Sitting at the critic’s desk with a physical copy of *Son Of A Milkman*, you can feel the weight of nearly four decades of road miles. Brian Wheat is not just the bassist for Tesla; he is the guy who survived the meat grinder of the 1980s without the crutch of a gimmick. While his peers were busy teasing their hair to the heavens, Wheat was anchoring hits like "Call It What You Want", "Signs" and "Love Song". But the book reveals that the real battle was never with the charts. It was with his own biology.
Wheat has been the low-end heartbeat of Tesla for more than 37 years. It is a staggering tenure in an industry that usually discards musicians after three. His new memoir tackles the ghosts of his past with a mix of brutal honesty and a dry, biting humour. For the casual fan, it is a backstage pass. For anyone else, it is a study in how to stay human when the world wants you to be a caricature.
I sat down with Wheat to discuss the labour of putting his life on paper. I asked him about the timing of the book and what finally pushed him to open the vault.
"Well, I’m 58 and Tesla has been a band for 37 years, so those two things, I think there’s enough time in this story to make a good story," Wheat says, leaning into the reality of his age. "What inspired me to write it? It was brought up to me by my psychiatrist, back in 1990, that one day I should consider writing a book because it’s a great way to let things go that you keep internalized. So at the time, when he said that, I was only on my second album, and no one really would want to read a book about Brian Wheat, a bass player in a band called Tesla. We hadn’t achieved huge success yet, so why would someone bother? That’s that side of it."
It is a rare bit of humility from a man who helped define the sound of an era. But the story needed time to ferment. The narrative arc of a 20-something rockstar is usually just a list of parties. The story of a 58-year-old is a different beast entirely.
"When I turned 50, I decided, 'Well, you know what? I’m 50. The band’s been together 25 years. Let me attempt at telling my story,'" Wheat explains. "It started out and the book changed. It went from being more about Tesla to more about me and my health and some of the things I deal with, anxiety and depression and all these other things, so where it started eight years ago and where it ended up are two different things. But I guess that could answer your question why I decided to do a book and what inspired me."
I wondered if he had been hoarding diaries since the early days of the Sacramento scene. Most musicians claim they remember everything, but the haze of the road usually says otherwise. Wheat, however, did not spend the 90s taking notes.
"No. It was just an idea that was sparked, and I never thought, 'Well, I’ll take notes and do this seriously.' It just shot off me like water off a duck’s back, but that was the first time it was ever mentioned," he says. "Like I said, when I hit 50, I went, 'Ah,' and I remembered Mike telling me that and had seen some other people had done books, people that were my peers, Duff McKagan, people that had been in bands that were my contemporaries at the time. I went, 'Well, maybe I’ll do a book.'"
Writing a book is a marathon, not a sprint. It requires a level of discipline that the touring life often beats out of you. Wheat realized early on that the transition from stage to page was a massive undertaking.
"It’s quite an undertaking. To say you’re going to do a book and actually do a book and finish a book is two different things," Wheat admits. "There’s a lot that goes into it, which I didn’t realize. But everything I start, I try to finish, so once I pulled the trigger on starting this, I saw it all the way through."
The industry often demands that its stars appear indestructible. We want our heroes to be gods, not patients. I asked him if it was difficult to dismantle that "superhuman" image by sharing his struggles with bulimia, colitis and mental health.
"No. I was telling my story. That’s the whole thing. If I was going to try to make me look like a hero, I’d be writing a book for the fans, how maybe they want to perceive me or who they perceive me as," he says, rejecting the idea of a polished PR narrative. "I was writing my story. Having said that, maybe there are other people that, you know, that’s a good point because they may look up to their rock stars as heroes and never think that those heroes would suffer from maybe some of the same everyday things that the fans suffer from. They might almost think we’re superhuman or something, that we don’t have colitis or depression or anxiety, or bulimia, or fight with their family or whatever. So I put that out there for them like, 'Look, I go through these things, too. I’m just like you. I just happen to sing Signs for my paycheck. That’s what I do.'"
This level of transparency is where the book finds its pulse. It is relatable in a way that most rock bios are not. I told him about my own struggles with body image and how it often made me shy away from the camera during interviews. Wheat nodded, recognizing the shared ground.
"Well, I’ve done the same thing. I don’t like my pictures taken, especially if I’m bloated from Prednisone or whatever," he admits. "Some of the medications put weight on me that I have to take, and I don’t like my picture taken, so I can relate to it. There you go, see? Me and you were relating to something. You would think that all I want to do is have my picture taken, and it’s the least thing I want to have done, to be quite honest with you."
I recalled an old press photo from the band's first tour with Def Leppard in Ottawa. I had brought it to get signed, but the record label staff snatched it away, replacing it with a fresh shot because Wheat was allegedly uncomfortable with the original. It was a moment of real-world insecurity crashing into the rockstar mythos.
"Yeah. It’s not the most flattering picture of myself, is it?" Wheat asks with a laugh. But time has a way of softening those blows. "I mean today, I would sign it because I’m okay with it. But it’s one of those things, where I was that fat kid, and I had to lose all this weight and stuff, and you don’t want to. I wasn’t even aware that they took the photo away from you. I wouldn’t have told them to do that. They know I never liked that picture, for obvious reasons."
The physical transformation Wheat underwent in the late 80s was drastic. He went from the "fat kid" to a lean rock bassist almost overnight, but the cost was high.
They might almost think we’re superhuman or something, that we don’t have colitis or depression or anxiety, or bulimia, or fight with their family or whatever. So I put that out there for them like, 'Look, I go through these things, too. I’m just like you. I just happen to sing Signs for my paycheck. That’s what I do.'
"Right, and I lost all that weight, from the first album on. That picture was taken before the record was finished. Then, when we started the David Lee Roth tour, I’d lost 75 pounds," he says. "I maintained that image until my colitis kicked in the year 2000 and I had to go back on Prednisone. It put all this weight back on me, and I’ve struggled for the last 15 years with my weight. That’s why, if you see pictures of me, sometimes I look better, thinner. Then, it’s, 'Oh, he’s gaining weight again. He must be gone to the donut shop.' Well, that’s not the case at all. I’ve had to take this medication that puts weight on you, so I could go out and play and continue my life. It’s a constant teeter-totter, if you will, tug of war of maintaining these things."
The discipline required to lose 75 pounds while living on a tour bus is nothing short of psychotic. I asked him if it was a byproduct of the road or a concentrated effort.
"No, no, I worked very hard at it," he insists. "For one thing I had to diet, and my exercise regime was crazy. It was two hours a day."
Doing that at 25 is one thing. Doing it at 58 is a recipe for a hospital visit.
"Yeah, and you can keep that up when you’re young. When you get 50 years old, you try exercising two hours a day. It’s hard. Your knees are all fucked up from jumping around stage all those years," Wheat says. "The autoimmune is taking a toll on your body. Your joints hurt. Look, I’m not looking for sympathy. That’s the last thing I want. I was just saying, 'Look, these are the things that I go through to do what I do. This is my story.' I just did a podcast with a guy in Montreal and he’s got colitis as well. He’s like, 'Dude, I’m connected with you.' That’s what I hope happens from the book, that people that are suffering from colitis or Crohn’s, or depression and anxiety, they got someone that they feel that maybe they can connect with. It will make them talk to other people because talking about these things helps each other, especially with depression."
The conversation turned to the present. The year 2020 was a nightmare for mental health across the globe, and for someone prone to depression, the isolation was a poison.
"I’m okay. It’s up and down. Obviously, this year, 2020, wasn’t good for my depression," Wheat notes. "But I’m okay. I think a lot of people are suffering from depression. The anxiety is in a pretty good place, and the autoimmune disease is okay. This year was okay. It wasn’t a bad year. The last really bad year I had was 2009. Then, I’ve had about 10 pretty good years, where I got pretty healthy. It’s a balancing act, and you just got to try to balance it. It’s hard if you’re out on tour playing 120 shows a year. That kind of stuff is not a conducive lifestyle to someone with an autoimmune disease."
Tesla’s history is inextricably linked with Def Leppard. From the *Hysteria* tour to Phil Collen producing their *Shock* record, the bond is deep. Wheat views them as more than just tour mates.
"Yeah. We’re pretty friendly with them. We have a lot of similarities. They took us under their wing on the Hysteria tour. We were just starting out. They’ve encouraged us to write songs. They have always been very encouraging, and there is a pretty deep friendship," Wheat says. "The one band that we’re the closest to, of any band out there, is Def Leppard, as far as the camaraderie."
Playing before a juggernaut like Leppard every night forces a band to either level up or go home. Wheat credits that pressure for Tesla's longevity.
"Absolutely. They’re a pretty good act and having to play before them and try to stay in the same ballpark makes you a better band," he says. He then shared a legendary bit of tour lore regarding how Leppard used to sneak onto the stage during their "in the round" shows.
"Well, that’s how they got there. They wheeled them out in these laundry hampers. People just thought it was whatever. No, with us, the lights went out, and then we ran up through the halls or the aisles to the stage and got on the stage. But with Leppard, the lights went out, and they were already on stage. They were snuck into the bottom of the stage by these laundry hampers," he laughs. "Yeah, it was [a clever way of doing it]."
The humour in the book acts as a release valve for the heavier topics. Wheat knows that a story about chronic illness and depression can be a slog if you don't find the punchline.
"Well, I think anytime you talk about subjects that are heavy and matter to you, if you make light of them, it’s easier to deal with them. So I approached it with humor, as well. I think you got to be able to laugh at yourself," he says.
We moved on to the legends. Wheat’s friendship with Jimmy Page is the kind of thing fans dream about, but for him, it was a lesson in class.
"No, it was way more. Jimmy’s a very kind, giving, humble man. Next to the word gentleman in the dictionary, you would see Jimmy Page’s picture. He’s a true English gentleman," Wheat says. "The whole thing is really surreal because I was such a fan. I still am such a fan, admirer, of Jimmy’s work. But when I was a kid, him and Paul McCartney were these two larger than life rock stars that were my heroes. I was lucky enough to meet Paul a couple of times. But to become friends with Jimmy and actually be his friend, that’s pretty cool, man. If you would have told me that when I was 15, I would have said you were nuts."
The cover of *Son Of A Milkman* features Wheat with a Hofner bass—an iconic choice that screams McCartney. It wasn't just a prop; it was a statement of intent.
"Well, there’s this one guy that plays that same guitar. He’s a little bit bigger than me. He’s my hero. Paul McCartney is my hero. I’ve had a Hofner since the second album. When I was a kid, I couldn’t get one. Then, once I made some money, I bought a Hofner," Wheat explains. "Stuff like The Way it Is and Love Song on Great Radio Controversy, that’s me playing a Hofner. What You Give, obviously the Five Man Acoustic Jam, I played the Hofner the whole night. It just happened to be one of the pictures that was taken in my dressing room a couple of years ago. If you see us play, I’m either playing a Gibson Thunderbird or a Hofner. That’s all I played my whole career on stage. The original cover was going to be a headshot of me, but we couldn’t find the high res picture, so that picture actually was the second choice. It was just me in my dressing room before we went on stage because I keep a little Hofner in my dressing room to warm up with. Oliver grabbed the camera and took the photo. Looking back at it, there was three or four ideas for what would be a cover, and that’s the one we chose."
The choice of gear is a window into the musician's soul. The Hofner provides the warmth for the ballads, while the Thunderbird provides the grit for the rockers.
"But that is the iconic Hofner bass that Paul McCartney played in his whole career. Because of that, I decided that I was going to play a Hofner. It’s no little different than seeing Jimmy Page playing a Les Paul and Slash playing a Les Paul. You know what I mean? Same thing. I mean we’re all fans of music. Just like Paul was a fan of Elvis and Buddy Holly and Little Richard, Jimmy was a fan of the same kind of guys, and me and Slash are fans of Jimmy Page or me, being a bass player, Paul McCartney. Then, the other thing is I play a Gibson Thunderbird because Pete Way played one in UFO, who was another big hero of mine that I became friends with."
Wheat uses his tools with surgical precision. The Thunderbird is the hammer; the Hofner is the scalpel.
"Well, one is more for rock stuff, like Coming at You Live or Modern Day Cowboy or Easy Come Easy Go, or Edison’s Medicine, Heaven’s Trail," he says. "The other one, which is the Hofner, has a softer sound. So on the more ballady, mid-tempo things that Tesla’s so good at doing, Way It Is, Love Song, Signs, What You Give, those were all played on the Hofner. Honestly, it’s my favorite bass to play because it’s really easy to play. It’s got a little bit shorter neck and center. I have small hands, so it’s easier for me to get to certain positions on it."
Tesla has always been a hard band to pin down. They were too blue-collar for the hair metal crowd and too heavy for the soft rock stations. Wheat sees the band as a three-headed beast.
"Yeah, absolutely, actually three. There’s the softer stuff, the acoustic stuff, and the rock stuff," he says. He gets defensive—rightfully so—about the "hair band" label that lazy critics often slap on them. "I tell people Tesla are more like a Foreigner or a Bad Company than like Poison or Motley Crue, when you get into this thing of people saying, 'Well, Tesla, we’re a hair band.' They say it in a condescending way. It’s like, 'Well, wait a minute, you didn’t call the Black Crows, the hair band,' and we were more similar to the Black Crows than some of our contemporaries at the time, in the 80s. We only got one cover of one magazine in our whole career, where all those 'hair bands' were all over the magazines all the time, whether it was Cinderella or Motley Crue or Poison or Warrant or whoever they were at the time - they all had big hair."
Tesla’s evolution was organic. They didn't chase trends; they just got better at being themselves.
"I think it's just evolved over time," Wheat says of their shifting sound. When asked if there was a conscious effort to improve with every outing, he is direct: "Yes, you always try to make a record better than the last one. You always want to grow."
One of the most poignant parts of the book involves Chris Cornell. The Soundgarden frontman’s death hit the rock community like a freight train, but for Wheat, the connection was personal because of a shared struggle.
"Well, I only met Chris Cornell one time. The one thing about that meeting is that he had told me about how he was suffering from anxiety. I had never talked to anybody else in a band that ever told me they were suffering from anxiety, so that's what struck me at our meeting. I didn't know him. I don't know that I closed the book. I talk about that in the beginning. Is that in the end?" he asks. When I mention his presence in the final pages, he gives a nod to his co-writer. "Oh, well yeah, that must have been Chris Epting's doing."
Beyond the music, Wheat has found solace in "enhanced photography." It is a multi-layered art form that allows him to process his travels in a tactile way.
"Enhanced photography is this art form that I do where I take pictures, mostly travel pictures, all over the world. I put them on canvas. Then I take acrylic paint, and I paint on certain aspects of the pictures. Then, I put this clear gel over the top of that. That makes it have a texture, and that becomes enhanced photography. That's what I do," he explains. It is more than just a hobby. "Well, it's a therapy thing. I mean I go on trips to relax, and I take my camera because I like taking photographs. Then, when I actually started painting on them, it became a therapeutic thing."
As we wrapped up, the shadow of the pandemic loomed over the conversation. For a man who has spent 37 years on the move, being stationary is its own kind of torture.
"Well, as soon as they lift all this stuff, you bet your ass we'll be back playing again," Wheat says, the hunger for the stage still evident. "Well, it's affected me in many ways. The one thing, this is my job, so I've been unemployed for a year. That the one thing, and then the other thing is that this is the most I've sat in one place in 20 years. I'm used to being on the road every other month, so that's affected me. Like I said, people are suffering from depression and anxiety from this COVID thing. We're in a crazy time right now."
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