A drum riser leans toward the crowd, spitting fire, as a blur of spinning sticks with LED tips cuts through the hairspray haze of a packed arena. The man behind the kit is Richard Allen Ream, but the world knows him as Rikki Rockett, the percussive engine of Poison. He was born on August 8, 1959, in Mechanicsburg, Pennsylvania — a small town that, against all odds, became the launchpad for one of glam metal’s most visually explosive acts. The band’s entire ethos, a fusion of sound and spectacle, was forged in the crucible of the 1980s Sunset Strip, where an album wasn’t just a collection of songs but a physical artifact meant to be blasted from a car stereo while its cover art stared back from the passenger seat.
From Spectres to the Sunset Strip
Before the platinum records and pyrotechnics, the seeds of Poison were sown in a local Pennsylvania group called Spectres, where Rockett first played alongside future frontman Bret Michaels. The chemistry between drummer and vocalist proved catalytic, and the duo soon co-founded a new band in 1983, initially operating under the name Paris. The early lineup included bassist Bobby Dall and guitarist Matt Smith, but the group’s true identity crystallized after a westward relocation to Los Angeles. Smith’s departure paved the way for the arrival of C.C. DeVille, a guitarist whose frenetic energy and razor-sharp riffs would complete the classic quartet and define the band’s glorious, high-gain sound for a generation of CD collectors.
The year 1986 delivered the debut album ‘Look What the Cat Dragged In’ to a world primed for excess. Forty years later, that record remains a cornerstone of any serious 80s metal CD shelf — a low-budget triumph that sold over 3 million copies on the strength of its sheer, unapologetic swagger. Tracks like ‘Talk Dirty to Me’ and ‘I Want Action’ weren’t just songs; they were anthems etched into the reflective side of a disc, their riffs bouncing off bedroom walls covered in posters of the band’s androgynous, heavily made-up image. The album’s cover, a startling caricature of the band in full glam regalia, became inseparable from the music — a visual shock that demanded you pick up the jewel case and take a closer look.
If the debut was a party, the 1988 follow-up ‘Open Up and Say… Ahh!’ was a multi-platinum coronation. The album’s controversial cover, featuring a demonic tongue, initially caused a stir, but the music inside was an undeniable force, anchored by the career-defining ballad ‘Every Rose Has Its Thorn’. That track, co-written by Rockett, climbed to the very top of the Billboard Hot 100, transforming the band from hair metal rebels into mainstream radio giants. For collectors, finding a first-pressing CD with the original, uncensored cover is a rite of passage — a tangible piece of the moral panic and marketing genius that defined the late 80s music industry.
Refining the sound on 'Flesh & Blood'
As the 1990s dawned, Poison refined their sound without sacrificing their identity on ‘Flesh & Blood’, a 1990 release that spawned relentless earworms like ‘Unskinny Bop’ and the poignant power ballad ‘Something to Believe In’. The production was sleeker, the grooves deeper, and the CD format was now the undisputed king, its dynamic range capturing every crack of Rockett’s snare and DeVille’s squealing harmonics. The album’s promotional cycle was a testament to the era’s visual overload, with music videos in heavy rotation that cemented Rockett’s persona — often referred to by the nickname ‘Taz’ — as an untamed force behind a brightly colored, custom drum kit.
The volatile chemistry that fueled the music also carried a destructive edge, a fact that exploded into public view during the 1991 MTV Video Music Awards. After C.C. DeVille launched into the wrong song during a live performance, a backstage brawl erupted between him and Bret Michaels — a moment of raw, unscripted chaos that resulted in the guitarist’s immediate firing. This infamous incident, captured on videotape and replayed countless times, marked the end of an era for the classic lineup but became a legendary piece of rock television lore. The schism didn’t last forever; a reunion with DeVille was forged in 1996 for a massive tour, healing the rift and giving a second life to their catalog.
A black belt and a cancer diagnosis
Beyond the arena stages and platinum sales, Rikki Rockett cultivated a life of intense discipline and eclectic passions that starkly contrasted with the Sunset Strip’s chaos. A licensed pilot and an avid collector of motorcycles and cars, he later channeled his focus into martial arts, earning a black belt in Brazilian jiu-jitsu in 2014. This physical and mental rigor served him well when a personal battle far more serious than any backstage scuffle emerged. In the summer of 2015, he received a diagnosis of squamous cell carcinoma on his tongue — a terrifying prognosis for anyone, let alone a musician whose voice and breath control are second nature to his art.
The diagnosis became public in December 2015, launching a period of profound uncertainty. Refusing to surrender, Rockett pursued an aggressive course of experimental immunotherapy, a decision that ultimately saved his life. By July 2016, news broke that he had beaten the cancer, a victory met with an outpouring of support from the metal community. A decade later, his recovery stands as a testament to resilience, adding a layer of profound depth to the man behind the kit. It’s a story woven into the DNA of every Poison record from that point on, transforming the party anthems into symbols of survival.
Poison’s legacy, with over 45 million records sold worldwide, is a testament to a specific moment when rock music was a full-contact visual sport. For crate diggers, the band’s discography on CD captures a perfect storm of big hooks, bigger hair, and the pristine digital audio that defined the format’s golden age. Rikki Rockett, the drummer who lit his sticks on fire and piloted his own planes, remains the rhythmic anchor of that empire. His journey, from a Mechanicsburg kid to a platinum-selling artist, a black belt, and a cancer survivor, ensures that playing a Poison album is never just an auditory experience — it’s a visceral encounter with a man who has always run toward the flames.