by Dee Snider
The posters, T-shirts, magazine ads, and more resulting from the Dee-only album cover, and the additional attention it brought me, just added insult to injury and were a constant reminder to the guys of the horrible turn (for them) the band had taken. Meanwhile, I couldn’t have been happier.
BY OUR THIRD RECORD, the idea of the TS logo being interpreted differently for each album and tour was starting to set in. I envisioned the logo out of bones for the Stay Hungry record and tour, but needed a mock-up to show the Atlantic Records art department. I turned to my in-house everything, Suzette, to do a quick sketch.
She had just woken up and was in her pajamas and robe, having her morning cup of tea. I asked her to knock out a quick representation of my vision.
Half-asleep, Suzette grabbed a pen and a sheet of paper and in literally five minutes banged out a TS bone-logo sketch. With no erasures (it was pen) and one try, it was definitely close enough for the art department to understand what I was going for. Suzette is so damn talented.
A few weeks later, I paid a visit to the record company. I stopped by to say hello to Jason Flom, and on the wall behind his desk was a TS logo sticker . . . with Suzette’s bone-logo sketch!
I asked Jason where he got it from, and he told me the art department had given it to him. I quickly headed down to the office of Bob Defrin, the label’s art director, to discover Suzette’s sketch of the bone logo—not someone’s polished interpretation of her sketch, but her actual sketch—had been used on everything! It was on the cover of our album, for God’s sake! Somewhere along the way, my “here’s the idea of the logo I’m looking for” had been translated to “here’s the bone logo, run with it.”
Nobody at the label or my manager’s office understood why I was so upset. They all thought the logo looked great, as did the band.
When I broke the news to Suzette, she was mortified. She is a perfectionist and would never have allowed something that important to go out that rough and unfinished.
“If I knew it was going to be the actual logo,” Suzette exclaimed, “I would have spent ten minutes on it!”
Suzette’s bone logo—as is—has been in use on records, merchandise, print ads, and more, all over the world, for more than twenty-five years. Suzette says Twisted Sister owes her money!
34
the game changer
One more piece was needed before we could pull the trigger and launch our Stay Hungry album and tour . . . a video. Though we had stuck our toe in the water with the first one, nothing could have prepared us for what was about to happen.
Ever since we had done the You Can’t Stop Rock ’n’ Roll video, my mind raced with thoughts about the true potential of the medium. MTV was growing at an exponential rate; making a video to go with your album and single was now expected. Believing that “We’re Not Gonna Take It” would unquestionably be our first single, I conceived an elaborate, story-driven video, with an actual “acted-out” opening, something I didn’t realize hadn’t been done before in this format.
My idea was for a father—like my own—to be yelling at his son to turn down his music, and the kid would transform into me and blow his father out a window. The song would kick in, and Looney Tunes–esque high jinks would ensue.
Unbeknownst to the band, an established, award-winning concert and comedy-show director, Marty Callner, was looking to make his entrance into the world of rock video. He and his partner, lawyer Mickey Shapiro, approached Atlantic Records with the idea of producing both a video and live-concert special for a “promising, up-and-coming band.” Atlantic accepted Creamcheese Productions’ proposal and offered them three new bands for consideration: INXS, Zebra . . . or Twisted Sister.
As luck would have it—or by design, on the part of the wily director—Marty Callner brought his teenage son Dax with him to check out the music of the three bands. The story goes that Dax lit up when he heard Twisted Sister, and his dad trusted his son’s instincts.
I flew out to LA with Mark Puma and we joined Atlantic Records’ senior VP Paul Cooper at the Palm Restaurant in Beverly Hills for a meeting with Creamcheese Productions to discuss the video and concert shoots. I took to Marty Callner immediately, and he to me (I think). Though he lived and embraced the Beverly Hills lifestyle (Johnny Carson once quoted Marty, saying, “Beverly Hills is like being in high school with money”), Marty was anything but West Coast. Growing up a street-tough kid from Cincinnati, Ohio, he embodied the American dream, yet kept the “Cinci” attitude.
Before the meeting even officially started, Marty noticed my eyes grow wide at the sight of massive jumbo shrimp served as an appetizer. Having only ever had the “all you can peel-n-eat shrimp” off of a salad bar, I wasn’t prepared for these baby’s-arm-sized, already peeled—and cleaned—beauties. What a rube I was! Marty told the waiter to bring out a large bowl filled with them for me. Welcome to high school with money!
Once all the introductions and pleasantries (and behemoth shrimp) were behind us, we got down to business. Marty immediately asked if I had any thoughts for the video, and I shared my concept. He loved it! This is one of the things that makes Marty Callner the great (and hugely successful—just check his history on IMDB) director that he is . . . he is not threatened by good ideas from other people. Even though my video experience was practically none—and I was so wet behind the ears that big shrimp left me dumbfounded—Marty recognized, welcomed, and encouraged my creativity.
Marty told me he and I would work side by side on the project, asking only that I not undermine his authority with his crew by correcting him, or telling him to do things, in front of them. That was it. From that moment on, and throughout the project, Marty Callner and I were attached at the hip, becoming better and better friends the longer we worked together. We’re still great friends to this day.
UNFORTUNATELY, BEFORE WE EVEN got out of the video-production gate, I was pulling my insanely long hair out of my head over a major issue with the choice of first single. People’s preferences were all over the place! Every “country” was being heard from, including various clueless record-company types . . . and they were gravitating away from the obvious lead track.
When I got word that it looked as if the record company would go with “Burn in Hell” as the lead single, I pretty much lost my mind. Great as that song is, it would have been album suicide.
Seeing how upset I was, Marty Callner made me get in his car (the beautiful Jaguar XJ6 that Tawny Kitaen would later be seen doing splits on, in a Whitesnake video Marty directed); he said he wanted to show me something. With the windows rolled down and the air-conditioning blasting (something else I learned in Beverly Hills), on a beautiful spring day, Marty took me to a huge cemetery and stopped the car.
“You see that?” he said emphatically, pointing to the sea of gravestones. “That’s a real problem. As long as you’re aboveground, you’re okay. In the end, none of it really matters anyway. Don’t let the bullshit get to you.”
His point hit me hard.
“So what’s the matter?” Marty asked.
I told him about the record company’s stupidity over what the single should be.
“I’ll take care of it,” Marty said.
Later that same day, I received a call saying the president of Atlantic Records had pronounced that “We’re Not Gonna Take It” was to be the first single. I couldn’t believe he had finally come around!
He hadn’t.
You see, when Marty and I got back to the house, Marty sent El Presidente a telegram that read HARD AT WORK ON VIDEO FOR TWISTED SISTER’S “WE’RE NOT GONNA TAKE IT” STOP SEE YOU AT THE TOP OF THE CHARTS! STOP MARTY.
The minute Mr. President thought money was already being spent on a “We’re Not Gonna Take It” video, he changed his position on the choice of the single and made his new “decision.” To this day, that man claims he was the one who picked “We’re Not Gonna Take It” as our lead track. Yeah, sure you did, dude. Thank you, Marty!
THE VIDEO MAKING TH
IS time around was much more involved for a couple reasons. For one, the budget was not only way bigger than for our first video, but it was way bigger than most video budgets at that time. This was Marty Callner’s foray into the world of MTV and he wanted to make a statement. The six-figure budget we had for the shoot was a huge amount to spend, and a big budget with an ambitious concept meant a huge production and crew. And we were simultaneously setting up the Stay Hungry concert for filming as well, so you can see what a tremendous undertaking this was.
Marty Callner was true to his word and made me his partner every step of the way, the first step being laying out the entire story on index cards so we knew exactly what the hell we wanted to do. Together we developed the story line, pretty true to my vision, but for some reason he wanted me to knock out an elephant. You heard me. We both thought the scene in Blazing Saddles where Mongo knocks out a horse was hysterical, and it would be a laugh riot if I knocked out an elephant in my full Twisted Sister regalia. It had nothing to do with the story of a son rebelling against his father, but Marty became pretty obsessed with proving he could make it happen.
As the days went by, and the story became more and more refined, the elephant scene hung on. Just days before shooting, one of the producers pulled me to the side and begged me to convince Marty to drop the idea. It was prohibitively expensive and didn’t make any sense. I couldn’t disagree, so I spoke with Marty, and he begrudgingly removed it. Knowing Marty as I do, I’ll bet he still regrets we didn’t do it.
LOCATION SCOUTING, CASTING, STUNT coordination, wardrobe, even what the family in the story were eating for dinner, were all run past me for my input and approval. I learned so much by Marty’s side during this incredible experience. When it came time to cast the role of the father, Marty asked me whom I envisioned.
Now, Animal House was always a Snider family favorite. My four younger brothers and I loved nothing more than quoting lines from the film to each other. If we could incorporate the dialogue into daily conversation, even better. That’s exactly what I did at the end of “We’re Not Gonna Take It.” While riffing on the repeat choruses at the end of the song, I spontaneously broke into Doug Neidermeyer’s “ROTC rap” from Animal House:
You’re all worthless and weak!
Now drop and give me twenty!
Everyone thought it was hysterical, so we kept it in the final mix. At that time I had no idea that I would have some future affiliation with the man who made those lines famous.
Neidermeyer is one of my favorite characters in Animal House. Though the father, son, and entire family portrayed in the “We’re Not Gonna Take It” video are supposed to represent my family, I told Marty that someone like the guy who played Neidermeyer would be perfect to capture the screaming tyrant my dad could be.
Marty looked at me, confused. “Someone like Mark Metcalf [the actor’s name]? Why don’t we get him? What’s he doing, working on a cure for cancer?”
Oddly, while in my world Mark Metcalf was a “superstar,” in reality he had all but retired from acting and gone into producing. A few quick calls were made, and for a thousand bucks and the price of a round-trip coach ticket from New York, we had the actual Douglas C. Neidermeyer in our video!
I remember the day Mark Metcalf was to arrive at LAX airport, and Marty was going to send a production assistant (the lowest position on a film set) to pick him up.
“Oh, hell no!” I exclaimed. “I’m picking him up!”
Later that same afternoon, I was standing in the baggage-claim area of the airport looking for our video’s star when I heard from close behind me, in that Neidermeyer voice, “You lookin’ for me, mister?” (a classic line from Animal House). I spun around and there he was . . . Neidermeyer! I don’t think Mark could believe my genuine childlike glee at meeting him. The entire ride back to Marty’s I made Mark regale me with Animal House tales.
Mark Metcalf’s dialog for the video was worked up by Mark, Marty, and myself. My idea was, contrary to the Animal House movie, Douglas C. Neidermeyer had survived being shot by his own troops in Vietnam and was now the married father of six kids and none too happy about it. Metcalf’s improvisation was designed to incorporate things my dad had always said to me growing up (the most famous being, “What do you wanna do with your life?!”) while paraphrasing his character’s dialogue in the movie. I’ve always joked that the sole reason I came up with the idea for the video was to give my brothers and me some fresh Animal House–type dialogue to play with.
The video shoot itself was an amazing experience. Videos are like little movies (especially the way Marty Callner and Twisted Sister were doing them). For an outcast kid from Long Island to have his crazy ideas brought to life like that was almost overwhelming.
THE STAY HUNGRY LIVE concert was an entirely different animal. Marty Callner specialized in filming concerts, having done some legendary specials for HBO in the late seventies and early eighties. The hugely successful Cher, Diana Ross, Pat Benatar, Fleetwood Mac, and other concert specials were all his.1 I just stepped back and let him do his thing.
Marty had a reputation to uphold and wanted to make a powerful statement to the rock-video world. His plan was to make Twisted Sister even larger-than-life than we already were. To achieve this, everything was done on a grander scale. The stage Marty picked for the show was wider and deeper than most others, and our signature “pink, barbed-wire fences” were doubled in height and width to give the stage a massive look. To bring out the “bigness” of the whole event, Marty wanted to use a Louma crane. The Louma jib crane allows for simultaneous, sweeping lateral and vertical movement, with 360-degree rotation of the camera. It changed filmmaking, and the invention even received an Academy Award in 2005. Though they’re now a standard in the film industry, only two of these cranes existed at that time, and they were run by Jean-Marie Lavalou and Alain Masseron, the creators and namesakes. Hang the expense, Marty had to have one.
Filmed in San Bernardino, California, at the Orange Pavilion, the show sold out nearly instantaneously. The West Coast buzz on Twisted Sister was huge, and because the event was being filmed for a home video and to be broadcast on MTV, the fans would do just about anything to get tickets.
The night of the filming couldn’t have been more tense. Though it wasn’t going out live, we only had one shot at getting it right. Do or die. This was a huge opportunity for the band and we could not afford to blow it.
One major concern was the barricade the film crew had set up to keep the audience back from the stage and allow room for the film crew and Louma crane to move about. For one, it left a wide chasm between the band and the crowd, something that would definitely affect our connection with the fans. Second, it was freestanding, meaning nothing moored the barricade to the ground so it could resist any force from the crowd. It pretty much depended on the audience’s voluntarily not pressing up against it. What kind of useless, fucked-up barricade was that?!
The band and our crew tried to impress our concerns upon Marty and the production staff, but having never worked with a raucous, heavy-metal crowd before, they just didn’t understand the potential problem. We were pretty much told not to worry our pretty little heads about such things and focus on the show. If they say so . . .
When the audience was let in, there was initially no problem, though I could see by the looks on the faces of the fans, on the video monitors, even they were confused by how the barricade was supposed to work. A short time before the band was supposed to go on, the pressure of the packed house became too great, the barricade collapsed and thousands of fans surged forward. It was terrible!
Down the barricade went in splinters, with the fans spilling onto the broken shards, falling onto one another and into the camera crew and their expensive equipment. The entire filming plot was wiped out in a second, and injured fans were being carried out of the place by EMTs. The fire marshal arrived and was ready to shut down the event!
An announcement was made: “Dee Snider says the band i
sn’t coming out unless you all back up!” Uh oh. Joe Gerber saved the show by grabbing the mic and emceeing the near riot. He talked the packed house through a step-by-step backing up, so injured people could be helped and the film crew could regroup.
When it was finally time to start the show, another reality became painfully evident. While concerts are traditionally dark events, with the stage dramatically lit, they don’t provide enough light to “read” well on film. To accommodate the lighting needs of the camera, additional lights are added onstage, and the houselights are left on the audience. When you watch a filmed concert event, you don’t notice the extra light because the film “swallows” it up, making the final product look pretty normal. Unfortunately, having your dramatic lighting effects nullified by lights that stay on during the filming of your show screws up the band’s head, and nothing kills the crowd vibe like turning on the houselights.
On top of all this, the worst thing of all happened to me . . . I had a wardrobe malfunction.
This was the first time I was wearing my new stage outfit under “battle conditions.” Over the years, Suzette and I had pretty much locked in what worked and didn’t work for me onstage . . . pretty much. To keep my pants from pulling down in the back, Suzette had designed stylized suspenders that V-ed up from the front and back and went under my shoulder pads. Great idea . . . in theory. The first time I violently threw my body forward onstage that night, the stitching on the back of the suspender gave out and it tore free. Not only did I have a dangling suspender like a vestigial tail, but my pants kept pulling down in the back every time I bent over . . . which was a lot. Having the crack of your ass hanging out is not metal!
On top of my woes, the band was having all sorts of technical issues. Eddie had an equipment issue that made the opening solo on “The Price” sound as if he were playing a banjo!
Overall, it was a self-conscious performance for a self-conscious audience. To top it all off, when we finished the show, Marty said he needed us to go back onstage and redo the opening song and a couple of others. Talk about anticlimactic!