Shut Up and Give Me the Mic

by Dee Snider

  I wasn’t taking off my band colors for some stupid idiots who couldn’t see that. The motorcycle gang was waiting outside, and some of the band were concerned that they might take physical action against us if we didn’t remove our colors. I didn’t care. I was adamant . . . no way was I taking off my Twisted Sister denim vest for these morons! I’m not sure what the rest of the band and crew ultimately did, but I walked out of the hall proudly, past the gang members, got in the tour van, and we drove off. Fuck ’em.

  A few weeks later, we were backstage at a Motörhead show in London. Motörhead has always had a relationship with the Hells Angels, and as usual a bunch of them were hanging out. Jay Jay was talking to a couple of them at the bar (isn’t it amazing how much nicer everyone seems with an English accent?) and took the opportunity to ask what they thought about our Twisted Sister patches.

  Jay Jay turned around and showed one of the HAs his vest, to which the Angel responded, “Nice pink.” Clearly, real bike gangs aren’t threatened. Years after that meeting, Jay Jay’s testicles finally dropped.

  THE FINAL SHOW OF our UK You Can’t Stop Rock ’n’ Roll tour was a triumphant return to London. The last time we’d played there was at the Marquee Club, before the release of our hit singles or album. This time we would be headlining the much larger, two-thousand-seat London Lyceum . . . and the show was sold out.

  Throughout the tour, we had done “in-stores,” personal appearances promoting our album. With a top-selling record, two hit singles, three appearances on Top of the Pops, mega media coverage, and a sold-out show that night, was there a better place to have our final in-store than in the heart of London? Unfortunately, we didn’t ask ourselves that question in advance.

  Heavy metal has never been an urban music form. Thriving in suburban and rural areas, it speaks to the angst of disenfranchised teens who yearn for more out of life than their limited environment allows them. Teens in urban areas have greater access to a much wider variety of entertainment and culture. They still have angst, but it doesn’t require the same sort of expression.

  For this exact reason Los Angeles became the center for the eighties explosion of heavy metal. LA has always been known as a suburban city. It’s spread out and residential, not traditionally city-like at all. Yet, it still is a city, a cultural center, and has the music industry firmly entrenched within. Now, driving a car is the first true expression of every suburban or rural kid’s young adulthood. There is no more independent feeling for a young man or woman than cruising and listening to your music. This is one great experience urban teens rarely have . . . unless you’re from Los Angeles. You need a car to survive in Los Angeles, and heavy metal thrives in cars.

  Heavy metal concerts in urban areas succeed because they are the epicenters of surrounding suburban areas. Metal fans in a fifty-mile radius will travel to an urban concert venue to see a favorite band. If only the same held true for in-stores.

  Twisted Sister arrived at the Virgin Records store in London and discreetly slipped in through the back door, to avoid being mobbed by the fans we knew would be waiting outside. We’d done this many times before. As we entered, we heard the strains of our new album playing from inside. That was part of the deal. While you were there, your new music would be played on a loop, to expose people to the record and encourage them to purchase it. Some artists will only sign their new product, but Twisted Sister made it a rule to sign pretty much anything a fan brought.3

  Before we could even enter the main floor for the appearance, Artie Fufkin from Polymer Records intercepted us. Actually, it was the label representative from Atlantic, but he was doing his best Artie Fufkin from Spinal Tap, apologizing endlessly for the debacle we were about to walk into.

  Only one fan was waiting to meet us! A few other people meandered around the store looking at records, but they obviously had no idea who we were, or what the hell we were doing there. To make matters even worse, that one fan had an insane amount of Twisted Sister material for us to sign. Nigel had brought (of course I remember his name, I wrote it like a hundred times!) every record—self-released, indie-released, and major-label-released—plus countless magazine and promotional photos for us to sign. This guy was hard-core!

  As we signed—for what seemed like an eternity—every item this fan had brought, I picked up a definite negative vibe from the people working in the store. This shop was no friend to heavy metal or Twisted Sister. If anything, they were obvious about their disdain for our music. The store put up no signage regarding our coming appearance, and when we investigated further, we found out it had done virtually no advertising at all. Why the hell did they even book the in-store in the first place?

  When we finally finished the humiliating appearance, we exited the building the same way we’d come in. Before the last of us had physically left the room, I heard the sound of our record being literally ripped off the player, midsong, the stylus dragging across the grooves of the record. Those arrogant bastards!

  That night, Twisted Sister played to more than two thousand screaming fans in our triumphant return to London, cementing our position as contenders in the UK metal scene. Our victorious performance wiped away virtually any memory of our embarrassing appearance at the record store that afternoon. Virtually . . .

  A few days later, my hair pulled back and wearing a baseball cap, I wandered into the record shop, alone and unnoticed, and set off a stink bomb! PAMF!

  28

  welcome to the real world

  Recording contracts are not the “band-friendly,” dream-come-true documents you might think they are. While the label is taking an investment risk, the repayment of the money laid out on behalf of the band can most closely be compared to repaying a loan shark. Unless you really, really break through, you could be paying the vig on that investment forever. Which is pretty much what happened to Twisted Sister.

  I’ve already told of my love, respect, and appreciation for Phil Carson, the man who made it happen for my band, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t sign us to a draconian record deal. Our contract ranks up there with some of the worst, but we were not duped or lied to by Phil. We knew full well what we were getting into. With our choices being zero or something, we signed on the dotted line and were damn happy to do it. This is just the reality of the business.

  So what was our record deal like? Well, back in the eighties, a great record deal could get a new band twelve to fifteen “points.” A point is a deceptive way of saying “percent.” So, a great deal would get the band 12 to 15 percent of the net profit from sales. Of course, out of that percentage would come repayment of all recording costs, tour support, and video production. The record company’s economic responsibilities (besides laying out the money) are marketing, pressing up the records, and distributing them. To recap: the record company would take 85–88 percent of the net profit and the costs of recording, touring, and video came out of the band’s percentage. Some deal, huh?

  Did I mention that 10 percent of all sales were deducted by the record company for “free goods”? This suggested that on a platinum-selling record they would give away one hundred thousand records. Really? The company also took another 10 percent for “breakage.” This deduction was instituted when LPs were made out of an almost slatelike substance and could shatter like plates if not handled properly. By the sixties (maybe even fifties) this problem had been completely alleviated by producing records on flexible, virtually unbreakable vinyl. Yet still the 10 percent deduction for breakage remained. Add to that the 15 percent and 25 percent packaging deductions for cassettes and CDs, respectively. Are you doing the math?

  I said that Twisted Sister signed a sucky deal, right? Well, we got only eight points, and all above-listed expenses came out of our share. That’s 8 percent of the retail cost of the album. With some of our producers taking two of our points (the label gave the producer any additional points) from record one—meaning before we paid back our debt—all the other deductions were taken off the top to pay back
the money we owed. When all was said and done, we were averaging about forty-six cents per unit sold. And don’t get me started on how they ripped off my writing royalties.1

  I want to reiterate, this is not unusual. Most bands start out with these kinds of crummy deals. So we gladly signed. The only way to rise above this is to be successful long enough to demand a contract renegotiation. That’s why you have heard of artists such as Michael Jackson, AC/DC, and Metallica receiving $2 or $3 per album sold. Once you get signed, every band assumes their career will have that very arc, yet sadly few do.

  As I said earlier, MTV was becoming a force to be reckoned with, and Phil Carson knew it. In continued support for his up-and-coming baby band, Phil got Atlantic to come up with a few thousand dollars for us to make a video for our next single, “You Can’t Stop Rock ’n’ Roll.” Fully recoupable against our royalties, of course. I’ve often thought, why didn’t we shoot a video for our UK hits “I Am (I’m Me)” or “The Kids Are Back”? Our chart-topping peers in Great Britain were starting to make major inroads into the US market with their hit songs. The American arm of each of their labels was using the energy and positive press of the bands’ success in England to launch the same records Stateside. Wouldn’t Atlantic Records US be doing the same thing for Twisted Sister?

  Phil Carson knew how little support we were going to get in our homeland. He had put his reputation on the line to get us signed internationally in the first place. I don’t think he had much hope for his detractors’ helping him succeed. So Phil armed us with a video for the less commercial, much heavier song, knowing it would better connect with our core audience.

  Now generally, a lot of the decision making for this album was taken completely out of our hands. The producer, the album-cover art (loved the “metal TS,” hated the cover colors and typeface), and now the video director were chosen by Phil Carson. Oh, we were shown the choices for tacit approval, but there wasn’t anything we could do about them. “This is the producer I want you to use. What do you think?” or “This is the album-cover art. How do you like it?” Not much wiggle room in those questions. They were rhetorical at best. This said, we were just happy to have an album to be produced and cover art for; we weren’t even thinking about making choices.

  Our video director was Arthur Ellis for Limelight Films. He had just done “The Last in Line” video for Ronnie James Dio and it was pretty cool. We sat with Arthur and he laid out his idea. Our music video had a story line about the Taste Squad, an organization whose sole purpose was to monitor and track the activities of Twisted Sister. Ultimately, the band’s nemesis would be “converted” to heavy metal and the ways of the band.

  With no idea as to what constituted a “rock video,” we ran with Arthur’s idea. He seemed to get our overall attitude. The video showed us both with and without makeup, which we liked, and it had a sense of humor. While Twisted was serious as cancer about what we were doing, we definitely saw the humor in it. I mean, we were a bunch of badasses wearing women’s makeup! Self-deprecation is my middle name.

  The shoot was an education to a world I knew nothing about, but the possibilities were not lost on me. This new medium allowed music to be communicated with a visual component, something the band and I had always embraced. The big difference was that we as a band could only present ourselves in one city or town, and for one limited audience, at a time. With a rock video, your musical presentation could potentially reach millions at a shot (the operative word being potentially). This was exciting. Arthur Ellis taught me that the visual element for a song didn’t have to be exclusively traditional performing. You could do a lot with this medium.

  THERE WAS A MOMENT during the shoot, where my entire band’s lives could have been dramatically changed for the worst had things gone differently. At the beginning of the “You Can’t Stop Rock ’n’ Roll” video, the band races out of an empty lot in a van, followed by the Taste Squad. Nothing crazy speedwise, but as I drove the van during one of the takes, with the entire band on board, it bottomed out, hit a curb, and ripped the gas tank open! We didn’t realize what had happened until the van stalled a couple of blocks away, out of gas, but it would have taken only a small spark to ignite that ruptured tank. We thought we might get some press from out near catastrophe, but not one press outlet was interested since no one was actually hurt. Hey, “if it bleeds, it leads.”

  With the album done and released, two hit singles, a sold-out tour, and now a video in the can, it was time for the band and me to head home. We had been gone almost five months . . . and I’d missed more than half of my son Jesse’s life.

  THE THING I REMEMBER most about Twisted Sister’s triumphant return to the States was the confused look on my eight-month-old son’s face when he saw me. He had no idea who I was. I’d left when he was three and a half months old and returned almost five months later, having had no contact with him whatsoever.

  I didn’t expect much from him as he stood there (he was standing?!) in his adorable khaki outfit, all tanned and his hair (he had hair?!) bleached blond from spending so much time in Florida, with his mom. I didn’t allow myself to feel hurt by my son’s lack of reaction. This was the life I had chosen; what did I think would happen? I just scooped Jesse up in my arms and hugged and kissed him until he got used to me. The kid loved (and still does love) the Muppets. I must have looked like a real-life Sweetums (one of the biggest, hairiest Muppets).

  My choice of employment isn’t the only job in the world that requires a parent to be away from home for long periods. The only thing you can do is be the best father you possibly can when you are home. Two things I have no doubt my kids always knew: I’d only be away as long as I absolutely had to . . . and I would always come back. I love being a dad.

  WE ALL START OUT thinking we live in a yes-or-no world, everything black and white, good and bad, right and wrong. Vanilla or chocolate? Ah, the innocence.

  As we get older, the reality of life begins to hit us. One is rarely confronted with easy choices.

  DEE LIFE LESSON

  Life is shades of gray, and our goal becomes trying to pick the lightest shade possible, and hope for the best.

  Sad, really. We start out with such conviction and strong beliefs, and life slowly beats us down and forces us to accept and compromise for the so-called greater good.

  The summer of 1983 I was forced to make one of those adult choices. I still feel bad about it today.

  WHILE THE BAND HAD finally broken into the big league and accomplished an incredible amount in the UK, it quickly became apparent we would get no help from our record label at home. While the New York office had some “friendlies,” such as Jason Flom, our label president was less than happy (understatement) to have our band on the Atlantic Records roster. To compare the two, Phil Carson and the UK branch couldn’t do enough for us. Atlantic Records US made us a poster. Seriously. They made a poster, announcing the album’s availability, to be hung in stores. Other than that, the only evidence we had that the label gave any thought to our record or band at all was that the back-cover photo on the album was changed. Atlantic’s US president demanded it, saying, “What the hell are we doing, advertising dentistry!?” He wasn’t a fan of my “wide-mouthed, showing all my teeth” pose—you know, the one I became famous for? So, the back-cover photo was changed, as well as the color of the US-released album cover (to black) and the typeface as well (both for the better).

  What wasn’t the record company doing for us? Any kind of promotion at all and no tour support (money advanced to offset the costs of a new band’s touring). Our video was submitted to MTV, but at that time most record labels still didn’t take the “music television” network seriously.

  Without strong label support, a new band is left completely to their own devices to finance any performances to promote themselves and the record. This meant touring conditions would be rough at best. Not to whine and moan—Twisted Sister was always prepared to do what it had to—but with other new bands out there be
ing fully supported by their labels, it sucked to have a sometimes daily reminder of just how little your label cared.

  We’d been home for a several weeks when our manager called us all into his office for a “career meeting.” We had these from time to time, but only when a “dinner with the band” or “everyone listen up” quickie meeting in a gig’s dressing room wouldn’t do. We all sat and listened as Mark Puma told us that while we had done some amazing work in Great Britain, we had hit a wall in the United States. Of course, the tristate area fans were gobbling up the album, but without the support of the label, our chances were slim to none of doing something with our record in the States. The band’s spirit completely deflated.

  Mark Puma continued, informing us there was one ray of hope. We had been offered a tour in the United States—the band was instantly reinvigorated—but there was a problem. Uh-oh. The tour was with Blackfoot (a Southern rock band, looking to go more mainstream, hard rock) . . . and Krapus.2 With that utterance, the entire band slowly turned and looked at me.

  WHILE WE HAD BEEN on tour in the UK, I’d received a message to call home. I was assured Jesse and Suzette were fine, but I needed to call immediately.