Shut Up and Give Me the Mic

by Dee Snider

  The one thing I did allow myself to acknowledge was that I (Twisted Sister) was becoming overexposed. It was time to shut down interviews and press of any kind, but there was one problem. Magazines had a three-month lead time. Meaning, it took three months from the time you did an interview for it to hit the stands. For me to stop doing interviews at the end of March meant plenty of articles and photos would still be published all the way to the beginning of summer. By the time you think you may be overexposed, you are done!

  Click.

  Another tumbler fell into place. I knew inside it was true, but I still wouldn’t accept it as a fait accompli. I could fix it. I had everything under control.

  TWISTED SISTER FINISHED OFF our last few dates with Iron Maiden, and on March 24, 1985, ending eleven months of touring and four months of recording and preparing for the biggest record and moments of our career. Almost a decade after I joined the band, I was officially a rich, famous rock star (I know I say that a lot but I like the way it sounds.), and I was going to enjoy the fruits of my labor.

  Returning home couldn’t have been more glorious. Suzette, Jesse, and I had moved into an expensive home on the North Shore of Long Island, in an exclusive area (I still remember singing The Jeffersons’ “Movin’ on Up” theme song as we drove there for the first time), and I had so many “rock-starry” things I wanted to do. We completely fenced in and gated our acreage, installed a built-in pool, and bought a boat and more cars, including a 1950 Cadillac hearse. We had so many daily driving cars our insurance company dropped us because they couldn’t understand why two people needed so many vehicles. I had a mechanic who would come to the house just to service the vehicles for lack of use. They were breaking down because they didn’t get driven enough!

  We had service people do everything for us: landscapers, handymen, housekeepers, and assorted workmen. I remember one day Suzette, who wasn’t buying into the whole “living like a rock star” thing, asked me to help her put down a carpet in one of the small rooms in our house (she’s a hands-on kind of person), and I said to her with disgust, “I don’t lay carpet, I pay people to lay carpet!” Man, did I live to regret making that statement.

  I stopped handling my day-to-day finances, opened charge accounts in every store in town, and had my accountant deal with the annoying detail of paying the bills. We would just walk into stores, tell the salesclerk/butcher/pharmacist/grocer/etc. what we wanted, and they would pack it up and send my accountant the bill. Cash? We don’t need no stinking cash!

  Understand, for a blue-collar guy who grew up in a large, middle/lower-middle-class family, having to work my ass off for anything I wanted, never having any real money or truly nice things, and always having financial problems, this was an incredible dream come true. To not have to do it myself—or get a friend or family member to do it for me—worry about the cost, look for a deal, or ask “How much?” before buying something was positively mind-blowing. I should have done all those things, but I didn’t. I wasn’t rich enough to just throw money away—few people are. But this was my rock ’n’ roll dream and I was living it the way I envisioned it. Plus I was sure there was a lot more money to come.

  I would get up at the crack of dawn each morning, hand-wash my totally restored 1969 Boss 302 Mustang (nobody ever touched my Mustang but me!), then drive to my gym (still called Iron Masters) before it opened, weight-train with my personal bodyguard, Vic, then head back to my beautiful home for a day with my wife and son. Rock star time, and the livin’ was easy.

  THAT SPRING AND SUMMER were great, but I had work to do as well. Each month I would film an episode of Heavy Metal Mania for MTV at various locations, including my gym, my mechanic’s garage, and touring the town I grew up in, in my open-top Jeep. I had also signed a deal to write a follow-up to Pat Boone’s bestseller, ’Twixt Twelve and Twenty, on the teen years, so I had to do regular interviews/meetings with my cowriter Phil Bashe (more on this later).

  Oh, and then there was that day I decided to have my front teeth filed into fangs.

  I don’t remember exactly where or when, but one day I got this wild (to say the least) idea that it would be cool/crazy to have my two top, front incisors sharpened into fangs. To answer some common questions:

  Did it hurt?

  No—this isn’t the Dark Ages, he used novocaine.

  Do I or did I regret it?

  No. It was crazy and got a great reaction. If I regret anything, it’s that I did it so late in Twisted Sister’s career. I could have got a lot more mileage out of it if I’d done it sooner.

  What happened to them?

  I got them capped a couple of years later. It got old pretty quickly.

  I BEGAN TO WRITE songs for the next mega-selling (I hoped) Twisted Sister record, but there was one problem. My inspiration wasn’t quite the same.

  Every song on every album to date had been written when I was hungry and from a place of desperation and frustration. Now, I was anything but. I remember sitting poolside one hot summer day, with five cars and a boat in the driveway, trying to write the lyrics to my next anthem of teen angst . . . and I had nothin’! No anger, no frustration, not a genuine angst-driven emotion to draw on. What the hell did I have to be upset about? I had everything I fucking ever wanted! The true significance of this problem was yet to hit me. I was a musical genius (or so I thought) . . . who needs inspiration?

  And speaking of musical genius, I had become a full-blown megalomaniac, defined as in: megalomania n., psychopathological condition characterized by delusional fantasies of wealth, power, or omnipotence.

  Oh yeah, that was me. In my mind, Twisted Sister’s next album was going to be my masterstroke and would bring heavy metal fully to the masses, making my band and me not only the biggest metal band in history, but one of the biggest bands in the world. Nobody could convince me otherwise.

  My plan was simple (for someone of my obvious abilities): have songs on the album that would appeal to every single segment of the heavy metal audience, from the hit-oriented, pop-metal lightweights to the most hard-core headbangers. I’d have hardcore metal, anthemic metal, speed metal, a power ballad, and every other metal variation on there. I even had the perfect cover song for the record.

  In the early days of our career, Twisted Sister used to play the Shangri-Las’ classic “Leader of the Pack.” Our original fans loved it, and we included it on our first, indie release, Ruff Cutts, so I knew even our core audience liked it. Mötley Crüe had just had a hit with their cover of Brownsville Station’s “Smokin’ in the Boys Room,” so I was sure we would knock our cover out of the park. “Leader of the Pack” would appeal to everybody, including the parents of our fans who knew the original from when they were growing up. With this song, I was positive Twisted Sister was going to take over the world. Was I an overconfident, self-assured ass or what?! As I said, a megalomaniac defined.

  This time out, I didn’t overwrite for the record and put the songs to a vote. I wrote only the songs needed for the record and gave them to the band, saying, “These are the songs we are doing. Period.” Although I’m sure I didn’t say it directly to them. We were all way too passive-aggressive as a band by then to be that direct with each other. I probably told our manager Mark Puma, and he prettied it up before breaking the news to them. He always did.

  MY FIRST INKLING THAT something might be wrong with my master plan was when legendary producer Bob Ezrin flew down from Canada and came to my house to hear the new songs. Bob has produced some of the great glam-rock records of all time, such as Kiss’s Destroyer album, Lou Reed’s Berlin, and pretty much everything the original Alice Cooper band recorded, so I thought he was the perfect fit for Twisted Sister.

  We had all met Ezrin when we were on tour in Canada and liked him. Between Bob’s massive talent and great personality, I thought he would be a nice change from our last producer, Tom Werman, the polar opposite.

  Atlantic Records did not want us to change producers, per the old saying “If it ain’t b
roke, don’t fix it.” The accepted thinking was, if you had a hit with a certain combination of artist/producer/songwriter, you didn’t mess with the formula for the follow-up record. It makes sense. Mötley Crüe recorded their hit album Shout at the Devil with Tom Werman, and despite their feelings about him (I’ve heard things), they used him again for their follow-up, Theatre of Pain, to great success. But if Twisted Sister agreed upon one thing as a band, it was not wanting to work with Tom Werman ever again. At least I think they agreed.

  Atlantic Records made us use a producer we didn’t want on Stay Hungry. Now that I had the power, that wasn’t going to happen again.

  Bob Ezrin was excited at the possibility of working with Twisted. Why wouldn’t he be? We had sold more than 5 million records worldwide, were one of the biggest names in rock ’n’ roll, were students of the bands he had helped establish and fans of his work, were huge in his homeland of Canada—and to be honest, he hadn’t worked with a really big band in a while. This would be a big payday and an incredible opportunity for him.

  Bob and I had spoken a lot on the phone about the songs I was working on, and he was pumped to hear them. When he got to my house, I played him the demos Twisted had recorded for the album I was going to call Come Out and Play. Yet another decision I’d made without consulting the band. I even shared with him my massive vision for the costumes, album-cover art, videos, and worldwide tour. I told him about the huge amounts of time, effort, and money that were being invested in what I knew would be the apex of Twisted Sister’s career. I thought Bob went back to Canada pumped.

  A couple of days later, Ezrin called me. Bob’s a straight talker, and he didn’t think the songs were good enough for the follow-up to Stay Hungry. He pointed out that most of the songs on Stay Hungry were in major keys, yet all of the songs I had written for the new record were in minor keys. When I pointed out to him “I Wanna Rock” is in a minor key, Ezrin responded, “Yeah, but it feels major.” (It does.)

  After telling me all the things he felt were wrong with the new stuff, Bob respectfully passed on the offer to produce Twisted Sister’s new album. What!? I couldn’t believe it. This was the guy who had cobbled questionable albums from many of his artists into hit records by literally cowriting a lot of the songs . . . and he was passing? He didn’t even offer to work on developing the material for the album!

  Click.

  There it was again; that sickening sound. My subconscious fully registered it, but my indomitable conscious would not. I couldn’t. My refusal to accept things as they were was (and still is) what had got me over and through everything. It’s what got me through high school and out of a predictable life defined for me by others. It’s what got me Suzette, the love of my life. It’s what made me a true-blue, fire-breathing rock ’n’ roll star. I couldn’t accept any kind of negative final destination. To quote the greatest, most inspiring poem of all time, “Invictus”:

  I am the master of my fate:

  I am the captain of my soul.

  That click sound—my suspicions—couldn’t be right. What the hell did Bob Ezrin know anyway?

  Apparently a lot.

  WITH BOB EZRIN NOW removed from the list, the band and I went through a short list of heavy metal producers whose work we had always enjoyed. After a series of phone calls and letters of inquiry, legendary Scorpions producer Dieter Dierks was hired. We were pretty damn thrilled to finally have a producer whose work we liked, understood our musical genre, and was genuinely excited to work with us.

  What we didn’t know was that Dieter’s biggest successes with Scorpions had essentially been coproductions with the band. We were making a mistake by giving him free rein.

  THE COME OUT AND PLAY album was recorded in New York City and Los Angeles between August and October of 1985. The record, album cover, costumes, subsequent videos, and tour were all a part of my grand plan designed to have true mass appeal. Every element of this effort was carefully thought out, and with the weight of the Stay Hungry success behind me, people scrambled to execute my vision. Why shouldn’t they? Besides the band’s huge international success, the concept for the COAP initiative was truly brilliant . . . if I do say so myself.

  I had long been aware of the fragmenting of the heavy metal audience; I was sure that Twisted Sister and I alone could unify them.

  In addition to focused song selection, we had a number of guest artists on a raucous, fifties-style rock track called “Be Chrool to Your Scuel.” Alice Cooper sang a duet with me on it, Billy Joel played Jerry Lee Lewis–esque piano, Clarence Clemons of Bruce Springsteen’s E Street Band tore up the sax solo, and the Stray Cats’ Brian Setzer played rockabilly guitar. This star-studded tour de force was guaranteed to garner the entire rock community’s attention.

  Clarence Clemons was a gun for hire. When we approached him to play, all he wanted to know was if we were willing to pay his rate. Done and done. That said, Clarence was a great guy to work with, and what he did with essentially five notes and a split reed on that saxophone of his was flat-out incredible. There was no one better at the kind of stuff he did.1

  Brian Setzer was an old Twisted Sister fan and friend of the band’s from Long Island, so it didn’t take more than a call to get him on board. If you want authentic-fifties lead guitar, Brian is your man.

  I mentioned how meeting Billy Joel for the first time changed my life—and I’m not even a fan. He was just such an inspiration as a guy with his feet planted firmly on the ground.

  THE AREA WHERE SUZETTE and I had moved to was Lloyd Neck. It’s on the North Shore (Gold Coast) of Long Island (immortalized in the book and movie The Great Gatsby) and is essentially an island connected to the mainland and town of Lloyd Harbor by a causeway. Billy Joel was the other celebrity resident (actually before me). Subsequent to my moving there, fellow Long Island musicians Taylor Dane (also from Baldwin) and then “Debbie” Gibson also made Lloyd Harbor their “move on up” after they first hit the top of the charts.

  At that time Billy was married to model Christie Brinkley, and he was a bit more clandestine than when he was single. It’s understandable. In the case of celebrity couples, one plus one equals three. You’ve got each of the partners’ celebrity, and then the couple has a celebrity unto itself. I remember driving past Billy’s house on the water one day and seeing a huge fishing charter anchored about fifty feet off the shore, with a boatload of fishermen just sitting there and staring into his and Christie’s picture windows. Terrible. Anyway, while we didn’t hang out together, reaching out to Billy was simple enough. I gave him a call and approached him about playing on the track.

  “I know heavy metal’s not your thing, Billy,” I said, “but this is more of a fifties rock ’n’ roll track, not metal.”

  “Heavy metal’s not my thing?” Billy responded. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” Billy sounded pissed. “I was playing heavy metal when you were in fucking diapers!”

  It’s true. After his club band the Hassles, Billy Joel had a band in 1970 with Hassles drummer Jon Small (who went on to direct Billy’s videos and a Twisted Sister video as well) called Attila. A two-piece organ—through Marshal amplifier stacks—and drums outfit, their legendary album cover (complete with a very metal Attila logo) was of a long-haired (and mustached) Billy Joel and Jon Small, dressed head to toe in authentic medieval battle garb—including helmets, chain mail, and animal pelts—in a meat locker! How freakin’ metal is that!?

  I humbly apologized and begged Billy—a forefather of heavy metal—for forgiveness. Billy graciously accepted my apology and agreed to rock Twisted’s track. True to the man he is, Billy showed up for the session alone, with no fanfare, kicked ass, and left. What a cool guy.

  THE ALBUM WAS RECORDED in New York City at the Hit Factory and at the Record Plant in Los Angeles. The Hit Factory was the only studio I have ever been to where a band that sells 2.5 million copies domestically are treated like second-class citizens. We couldn’t wait to leave “the Shit Factory,” a
s we renamed it, and get out to LA, where we knew we would be treated like the metal gods we were.

  What a difference eighteen months made! Whereas Twisted Sister were still a struggling band during the recording of Stay Hungry, now we were rock stars. Gone were the Oakwood Apartments in Burbank. Now the band stayed at nice hotels in the heart of West Hollywood. And me? Suzette, Jesse, and I moved into Marty Callner’s house in Beverly Hills and lived large. Suzette and Marty’s wife, Aleeza, had become great friends, and Jesse and Marty’s (then) four children (Dax, Chad, Lynn, and Ariel) got along great. We lived there for almost two months, and the Callners made us feel completely at home.

  The recording went pretty smoothly. Dieter Dierks was great to work with, and his engineer, Eddie Delana, was a great guy, too. The Record Plant did treat Twisted like gods, and their studios were filled with other giants of metal such as Judas Priest. Dieter brought the guys from Dokken in to do backing vocals on some of the tracks, and Alice Cooper and Clarence Clemons stopped by to do their parts on “Be Chrool to Your Scuel.” It was very rock ’n’ roll.

  The one fly in the ointment on this record came not from the band, studio, producer, or other musicians, but from an actor. A second-rate, B-movie actor.

  Another of my all-time favorite movies is The Warriors. This legendary, Walter Hill–directed gang movie is flat-out one of the coolest pictures of its type. The title of our fourth album came from the song I had written called “Come Out and Play,” which was derived from a memorable moment in The Warriors when the bad guy, Luther, repeatedly taunts the Warriors with the chant “Warriors, come out to play.” I decided that I wanted our album to start with that chant, slightly modified (“Twisted Sister, come out and play!”), and I wanted to hire the actor who played Luther, David Patrick Kelly, to do it.