Now 16 years sober and still based in the Portland area, the 1981 Las Vegas High grad has been reconciling parts of his past that don’t blend.
A YouTube channel, Paul Summers Chronicles, revisits his rocker days with ’80s and ’90s bands A.W.O.L., Triple Ripple, and Cries & Whispers. And Summers’ new book, Hide and Seek — A Dad’s Journey from Soulless Addiction to Sole Custody (from The Publishing Circle imprint), is a visceral account of the early 2000s, when concerns about his toddler’s well-being motivated him to get clean of opioids and amphetamines, to the point where he was awarded sole custody of his daughter. He talked to Desert Companion about the book, and the journey that led to it.
Knowing you as a musician, I found it strange that the book skips past your Vegas era. Was it because you didn’t want to glamorize the so-called “rock ’n’ roll lifestyle”?
Partly. In the original draft, I thought it was important that I’m a musician and was probably a big fish in a small pond in the ’90s. But the book is not an autobiography, it’s a memoir. The story’s really about my connection to my daughter, and how I saved that from being severed by getting clean.
And the other part is that being in recovery, I don’t want to glorify the drug-use days. I’ve already heard from some people who were addicts and read the book that it was triggering for them, those early chapters.
You’ve been resurrecting the music on listening platforms. As you dig back, are you happy or frustrated that you got close enough to taste success by opening shows for bigger names (Devo, The Smithereens)?
I did maybe come as close as you can without it actually happening. Putting up all the back catalog is maybe my way of saying, “So we didn’t make it. That doesn’t mean it wasn’t special to people, and didn’t mean something to all the people who showed up at all these shows all the time.” I just think there was something unique enough about that era to memorialize it.
An old article from 1992 said there were maybe 75 bands and 15 clubs to play. Do you feel like you were part of something that will never be again?
It was so different than what it is now. As far as local original music that was edgy, we had to build our own stage. When you think of music scenes in other towns, it was all established. Vegas didn’t have that local and original music for the longest time. I feel like we came from this era that built that. It was organic, it was local, and everybody who lived in Las Vegas at that time had a part in it. I’m pretty proud of those days.
The Punk Rock Museum (where Summers is represented) validates that there was something special to what we were doing back then.
Your daughter having a baby just before Christmas brings the book full circle. But it also takes the reader back to tough material. Have she and other family members read it? What does she make of scenes like the one where she’s in the car seat when you drive to meet your dealer?
You’re not the only one curious about her and understandably so. She’s had the manuscript since I finished (the first draft) a few years ago and has never read it. She says she was waiting for the official published version. My aunt was like, “This is horrifying. You need to apologize to your daughter.” And I didn’t expect that. Some behaviors you can’t apologize for. All you can do is show you’re living differently now. Every day (that) I’m living clean, I’m showing her that’s not who I am anymore.