by Dee Snider
A couple of weeks later—much to my relief—my letter was published for all of the English heavy metal community to see, and both Hanoi Rocks and Manowar were contacted about my challenge. Hanoi Rocks completely laughed off my letter—further infuriating me—and Manowar accepted my challenge for what they thought was a battle of the bands.
My response—this time by phone, in an interview—was swift. My calling them out was not meant to be musical, it was meant to be physical. “My fist, your face” I believe were my exact words. If Twisted Sister didn’t get an apology from both bands, there would be a nonmusical, physical showdown the next time we were in England . . . whenever that might be. We still had no clue as to what the hell we were going to do next.
I now see the complete stupidity of the whole thing. A psychiatrist once explained to me that when we lose control over the bigger, more significant issues in our lives, we tend to lash out at little things we feel we should have control over. The husband who has to put up with his demanding bosses and clients all day, catering to their every whim, flips out when he comes home and dinner isn’t on the table. Why? Because in his mind it seems reasonable that at least this he should be able to control. With my whole world crumbling around me, this bullshit from these bands was something I could do something about. And I was pissed!
When the opportunity for us to return to the UK finally presented itself in December (much more on that shortly), I made good on my promise. I notified the rock press that we were officially challenging Hanoi Rocks and Manowar to a fight in London’s Covent Garden on Sunday, December 19, at high noon. Very dramatic.
When the day finally arrived, we charged into Covent Garden—with press in tow—to face our accusers and have our revenge. Not surprisingly, a lot of fans were awaiting this confrontation. We prowled Covent Garden looking for Hanoi Rocks and Manowar (both had made it clear, in advance, they had no intention of showing up and fighting us) in every possible location, from garbage cans to even the ladies’ room. Shouting into a megaphone (or loud-hailer as they call it in England), I did my best impression of David Patrick Kelly from The Warriors (which would come in handy on a future album).
“Hanoi Rocks . . . come out to plaaaay! Manowar . . . come out to plaaaay!” Everyone enjoyed a laugh at Hanoi’s and Manowar’s expense.
After a thorough search, it was officially declared (by the press) that Hanoi Rocks and Manowar had “chickened out.”
While Hanoi Rocks weren’t tough, image-wise, to begin with, this declaration was more than a bit damaging to Manowar, whose entire shtick was built on “mannishness.” Performing and being photographed in loincloths, with oiled bodies, they prided themselves on being heavy metal warriors (more like medieval Chippendale’s dancers), ready to do battle for the cause. I guess they just weren’t ready to do battle for their own cause.
The press proclaimed them “Man-o-Wimp” and a photo was taken with the victors (Twisted Sister) and all of their supporters. In the post-“nonconfrontation” interview, I let it be known that it didn’t end there. If they weren’t men enough to face us, unless they formally apologized, we were going to come for them. My plan was to show up at one of their concerts, climb onto the stage, and throw them a beating right in front of their audience. I’m nothing if not committed.
Shortly after the article about the showdown came out, Hanoi Rocks sent a letter to the rock press apologizing for what they’d said about us and declaring themselves the “new flower children.” Fair enough.
Man-o-Wimp—er, I mean War—took another tack. Ross the Boss directly contacted his old friend Mark “the Animal” Mendoza. While I can’t reveal what was said, there were no further issues between Manowar and Twisted Sister. But if they do mouth off again, Ross’s plea—er, I mean request—will be fully disclosed.
By now you should be wondering, “What the hell were Twisted Sister doing in England in December of 1982?” Ahhh, the plot thickens.
26
it’s only rock ’n’ roll . . . but they like it
Remember what I said about our fans being our greatest asset? Well, Twisted Sister had one hard-core fan in particular who was going to bat for us in a big way. Jason Flom, the former head of Lava Records, Atlantic Records, Virgin Records, and Capitol Music Group, and now back at Lava—responsible for the sale of more than 200 million records during his career—was then just an annoying stoner (sorry, Jason). He used to come down to our shows—with his fried buddy Zemsky—and use his low-level involvement with Atlantic Records to get backstage, so he could party like a rock star. Bands (including ours) were so desperate for any kind of label attention, they would fall all over themselves catering to every whim of this hot mess.
That said, Jason loved Twisted Sister and did everything he possibly could to get us signed to Atlantic Records. Jason was so unrelenting, the then president of the label—who was absolutely not a fan of ours and had personally rejected us multiple times—threatened to fire him if he ever mentioned our name again. Despite that threat, knowing the head of Atlantic Records Europe, Phil Carson, was coming to the New York offices, Jason assembled a dossier on Twisted Sister as thick as a phone book and shoved it into Phil’s hands, begging him to take a look at it on his flight back to the UK.
Phil Carson is responsible for the sale of more than 275 million albums worldwide. Among others, he has signed ABBA, Genesis, Yes, Mike Oldfield, AC/DC, and Emerson, Lake & Palmer. He also worked with Led Zeppelin from album one as their record-label liaison. The dude is the real deal.
When Phil finally settled into his first-class seat for his flight home, he pulled out the manuscript Jason had handed him and gave it a quick look. Between the crazy photos of us and the density of the text, Phil closed the massive presentation, rolled it up, and crammed it into a vomit bag. So much for that . . . for now.
AT THE BEGINNING OF December, our manager, Mark Puma, received a call from a popular English television show called The Tube. One of the producers had seen Twisted Sister at the Reading Festival, and the show was interested in having us on. Knowing how far in advance television shows like to schedule, we were clearly a last-minute replacement, which makes what happened that much more incredible.
Every week, The Tube would invite three bands. Each band would play live to a “clublike” studio audience, and the show would be broadcast live. The show offered to Twisted was on December 16, joining the Tygers of Pan Tang (with a pre–Thin Lizzy/Whitesnake John Sykes) and the legendary Iggy Pop. This was the lifeline we desperately needed, but there was one catch . . . they would pay us nothing and cover none of our expenses to get over there.
Our management team (Mark Puma, Jay Jay, and Joe Gerber) immediately went to work, figuring out how we could make this happen. By booking a couple of shows while we were in the UK, we could offset our expenses, but not nearly enough. We needed to fly five band members plus an equal number of crew there, and transport, feed, and house everyone for the duration of the trip. The band was broke, but we saw this as our last chance for salvation. We had to borrow the money. Turning to family, friends, and business associates, we pulled together the twenty-two thousand dollars needed to make it happen.
My younger brother Matt and his wife, Joyce, lent us five grand. I don’t think I ever properly thanked them. Thanks to both of you for taking a chance and helping to make my dream a reality. Along with Matt and Joyce, the band was loaned money by Joe Gerber’s mom, Sophie, and Charlie Barreca’s brother-in-law Johnny Rutigliano. Our club agent, Kevin Brenner, came through for us, as did a number of our faithful club owners, who gave us advances on future club dates, including Tony Merlino of the Gemini nightclubs, L’amour’s owners, Mike and George Parente (who later managed such bands as White Lion and Overkill), and the Salerno family of the Fountain Casino in New Jersey. Thank you all so much for what you did. None of it could have happened without you.
With less than two weeks until Christmas, we arrived in Great Britain for our last gasp. That’s how it felt. If we di
dn’t create some kind of energy out of this appearance, we were done. In our never-ending quest to stack the deck in our favor, we asked Lemmy and Motörhead’s new guitarist, former Thin Lizzy axe master Brian “Robbo” Robertson, to join us on our show closer and they accepted.
The day of the broadcast, as we sound-checked and prepared for the show at the studio, my mind raced. This was an incredible opportunity for us, but I needed some grand gesture to seal the deal and win over not only the studio audience, but the viewers at home as well. I had an idea, but I wasn’t absolutely sure I would go through with it. Unbeknownst to the band, I gave Joe Gerber a couple of things to have one of the roadies ready with if I asked for them.
The show opener was Tygers of Pan Tang, whom I don’t remember anything about because I was deep into my preshow preparations while they were on. Iggy Pop was next, and he lived up to his reputation. At sound check, Iggy had fallen into the drums, knocking them completely over. During the break before the show, he disappeared, and after a frantic search and concern that they would have to do the show without him, he was finally found. The one thing all the bands had been warned about was playing beyond our allotted time. This was live television, with no wiggle room in the schedule. If you did not finish on time, they assured us, they would cut the power. Iggy found that out the hard way. Now it was our turn to rock.
Remember Phil Carson, the head of Atlantic Records Europe? Well, as luck would have it, he was attending that Tube broadcast. Mick Jones, the lead guitarist and primary songwriter for Foreigner, was being presented an award on the show, and Phil, Mick’s longtime friend and head of Foreigner’s record label, had accompanied him to the presentation. Upon their arrival, Phil inquired of the show’s producers, who else was on the show that night?
“Iggy Pop, Tygers of Pan Tang . . . and Twisted Sister.”
Mmmm? Phil thought. Wasn’t that the band that annoying kid was all over me about?
Before he could even give himself an answer, Mick Jones chimed in, “Twisted Sister? You can’t turn your radio on in New York without hearing them.”1
Phil was nonplussed. How was it that seemingly everyone knew about this band Twisted Sister while he, one of the most powerful men in the recording industry, did not? He sought out Mark Puma and inquired about us. Mark told Phil the band was currently without a deal and looking for a new home. Phil Carson took note.
We opened The Tube with our usual “What You Don’t Know.” The studio, which was set up like a nightclub, was filled with rock fans who had waited for hours to be part of the audience. While a couple dozen metalheads/Twisted Sister fans were at the front of the stage, the majority of the audience were spread out around the room, too cool or indifferent to care about a bunch of makeup-wearing “poofters” from America. As the band performed, my brain churned. I had to win this crowd over.
“It’s Only Rock ’n’ Roll” was our final song, and when we got to the audience-participation breakdown in the middle, I revealed our secret weapons. Hanging out by the bar, as if they just happened to be there, Lemmy Kilmister and Brian Robertson charged the stage to a huge ovation. Robbo, in a drunken attempt to make a dramatic entrance, decided to climb down to the stage from a balcony above, but fell. The crowd loved it. We blasted into a jamming solo section of the song, with even more of the studio audience getting into it, but it still wasn’t enough. A full third of the in-house crowd were sitting us out. Without any warning to the band, show, or crew, I decided to make my surprise move.
Addressing the audience in the studio, I noted that not everyone in the room was getting into it, and if they weren’t into it, how could I expect people sitting in their living rooms watching on TV to get into it? Playing off my knowledge of the disdain for makeup-and-costume-wearing bands at that time (remember, this predates hair metal), I asked the crowd if they weren’t getting into it because of my makeup? Already shirtless (meaning the costume element had essentially been removed), I moved in for the kill.
I told them I’d give them an early Christmas present if they’d give Twisted Sister one in return, their participation. I signaled my roadie to bring me what Joe had given him earlier: makeup remover and a towel. I told the crowd, if the makeup was the thing stopping them, it was time to take the makeup off. Grabbing a big handful of Albolene (the greasiest and most effective of removers)—much to the surprise of the audience and the band—I rubbed it all over my face. Then I took a towel and completely wiped off my makeup (as much as I could). Looking at the audience, my face a sweaty, grease-smeared, makeup-less mess I asked, “Now what’s stopping you?”
With that, the band, Lemmy, and Robbo launched into the final audience-participation part of the song . . . and the entire place was up and rocking! We finished to a thunderous ovation, with Lemmy grabbing the mic from me and shouting in his classic voice, “Twisted Sister, all right?!” It was.2
Not only did the in-house audience love us, the at-home audience did, too.3 We had three record deals offered to us immediately following that show, and Phil Carson told Mark Puma he was interested in the band, too. Phil just wanted to see us performing a full set at a Marquee Club show we had booked for a couple of days later to be sure.
True to his word, Phil came to the sold-out show, watched us do our thing, and afterwards told Mark Puma he was going to sign the band.
“To Atlantic Records?” Mark replied in disbelief.
“Of course to Atlantic Records. I work for Atlantic Records. Who else would I be signing you to?”
“That’s great! Do you want to come back and meet the band?”
Having just watched our maniacal performance, Phil responded, “That won’t be necessary. I want to sign them; I don’t have to meet them.”
Mark Puma wouldn’t take no for an answer.
Phil quickly discovered that we left our crazy on the stage and were an incredibly focused, intelligent, sober, and professional bunch of guys (for the most part).4
The next day, we headed back to the States for the holidays with the greatest Christmas present of all: a deal with a major international record label, and the knowledge we would be heading back to England, after the holidays, to record our next album. Phil Carson knew our band had a building energy in the UK, and he wanted us back there to record as soon as possible to capitalize on it.
It was a very merry Christmas, indeed.
THE RECORDING OF THE You Can’t Stop Rock ’n’ Roll album would be the best recording experience of my career. The band spirit, camaraderie, and recording environment would never be matched.
As I wrote earlier, while we had been recording the Under the Blade album, I’d been hard at work writing songs for the next record. During the dark months after the Diamond Head tour was canceled—though we had no idea what we were going to do with them—we continued rehearsing, and recording the basic ideas for the new songs. I would always write way more songs than the band needed, so we wouldn’t work on the final song arrangements until we knew which ones were going on an album. Mark Puma had given our new demo to Phil Carson when he met him at The Tube. I’m sure Jason Flom had included some of our music with his presentation to Phil as well.
Weeks after our victorious Tube appearance—with plans well under way for the recording our next album with Atlantic Records—the phone rang in my tiny studio apartment. Suzette answered (obviously this predates ubiquitous answering machines and caller ID). Covering the mouthpiece as she handed me the phone, Suzette said, “It’s some English guy. The phone sounds really weird.”
In the eighties, international phone technology was far more primitive than it is today, being more akin to using a ham radio than a telephone. The only thing I can compare it to is some of the wonky connections we still get when we talk cell phone to cell phone. (“No, you go first. No, you.”)
I took the phone from Suzette and said hello.
“Dee? This is Phil Carson from Atlantic Records. I was just listening to the new demo.” In complete disbelief he added, “There are hi
ts on here!”
“Sure, Phil, I’d like to think so.” Then it hit me. “You’re just listening to our music?”
“Yes; it’s great!”
I couldn’t believe what his statements implied. Now, in my own disbelief I said, “You signed us to a recording contract without listening to our music?”
“Of course. I saw the band and the audience’s reaction, and it just worked. There was a connection. I don’t have to like it or listen to it to know it will sell.”
Unbelievable! What Phil said was absolutely true, but for a record executive to not only state this truth, but to act on it as well, was unheard of. Young, upstart A&R5 guys and girls might go with their gut like that, but never high-level record executives. They’ve got way too much to lose. Once a record man or woman gets that corner office with the big salary, objectivity is lost and the willingness to take chances is over.
Phil Carson was the last of a long-gone breed of record man who knows what he knows and doesn’t allow others to alter his opinion or make him start second-guessing his decisions. Phil had signed AC/DC off a 16 mm film of the band performing “It’s a Long Way to the Top (If You Wanna Rock ’n’ Roll),” shown to him on a self-contained projector, with a little screen, at two o’clock in the morning. After seeing the film, Phil said he’d sign the band, and had their representative wake Angus Young up in Australia so he could tell him. Phil Carson trusts his instincts and that’s what it took to finally get Twisted Sister signed. Someone self-assured and powerful enough to go back to the office, be unaffected by naysayers, and have the clout to get what he wants done.
When Phil told the international executive board of his intentions to sign Twisted Sister, he ran head-on into the president of Atlantic Records’ strenuous objection. You remember him, the one who rejected us multiple times (including overriding ATCO Records’ decision to sign us) and threatened to fire Jason Flom if he ever mentioned our name again. That guy. Phil had to put his entire reputation on the line to get us signed to Atlantic Records internationally. Phil Carson’s signing record within the company was legendary, and he got his way. I owe you my life, Phil Carson.6
