Carl and I were working together one afternoon in July 1984. As he was checking in a shipment of records, he leaped from his work area and exclaimed, “You’re gonna love this. I ordered it just for you!” He then proudly shoved a copy of an album in my face. The newly released record that had Carl so wound up was entitled The Yellow and Black Attack by a (then) unknown Southern California-based band called Stryper.
I’ve always had eclectic taste in music. However, I’d had a specific passion for Glam Rock since first seeing photos of David Bowie and New York Dolls in the pages of rock magazines that I bought as a kid. And my diehard obsession with Kiss only further intensified my fascination with the glam look and sound. Consequently, the image of Stryper presented on the back of their first album cover was one with which I identified – four dudes, dolled-up like chicks, wearing tight leather outfits with sky-high coifs.
“These guys are like Mötley Crüe, but with Jesus lyrics,” Carl enthusiastically, yet mockingly, informed me. I thought he was joking.
Stryper’s look was every bit as outrageous as any other band coming out of L.A.’s budding new Hair Metal scene and I could hardly wait to hear their music. I immediately placed the (yellow vinyl) LP on the turntable of the in-store sound system. The opening scream and heavy, chunky guitar riff of the first track, “Loud ‘N’ Clear,” was as powerful and mighty as anything I’d heard from my other metal favorites of the day such as Ozzy Osbourne, W.A.S.P. and Quiet Riot. But then, I noticed the lyrics. No matter how we look, we always praise His name – uh, what? And, if you believe, you’ve got to do the same. Wait a minute – hold the phone. Carl wasn’t joking – these guys were singing about Jesus and three of them were dead ringers for my fiancée, Trish! What could be better? To me, this was the greatest thing since the Reese’s guys came up with that chocolate/peanut butter combo.
Stryper was, as they say, “the whole enchilada.” They had a perfect look, a perfect sound and they were right on for God. Soon, spreading the word about these outrageous metal missionaries became a top priority in my life. I personally saw to it that The Yellow and Black Attack received (near) non-stop in-store airplay. In fact, Carl became so annoyed by my Stryper obsession that he’d often hide the in-store copy of the record or play Keep Away, tossing it back and forth over my head to other employees – anything to keep from having to endure the record – again. I even contacted Record Mart’s rep at Stryper’s label, Enigma Records, and requested one hundred promotional posters – all of which I prominently displayed throughout the store. And my overzealous efforts met with considerable success. Almost immediately the Indian Harbour Beach location began selling Stryper records, cases at a time.
I soon became interested in stocking other Stryper-related merchandise for the stores. Our Enigma rep suggested that I contact Daryn Hinton, who at the time was closely associated with the band. Although Daryn couldn’t connect me with Stryper merchandise, she put me in contact with the band’s manager, Janice Sweet. Janice also just happened to be the mother of the band’s frontman Michael Sweet and drummer Robert Sweet. I called Janice in California one night from the Indian Harbour Beach store. She initially was so taken aback by my enthusiasm for Stryper that she insisted I was actually a rock writer, attempting to dupe her into an interview by masquerading as a retail guy. After finally assuring her of my genuine motive, I asked if she’d heard from her sons recently. “They still live at home,” she replied. “That was Robert who answered the phone. Wanna talk to him?” Gulp! All I wanted was to order some Stryper T-shirts – now I was “in” with their mom and my newest drum hero was coming to the phone! Robert immediately had the same reaction to me as his mother and I also had to convince him that I really was just a retail guy who liked his band and that my call wasn’t a ruse.
Because of their outrageous, dolled-up glam look and often ear-splitting music, Stryper’s sincerity regarding their faith has been challenged by critics on both sides of the spiritual fence from the beginning. After personally speaking to Robert, I can confidently say that, at least at that time, Stryper was the real deal. “We just want to tell people about Jesus Christ,” Robert passionately told me during our twenty-minute phone conversation. Although my intentions at that moment were honest, in hindsight, Robert Sweet actually was my first rock star interview after all.
Through my interest in Stryper, I soon discovered an entire genre of music previously unknown to me – Christian Rock. From harder-edge acts like Petra to more traditional rockers like Mylon LeFevre to edgy, new-wavers like Steve Taylor, I quickly became completely enthralled by these exciting new artists. My high school buddy, bassist Bryan Dumas and I were both so inspired by Stryper that we set out to form our own Christian rock band. Sadly, the only thing that thwarted our mission was – other Christians. In fact, a woman from our local Christian community informed me that if I moved forward with any type of Christian rock ministry I should question whether or not I was actually being motivated by Satan. Wow, there we were – two twenty-year-olds, ready to offer a bold testimony for God, and we were tackled on the ten-yard-line by members of our own team. Although Bryan did ultimately pursue the ministry after a few years playing in rock cover bands on the nightclub circuit, I didn’t bottom-out, get straight and speak up until, well, now.
Twisted Inspiration
After more than a decade of paying dues and two less-than-successful albums, the New York-based, glam-inspired band Twisted Sister exploded onto the international scene seemingly overnight with the release of their Stay Hungry record. Led by charismatic frontman Dee Snider, Twisted Sister’s outrageous drag queen look, combined with hooky, hard rock anthems and cartoonish MTV videos made them an instant hit with young heavy metal fans in the summer of 1984 – myself included. And that fall, Trish and I made yet another one hundred-mile pilgrimage from Melbourne to the famed Lakeland Civic Center to see this brazen “new” band in concert.
What I remember most vividly about seeing Twisted Sister live was not their androgynous look or their iconic music. Nor was it their deafening volume and colorful stage set, covered with trash cans and lined with hot pink chain link fencing. What truly impacted me most was the in-between-song delivery of Dee Snider. This guy clearly was not your typical doped-up, drooling heavy metal frontman. Snider had a message and aside from a barrage of F-bombs, he was extremely well-spoken. Despite the often anti-establishment-type message portrayed in his band’s hit songs and popular videos, the onstage message of Dee Snider wasn’t actually far from the one I had heard at the George Bush rally in 1980 or from the pulpit in the 1970s. Simply put, Snider’s powerful banter bordered on evangelical. I stood on my seat throughout Twisted Sister’s show (lighter in hand), thinking, wow, with a bit of a redirected message, slightly toned-down eyeliner and a less-dramatic shade of lipstick, Dee Snider could be a preacher – my kind of preacher!
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CHAPTER FIVE
We’re Not Joking…
David Cassidy was a frontman. Paul Stanley was a frontman. Robin Zander, Alice Cooper, David Lee Roth, Dee Snider – they were all frontmen – rock and roll storytellers preaching the Gospel of rock. And chicks dug ‘em. Hmm, sounded like my kinda gig! Disenchanted with my role as a drummer – pushed to the back of the stage – I reinvented myself in 1985. Shortly after Trish and I were married in April, I called up some new players, wrote some new tunes and took on the persona of D.L. Serios. And in September, I made my debut as the frontman of my new project, Dead Serios – and we almost “made it.”
…We’re Dead Serios!
In the beginning, Dead Serios, like many of my early projects, also sucked. We had a few original tunes, but we were far from unique. Plus, I can’t sing – a big problem for a lead singer. Initially, I was also rather ungraceful as a frontman. As I made my entrance onto the stage for our first show in 1985, I tripped over a cable and sent the guitarist’s Marshall amplifier crashing to the ground during the first song, which was ironically a Spinal Tap cover. And after ju
mping around onstage for thirty minutes in girls’ boots that were way too small for me, I also broke my foot during our botched debut.
Ultimately I became more comfortable (and graceful) onstage. I learned to combine my knack for storytelling with my growing ability to connect with an audience which somehow allowed me to get past my lack of singing talent. As they say, “If you can’t dazzle ‘em with brilliance, baffle ‘em with…” well, you know. This theory would prove to be the basis of everything Dead Serios would ever do.
As for the misspelling of “Serios,” we weren’t intentionally trying to come up with some cool ‘80s style, Def Leppard-like spelling. “Serios” is misspelled simply because the guy who designed our logo smoked a lot of pot. When he first laid out the original design, he ran out of space on the paper and reasoned that the letter “U” wasn’t terribly significant.
And I don’t know where it came from, but I’ve always finished each show with the now infamous tagline, “We’re not joking… We’re DEAD SERIOS!
Spreading the Disease
Dead Serios ultimately became known for our own unique, politically incorrect, punk-meets-metal style, and for having an outrageous, must-see live show. But in the summer of 1986 we were nothing more than a garden variety “poser” cover band with a handful of generic original tunes. I was also oblivious at the time to the new, heavier, faster and very non-commercial style of metal called Thrash (or Speed) that quickly was growing in popularity around the world. I didn’t recognize it at the time, but little-known underground bands like Metallica, Megadeth, Slayer and Anthrax were revving up soon to give established multi-platinum arena bands like Bon Jovi, Mötley Crüe and Van Halen some real competition.
As the saying goes, “If I only knew then what I know now…,” I would have been much better prepared when Dead Serios opened for Anthrax at Brassy’s nightclub in Cocoa Beach, Florida in June 1986. For starters, I would have been more familiar with Anthrax’s music and realized that a band like Dead Serios simply had no business (at the time) being on the bill. In my defense, however, I will say that it was Anthrax’s first national tour and at the time their major label debut album Spreading the Disease had just barely reached the bottom ranks of the Billboard Top 200. I also should have been more familiar with the band members. Lead guitarist Dan Spitz chatted with me for several minutes while standing next to the sound board during load-in that afternoon and I didn’t even know who he was. I’m only five-foot-six and standing about an inch shorter, I mistook Spitz for a local teenage surf rat trying to sneak a free peek during soundcheck.
Several things about Anthrax immediately impressed me. First of all, they had great gear. From their trademark custom camouflage Marshall amplifiers to their top-of-the-line Grover Jackson guitars, they had the equipment that a band like mine could only dream of owning. Also, they took total control of the show. When Allan, one of the club owners, complained to Anthrax’s soundman about their volume during soundcheck, the tour manager threatened to have the band pack up and leave if there was going to be a problem. Allan immediately backed down. It was beautiful!
Then the tour manager got in my face and educated me about merchandise protocol. Anthrax was the first national act that I had ever opened for. As a support band, I soon learned that the merchandise I could sell, where I could sell it and how much I could charge were all subject to the approval of the headliner. Who knew? Although the tour manager did allow Dead Serios to sell our stuff and even allowed us to set up our merch table next to Anthrax’s, we had to sell our goods for the same price as the headliner’s. Needless to say, the cheesy, one-color Dead Serios T-shirts that sold easily for $5.00 each at our own gigs weren’t exactly a hot item once we were forced to match Anthrax’s T-shirt price of $15.00. But I took it all in stride, writing it off as a big league learning experience.
I also learned that night when a venue has only one dressing room, as was the case at Brassy’s, it belongs entirely to the headliner. I had innocently placed my stage clothes on top of one of Anthrax’s equipment cases and when I returned to the dressing room after our soundcheck I discovered that one of Dan Spitz’s guitars had been laid on
top of my stuff. And I quickly realized that it wasn’t going to be moved until Spitz’s guitar tech was good and ready to move it.
Dead Serios took the stage around 8PM and performed to a barely half-full club. It became abundantly clear after just one song that we were the wrong band for the gig as the local metal heads passionately chanted, “Not!” in between each of our tunes. “Not!” was known to Anthrax fans as a term of considerable disapproval. Although I was unfamiliar with the term’s specific connotation at the time, it was obvious that this crowd hated us.
Alright already – so I was poser! Opening for Anthrax was quite a learning experience.
(Photo: Janet Hammon)
By the time Anthrax hit the stage the club was packed. I couldn’t believe that five hundred people in Cocoa Beach, Florida had ever even heard of Anthrax much less wanted to see them live. As they kicked off their first tune, “A.I.R.,” their tour manager once again approached me and sarcastically suggested that I “pay attention” and “see how it’s really done.” Although I found his comments to be gratuitous, he was right. As I watched the crowd going crazy, it became clear to me that Anthrax was going to become a major national act – and they did. Anthrax went on to achieve gold status with subsequent records such as Among the Living, State of Euphoria and Persistence of Time. Yes, Anthrax had completely “spanked” us in 1986, but from that night on, I made sure that no headliner ever got the best of Dead Serios again!
Generation Landslide
We spent the next two years writing, rehearsing and playing everywhere we could. My experience of finally getting to see Alice Cooper live in 1986 was a total game changer and proved to be a key factor in developing our sound and show. And after numerous personnel changes, I’d finally nailed down the perfect line-up by late 1988. In that time I released several self-financed independent Dead Serios singles, E.P.s and L.P.s. I also learned a lot about “greasing” the “machine” necessary to move our product on a national level. A helpful sales rep with a major music distributor told me point blank in the late ‘80s that if I expected his company to push our records, I would need to send him packages of cocaine through the mail. “Send it to my attention with the words ‘Promotional Materials’ printed on the outside of the mailer,” he boldly instructed me. I may have done a lot of stupid and desperate things to promote my band in those days, but I was never foolish enough to send drugs through the mail.
It was in late 1988 when I first noticed that things were starting to happen for Dead Serios. We had just won our first Battle of the Bands competition at a local club one night. While I admired the four-foot-tall trophy perched on the front passenger seat of my pickup truck, I decided to turn on the radio for a little music on the ride home. Wouldn’t you know that at that very moment, a track from our current record, Blow Chunks, was playing on WFIT. It was pretty surreal.
By the summer of 1989, we were packing every local venue that we played. In fact, Dead Serios was drawing bigger crowds on Monday and Tuesday nights than most other area acts were drawing on the weekends. Even national level rock stars were coming to our shows. It wasn’t odd to be playing in Orlando and look up to see Deep Purple’s Ritchie Blackmore in the audience or UFO’s Paul Chapman. One night in particular I recall peeking out the window of a little club we were playing in Indialantic, Florida. It was just before show time and standing at the front of the line out on the sidewalk was Slayer guitarist, Kerry King. I nearly wet myself right there. I rushed to the back of the club to alert our bassist, Joe Del Corvo, but by the time we could get back to the front door, King was gone. I asked the doorman where the angry-looking guy with tattoos had gone. “He didn’t have an I.D. so I sent him away,” the doorman replied.
We played an outdoor festival in Melbourne during the summer of ‘89. Hundreds of people packed in near
the front of the stage, sweltering in the July heat. The crowd became so unruly that our show had to be stopped a couple of times while security guys pulled people out the crowd, placing some into squad cars and some into ambulances.
Dead Serios in July 1989 (Me, Phil Billingsley, Bill Erwin and Joe Del Corvo)
But there was one night that I’ll truly never forget. We were performing at a club in Palm Bay, Florida, also during the summer of ‘89. At one point during the show I noticed a girl in the front row who was trying to get my attention. As I kneeled down to hear what she was saying, she pulled her top (way) down to reveal a cartoon caricature of my face that she’d had tattooed between her breasts. To say the least, it was pretty freaky. She hung out with the band quite regularly for the next several months and even helped to get us a few high-profile gigs. But after that, she mysteriously disappeared from the Dead Serios world, never to be heard from by us again.
Gamecocks
In October 1989, I was informed by Dead Serios drummer Bill Erwin and guitarist Phil Billingsley that we had been invited to travel to Columbia, South Carolina and play a few club dates with THE group on the local scene called Hootie and the Blowfish. Phil’s girlfriend Kim had grown up with, and had since kept in touch with, a couple of the band members and reported that they were the hottest act on the East Coast college scene.
Florida Today ran a major feature regarding thevideo shoot for our near-hit, “Butterbean Queen.”
At the time, Dead Serios was becoming a huge Florida-based act and with our catchy, rap/metal single, “Butterbean Queen” garnering considerable college radio airplay, we were excited now to be getting road gigs and we were thrilled to make the journey to Columbia
This was our first out-of-state band experience and I learned a lot in the course of a few days. One lesson I learned was to keep a low profile when on the road. Although I’d become fairly well-known in my hometown, I discovered that my flamboyant fashion sense wasn’t necessarily appreciated elsewhere. “Is that how they do it in Florida?” I was asked by a local redneck in Brunswick, Georgia who noticed the license plate on our rental car as I pumped gas at 6AM. “Do what?” I replied. “You know. Wear two earrings like a faggot,” he said. “Well, that’s how I do it,” I told the guy, as the intensity of the dialogue quickly escalated. Fortunately, I was soon surrounded by my bandmates who helped defuse the situation and get me into the car without further incident. We then went across the street to grab an early morning bite at McDonald’s. As we entered the already busy restaurant we experienced first-hand the old saying, “if looks could kill.” There we were, four drunken longhaired city boys amongst a roomful of backwoods folks wearing overalls. The vibe was so immediately troubling that we turned around and split before there was a chance of reliving our recent gas station altercation. I won’t say that our Brunswick experience completely mirrored a scene from the movie Deliverance but to this day, I still bypass the town on my cross-country travels.
C’MON! – My Story of Rock, Ruin and Revelation Page 6