The Tim “Napalm” Stegall Substack Interview: Jimmy Ashhurst, Part 1

The veteran punk/rock ‘n’ roll bassist lays out his life and times, beginning with a military childhood that leads him to The Damned!

📸 Pic courtesy 2Fast2Die.com

Jimmy Ashhurst has played with countless bands and contributed to records long cherished here at Napalm HQ. He’s primarily a bass guitarist, though guitar and mandolin are also in his arsenal. His best-known gigs include The Broken Homes, Izzy Stradlin and the Ju Ju Hounds, and Buckcherry. But he’s also done sessions or guested with such world-beaters as Stiv Bators, The Damned, Smack, Johnny Thunders, Mick Ronson, Ian McLagan’s Bump Band, The Black Crowes, Joe Cocker, Ronnie Wood and Joe Strummer.

Do you get why I might wanna talk with this guy?

Almost a year ago, we talked by phone. I asked one question, and an hour or so later, he had essentially given me his oral autobiography—perfectly organized, reading like very conversational prose. It’s like he’s perched on a barstool beside you, ordered a couple of whiskeys neat, and leaned in conspiratorially to let you in on his rich history. Strap in, Napalm Nation! Let this ride begin!

JIMMY: I was born in Italy because my father was a U.S. Army officer working for NATO in a foreign service capacity. I was born there in the 1960s, and after that, we spent some time in America. My dad was stationed at NORAD in Colorado Springs before heading to Vietnam, while my mom and I waited for him there. Later, we were in Washington, D.C., when he was at the Pentagon, before eventually returning to Italy.

I grew up primarily in the south, in Naples, which was quite a different experience. I don’t remember much about being in the north, but the south was a unique environment, especially throughout the 1970s. Italy—Europe as a whole, really—was a bit of a conflict zone, though many people don’t realize it. There were numerous factions operating—the Baader-Meinhof Group, Black September, and, most notably, the Red Brigades. Because of my dad’s position, I was considered a kidnapping risk. It was an unusual way to grow up, knowing that people you didn’t know were keeping tabs on your whereabouts.

Naples was a wild place back then. It’s a massive port city, with a constant flow of people and goods moving in and out, making it a vibrant but chaotic metropolis. Like Manhattan or any other major city, most people lived in apartment buildings. But there were areas I was warned not to go to—and for good reason. Over the years, though, the city has changed for the better.

My mother was Italian, from Naples, and her entire family lived there. My dad, however, wanted me to move to Los Angeles to attend UCLA. So, in the last year of the 1970s, I landed in L.A. and finished high school there. At first, we lived in the suburbs, and it wasn’t until I got my driver’s license that I found Hollywood. Coming from my background, suburban Los Angeles was a culture shock. But once I had the freedom of a car, I discovered the real city—the part where I actually felt at home.

Each summer, my family and I would return to Naples, and it was during those later years that I first caught wind of something happening in London. News reports were coming in about a groundswell of musical and cultural activity—punk rock. The bands were changing fashion and there was a quantum shift going on from the ‘70s and the sort of doldrums, which I was too young to really even figure out in so much early ‘70s music. So the first time I saw The Clash or the Sex Pistols or The Damned on the television, I just got sucked into it. I thought it was fantastic.

When I moved to L.A., I lost touch with that scene for a while, stuck out in the suburbs where punk hadn’t hit yet. My high school classmates were a little hostile toward me—they didn’t really know what to make of me, and I didn’t fit in with whatever was going on there. But once I had access to the city, I discovered a whole world of artists and underground folks who felt like home. I started going to shows, and the first real rock ‘n’ roll experience that made an impression on me was seeing The Damned at the Whisky. That show changed everything.

The following summer, I returned to Naples, and then I hitchhiked from Naples to London. That might not sound like a big deal now, but back then, it was an entirely different world. There were borders—four or five crossings I had to navigate—and hitchhiking was a sketchy business. The journey took me about a month, and it was filled with all sorts of crazy experiences that I’ll have to recount another time.

But it was worth it. When I got to London, I met The Damned, and that was pivotal for me. I spent time with Rat Scabies in the studio, learning about where that music came from. I had assumed punk was entirely a British thing, but to my surprise, these guys were looking toward the U.S. for inspiration. They introduced me to the MC5, The Stooges, and the Ramones, which sent me on a whole new path of discovery. We were hanging out in Pete Townshend’s studio, which helped me understand Rat’s love of The Who. It hadn’t occurred to me that you could love both The Who and the MC5—but of course, you could. That realization helped shape my musical tastes early on. From that point forward, I was stuck somewhere between The Clash and The Rolling Stones in terms of the music I wanted to make. And honestly, that’s still where I am today.

By the time I returned from that trip, I knew without a doubt that I wanted to be part of that world. So, I borrowed a bass and learned to play as quickly as possible. Honestly, I’m still working on it! [laughs] But I got good enough to join some bands, and as time passed, I got to see how different generations interpret music. It’s fascinating how these things come full circle. I’ve always been drawn to bands that spark cultural movements—those that don’t just make music but also shift fashion and influence the world on a global scale. That kind of thing doesn’t seem to happen as much anymore, but back then, it was everything.

Different cities had distinct styles back then, too. You could buy clothes in London that no one in L.A. had seen, and that made you stand out. That kind of regional distinction has disappeared—everything’s been homogenized into a vast layer of oatmeal. But at the time, it was a huge deal.

When I returned to L.A., I realized I was stepping into a scene that was brewing right in front of me. That led me to join several bands in quick succession. First, I met Marc Ford, who lived just down the street from my parents' house. I learned a lot about playing in a band in his garage. We had a couple of stop-and-start projects before I eventually met Craig Ross.

Craig had a band called The Broken Homes, and that’s where things really started to happen. He was the first person I met who understood open tunings—G tunings and all that—which he’d learned from our singer, the late Mike Doman. Mike was from Philly, so he brought that East Coast knowledge with him to the West Coast. At the time, I don’t think many people in L.A. were playing like that. This was before the Sunset Strip was taken over by the heavy metal and glam crowd.

Back then, we were playing venues like Madame Wong’s East and West and Al’s Bar. We shared bills with bands like Tex & The Horseheads, The Gun Club, and The Cruzados. The Plugz had already morphed into The Cruzados by that point. There was a lot happening in the L.A. scene that I don’t think people fully recognize now. Today, when people reminisce about the "glory days" of the Sunset Strip, they tend to focus on bands that all looked like Johnny Thunders. But there was so much more to it.

End Part One

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