Shut Up and Give Me the Mic

by Dee Snider

  When I spoke with David and told him of my plan, he passed on the offer, saying with an attitude, “I don’t want to reprise the same character.” Was he fucking kidding?! Since doing The Warriors he had been in three other movies, Dreamscape, 48 Hours, and Commando, and portrayed essentially the same sniveling scumbag in each one. In 48 Hours he was even called Luther! It’s virtually the only part he’s ever played.

  The minute I hung up with the thespian, Joe Gerber and I worked out how to do it on our own. Joe clinked the three bottles together perfectly to create the rhythm, I did a fairly spot-on impression of David Patrick Kelly’s sniveling voice, and it didn’t cost us a penny.

  THE COME OUT AND PLAY album, while filled with great songs (if I do say so myself), and while Dieter Dierks had great input on the arrangements, the sound suffered greatly from his overproduction and overprocessing of the sounds. Sorry, Dieter. You are a great, talented guy and I love you dearly, but ultimately, you weren’t the right guy for the job.

  One would think that adding more and more layers of music and technology to each track would make the record sound bigger. It has the opposite effect. It makes the songs sound smaller. I’m not saying the blame for the failings of COAP falls onto Dieter’s shoulders—it doesn’t—but the sound of that record, and how it came across on radio, certainly did not help. While the plan was to make Twisted Sister’s Come Out and Play the album of the 1985 holiday season (all part of my megalomaniacal masterstroke!), due to the delay in locking in a producer there was no way we would make the mid-October release date. This meant we would not be able to lock in prime display space, promos, ad buys, etc., for our record. Undeterred (could anything stop me?), I relentlessly drove my team on toward a less than optimal release in late November. But I’m getting way ahead of myself.

  Before we’d even finished recording the record, an unusual request came into Twisted Sister’s management office. Little did I know, I was about to become an advocate in the national spotlight.

  42

  “mr. dee snider . . . the twisted sister”

  In May of ’85, Senator Al Gore’s wife, Tipper, got a wild hair up her ass after realizing the words to Prince’s “Darling Nikki” were about masturbation. Along with three other “Washington wives,” she formed an organization called the Parents Music Resource Center (PMRC).

  The PMRC’s mission was to educate parents about “alarming trends” in popular music. They claimed that rock music encouraged/glorified violence, drug use, suicide, criminal activity, etc., and sought the censoring and/or rating of music. I remember thinking, who would possibly listen to the inane prattling of Washington busybodies with way too much spare time on their hands? A lot of people did.

  This was the Reagan Era, and ultraconservatives were in control. That the PMRC and their coming witch trials—I mean, Senate hearings—were predominantly Democratic initiatives speaks volumes about the political and societal mentality of the day. The same environment that had fostered the Decade of Decadence was now trying to put an end to it.

  As spring turned to summer, and the voice of the PMRC got louder and louder, I was still virtually unaware and completely unaffected by what was going on. I had bigger fish to fry. When my management office got the call for me to come to Washington and testify on September 19, at the (illegal, as you will soon discover) Senate hearings on record labeling, I had to do some research to find out what was going on. Once I realized what was happening, I didn’t hesitate to accept the invitation. I saw it as the metaphorical equivalent of carrying the flag into battle. I was sure the entire rock ’n’ roll community would follow.

  I had been asked to speak because not only was “We’re Not Gonna Take It” on the PMRC’s notorious Filthy 15, a list of the songs they found most objectionable, but at that time, thanks to my rampant overexposure, I was the most recognizable face in heavy metal. Who better to invite? I’m sure that looking at my photos and videos, and listening to my music, they were certain I would be the perfect heavy metal fool to make a very public example of.

  Joe Gerber—a former Ivy leaguer and a very smart guy—and I went into immediate lockdown. With only a couple of weeks until the hearings, I needed to become educated on the subject at hand and well-informed about the PMRC, the senators I would be speaking in front of, and all of their cohorts. Joe gathered the research (this was the eighties—you couldn’t just click a button) and even attended a PMRC rally/speech to find out everything he could about the enemy. He reported back to me daily and fed me the information he had gathered, which I absorbed like a sponge.

  I was expected to make a statement of my position on this issue to the senators. Joe and I worked tirelessly on my speech, endlessly refining it until it was the ultimate weapon of the PMRC’s destruction. We were positively diabolical! They had absolutely no idea whom they were dealing with. They really should have invited Vince Neil.

  Another major part of prepping for the hearing was going over questions they were likely to ask and statements they were certain to make against me, and preparing my answers and rebuttals. Joe and I left nothing to chance. The one thing we knew I could not talk my way out of was Twisted Sister’s rampant use of the initials SMF. But did I even want to?

  The week before I was to appear, a request came in from the Senate committee for a copy of my speech. What? Apparently, everyone who testifies before the Senate is required to surrender their statement, in advance, to the committee, so they can read it and prepare their rebuttal. Were they kidding me?! This was a deal breaker. I was unwilling to show my hand, unless, of course, the senators were willing to share their statements with me. My manager notified the committee of my position, and they responded that it would not be necessary to see my speech in advance. They were probably all bent over in hysterics at my self-importance and chutzpah. What could a moron such as Dee Snider possibly have to say that would make any kind of difference to anything?

  They were about to find out.

  I ARRIVED IN WASHINGTON, DC, with my posse the night before the hearing. Joe Gerber, my right hand, was with me, as was Vic, my bodyguard. I asked my father—a Korean war veteran and a patriot—to accompany me, thinking he would enjoy a unique opportunity to see our nation’s capital up close and personal. He jumped at the chance. My dear friend and rock-video god, Marty Callner, and his wife, Aleeza, flew in from the West Coast to support me as I did battle. Besides our great relationship, Marty felt a direct connection to what was going on. His video for “We’re Not Gonna Take It” was on constant display whenever I, Twisted Sister, or the song was highlighted. I was glad to have him on my side.

  The day of the hearings, I woke up in my hotel room feeling no trepidation whatsoever. I was fearless. Priding myself on never bowing to decorum, I donned my usual rock ’n’ roll wear for the event: skintight jeans, tiger-head belt, snakeskin boots, sleeveless Twisted Sister T-shirt, and cutoff Twisted Sister denim vest. Finishing up with my tooth earring, aviator sunglasses, and a touch of mascara, I was ready to kick some PMRC ass.

  Before heading out, I took the speech Joe and I had worked on so diligently and deliberately folded it up like a bad kid’s homework and jammed it into my back pocket. This was my deceptive finishing touch. They weren’t gonna know what hit ’em!

  The drive to the Senate building was eye-opening. The streets were filled with protesters (for and against), spectators, and media. It was completely insane. The Senate hearing on record labeling was arguably one of the best-attended and media-covered hearings held before a Senate committee. To think that this unpopular kid from Baldwin, Long Island, was right smack at the center of this controversy was mind-boggling. When I see footage today of me at that event, I can’t even fathom how cocksure I had to be, to walk into that hostile environment with the attitude I had. Talk about being full of yourself.

  The hearing was held before the Senate Committee on Commerce, Science, and Transportation, and the truly infuriating thing about it (besides the obvious) was that it was, es
sentially, an illegal proceeding. The forum of a congressional hearing can only be used to address issues for possible legislation, yet in his opening remarks, the committee chair, Senator John Danforth, stressed, “The reason for this hearing is not to promote any legislation . . . but simply to provide a forum for airing the issue itself, for ventilating the issue, for bringing it out in the public domain.” WTF?! Could it be that the wives of committee members Albert Gore, John Danforth, and Ernest Hollings—all three women affiliates of the PMRC—had used their unfair influence and womanly ways with their husbands to create a forum for their cause that no one else could possibly have? Oh, hell yes!

  Who knows how much taxpayer money was used to finance this political circus and ultraconservative witch hunt? It’s sickening to think that our government officials can use their elected office, irresponsibly, to satisfy their attention-needing wives. And we were talking about the First Amendment! Not the Second, Third, or even Fourth . . . the fucking First! This wasn’t an afterthought on the part of our forefathers: “Oh, yeah, let’s put something in this Constitution thingy about free speech.” No! It was the first damn thing they thought to put down!

  To add insult to injury, before the hearing was even held, the RIAA, the governing body of the recording industry, agreed to a WARNING PARENTAL ADVISORY sticker. I was going to Washington to fight a battle that had already been lost?! Again I say . . . WTF?!

  The hearing was exactly the media circus you might imagine. Frank Zappa, John Denver, and I were brought in to represent the musicians’ point of view. As Frank and I stood “backstage” (in some office) waiting to testify, we marveled at the insanity of the moment and wondered what side John Denver would be on. We knew it should be ours, but John was as American as mom and apple pie and a beloved public figure. In fact he was testifying after meeting with NASA to discuss his possibly becoming the first musician in space! It doesn’t get more American than that.

  While Zappa and I waited, we shook our heads in disgust at Senator Paula Hawkins’s inane speech. Holding a blowup of Def Leppard’s Pyromania album cover, she shouted, “The message is clear: burn, baby, burn!” Burn what? The woman was clearly cracked and, I’m happy to say, not reelected to another term after her embarrassing rant.

  There was a moment of elation when Senator Exon of Nebraska, during his remarks to Tipper Gore, said, “If we are not talking about federal regulation and we are not talking about federal legislation, what is the reason for these hearings in front of the Commerce Committee? Can anyone answer that?”

  An actual cheer erupted from the gallery in the hearing room.

  Of course, the next time Exon spoke—after being frantically bombarded by aides, explaining the political ramifications of his statement, I’m sure—he made a 180 and applauded the PMRC’s efforts, indicating he would seek a way, if possible, to do away with the “outrageous filth” of “music interspersed with pornography.” Way to stand up for your beliefs, Senator.

  When it came time for Zappa to testify, he asked my father to watch his kids, Dweezil and Moon Unit, who were there with him, while he spoke. My father was honored. To this day he tells the story of the time “Frank Zipper had me watch Moon Weasel and Unit.”

  Frank was a brilliant man and tore those Washington morons a new one, but when he did mocking-voice characterizations of our opponents, he opened us up for criticism. Don’t get me wrong, they deserved everything they got, but in an argument, the minute you start making fun of anything about your opponents, besides their position, you open yourself to rebuke. And that’s just what happened.

  Senator Gorton, of Washington State, pounced when it was his turn to speak: “I can only say that I found your statement to be boorish, incredibly and insensitively insulting to the people that were here previously; that you could manage to give the First Amendment of the Constitution of the United States a bad name, if I felt that you had the slightest understanding of it, which I do not.”

  Yikes! The press had a field day with that explosive statement, and some used video of me in connection with it because I was weirder looking than Frank. You can’t give your enemies ammo like that to use against you. At least make them work for it.

  When John Denver was called, you would not believe the fawning and ass-kissing that went on. The senators loved him! Frank and I watched on a television monitor, disgusted and nervous, waiting to hear what John would say . . . and then JD let ’em have it!

  “May I be very clear that I am strongly opposed to censorship of any kind in our society or anywhere else in the world.”

  POW!

  “Mr. Chairman, the suppression of the people of a society begins in my mind with the censorship of the written or spoken word. It was so in Nazi Germany.”

  BAM! You should have seen them scatter when John hit ’em with that.

  During the cross-examination part of both Zappa’s and Denver’s testimonies, Al Gore made an absolute ass of himself, starting his questions to Frank with “I have been a fan of your music, believe it or not. I respect you as a true original and a tremendously talented musician.” Oh, please! To John Denver, Gore had to say, “It is an honor to be able to ask some questions. I have been a fan for a long time, Mr. Denver.” Oh, brother! What a sycophant!

  It finally came time for me to speak, and I was formally introduced to the room: “Next we have Mr. Dee Snider . . . the Twisted Sister.”

  What the hell kind of intro was that!?

  The doors to the room opened and I strode in, snakeskin, high-heeled boots clacking on the floor as I walked. The entire dais stared at me in shock, as the press armada went nuts filming and taking pictures. With every other person in the room dressed in suits and dresses for this important event—even Zappa and Denver had suits and ties on—my less-than-formal garb was a bit upsetting to the “straights.” My front teeth were filed to points, for Christ’s sake! Hey, they wanted a headbanger for their hearings . . . they got one.

  I rolled up to the table, took off my “colors,” exposing a T-shirt with my own screaming face full of makeup on it, pulled my speech out of my back pocket, sat down, and flattened it out on the table. Joe Gerber was already sitting at the table (yes, that is the now legendary Joe Gerber on my right, in all the video footage you see from my testimony at the hearing), where he should have been, considering how hard he worked for the hearing and on the speech I was about to give. He was my right hand.

  At that moment, just before I began to speak, the magnitude of what I was doing hit me. This was Washington, DC! These were important people. The world was watching! What the fuck was I doing here!?

  As I started to read, my hand holding the paper began to subtly shake. I was nervous. I quickly reeled it in, and by the second paragraph or so, I had my swagger back. I was Dee fucking Snider, dammit! That’s what I was doing there!

  DEE SNIDER’S STATEMENT TO THE SENATE,

  SEPTEMBER 19, 1985

  I do not know if it is morning or afternoon. I will say both. Good morning and good afternoon. My name is Dee Snider. That is S-N-I-D-E-R. I have been asked to come here to present my views on “the subject of the content of certain sound recordings and suggestions that recording packages be labeled to provide a warning to prospective purchasers of sexually explicit or other potentially offensive content.”

  Before I get into that, I would like to tell the committee a little bit about myself. I am thirty years old. I am married. I have a three-year-old son. I was born and raised a Christian and I still adhere to those principles. Believe it or not, I do not smoke, I do not drink, and I do not do drugs. I do play in and write the songs for a rock ’n’ roll band named Twisted Sister that is classified as heavy metal, and I pride myself on writing songs that are consistent with my above-mentioned beliefs. Since I seem to be the only person addressing this committee today who has been a direct target of accusations from the presumably responsible PMRC, I would like to use this occasion to speak on a more personal note and show just how unfair the whole con
cept of lyrical interpretation and judgment can be and how many times this can amount to little more than character assassination. I have taken the liberty of distributing to you material and lyrics pertaining to these accusations. There were three attacks in particular which I would like to address.

  ACCUSATION NO. 1

  This attack was contained in an article written by Tipper Gore, which was given the forum of a full page in my hometown newspaper on Long Island. In this article Ms. Gore claimed that one of my songs, “Under the Blade,” had lyrics encouraging sadomasochism, bondage, and rape. The lyrics she quoted have absolutely nothing to do with these topics. On the contrary, the words in question are about surgery and the fear that it instills in people. Furthermore, the reader of this article is led to believe that the three lines she quotes go together in the song when, as you can see, from reading the lyrics, the first two lines she cites are an edited phrase from the second verse and the third line is a misquote of a line from the chorus. That the writer could misquote me is curious, since we make it a point to print all our lyrics on the inner sleeve of every album. As the creator of “Under the Blade,” I can say categorically that the . . . only sadomasochism, bondage, and rape in this song is in the mind of Ms. Gore.

  ACCUSATION NO. 2

  The PMRC has made public a list of fifteen of what they feel are some of the most blatant songs lyrically. On this list is our song “We’re Not Gonna Take It,” upon which has been bestowed a V rating, indicating violent lyrical content. You will note from the lyrics before you that there is absolutely no violence of any type either sung about or implied anywhere in the song. Now, it strikes me that the PMRC may have confused our video presentation for this song with the meaning of the lyrics. It is no secret that the videos often depict story lines completely unrelated to the lyrics of the song they accompany. The video We’re Not Gonna Take It was simply meant to be a cartoon with human actors playing variations on the Road Runner/Wile E. Coyote theme; each stunt was selected from my extensive personal collection of cartoons. You will note when you watch the entire video that after each catastrophe our villain suffers through, in the next sequence he reappears unharmed by any previous attack, no worse for the wear.