The Horror of It All

by Adam Rockoff

  So instead, Frank Zappa is called upon. And now the fireworks really begin.

  Admittedly, I’ve never been a huge fan of Zappa’s, mainly because I was never entirely sure what was shtick and what wasn’t. I do know that he’s incredibly well respected by his fellow musicians and considered one of the smartest minds on the rock scene, which gives further credence to my theory that I’m the one who’s missing something.

  Zappa is dressed in a suit and tie—and not for a gag; he looks damn good—and is accompanied by his LA-based lawyer, Larry Stein. In order to amend his opening remarks, in response to the previous witnesses’ testimony, Zappa asks Danforth to clarify if legislation is in fact being proposed. Danforth dismissively tells him just to stick to his statement and not worry about asking questions. However, Senator Exon jumps in to assure Zappa that the suggestion is “for voluntarily policing this in the music industry.” At the very least, credit Exon for being a straight shooter. He candidly admits he might support “some kind of legislation and/or regulation unless the free enterprise system, both the producers and you as the performers, see fit to clean up your act.” In remarks not captured in the official transcript, Zappa then mutters, “Okay, thank you, so that’s hardly voluntary.”

  After quoting the First Amendment to the Constitution, Zappa really goes on the offensive. He calls the PMRC proposal an “ill-conceived piece of nonsense” that does nothing to protect children and infringes on the civil liberties of adults, comparing it to “treating dandruff by decapitation” and a “sinister kind of toilet training program.”

  Then shit gets real. Zappa basically accuses various senators of collusion with the recording industry. He questions the legality—or at least the appropriateness—of having the husband of a PMRC member sit on a committee ruling on the “blank tape tax,” which is an industry-specific levy on recordable media. Finally, he declares the entire PMRC hearing a smokescreen to take the public’s mind off the latest incomprehensible tax bill.

  Before Zappa becomes too enraged, Al Gore steps in. He compliments Zappa as a “true original” and the two, in a particularly boring discussion, debate the merits of printing song lyrics on album sleeves. Meanwhile, to Gore’s left, Senator Exon lights up a pipe!

  Next comes an exchange that gets to the heart of the issue. Senator Gore believes that Zappa trivializes the concerns of parents regarding the content of their children’s entertainment. Zappa vehemently refutes this and clarifies that in fact, it’s only the parents’ concern, not the government’s. Gore tells him that the PMRC agrees, to which Zappa replies that up until now the center’s demands have “smelled like legislation.”

  After some more back-and-forth, Senator Slade Gorton (R-Washington) is called upon. Gorton looks like a mentally challenged Henry Fonda. He calls Zappa “boorish” and “insulting to the people that were here previously” (meaning the other witnesses), and then accuses him of not having the slightest understanding of the Constitution. He then snickers to himself and looks around, ostensibly waiting for a show of support. The room basically ignores him.

  Clearly, Gorton only wanted to make a splash, having nothing substantial to add to the discussion. He is a founding member of the Discovery Institute, an organization whose stated mission is to “advance a culture of purpose, creativity and innovation.” That sounds pretty good, until you realize that the institute’s actual purpose is to promulgate an anti-evolution, pro–intelligent design agenda. So while he might have a deep understanding (unlike Zappa) of the United States Constitution, he does not possess even a rudimentary grasp of the basic tenets of science.

  Next, Senator Exon confesses he’s not familiar with Zappa’s music. Gore interrupts him. “You probably never heard of the Mothers of Invention,” he chortles in a pathetically transparent attempt to look hip. Exon, who clearly doesn’t know what the fuck Gore is babbling about, asks Zappa if he ever performed with Glenn Miller and Mitch Miller. The crazy thing is that I don’t think he was trying to be funny. And the even crazier thing is that Zappa, also not trying to be funny, responds that he actually took music lessons in grade school from Mitch Miller’s brother! Finally, now attempting to be funny (and admittedly, he is), Exon replies, “That is the first sign of hope we’ve had in this hearing.”

  There’s some more debating and a bizarre exchange in which Zappa invites Senator Paula Hawkins (R-Florida) over to his house to inspect the toys his wife has purchased for their children. To conclude her questioning, she asks Zappa if he makes a profit from the sale of his rock records. He answers in the affirmative. She looks around, sort of confused, and instead of making a point says, “Thank you. I think that statement tells the story to this committee.” It does not.

  John Denver is now back from his previous engagement. He makes a rather eloquent statement about the dangers of censorship and offers up an anecdote about how his hit song “Rocky Mountain High” was misconstrued as a pro-drug song. He then goes into some hippy-dippy shit about ridding the world of nukes, ending hunger, and living together in peace and harmony. In 1985, I had absolutely no idea who John Denver was and now, looking back, I’m most struck by how much he looked like Cousin Oliver from The Brady Bunch.

  Chairman Danforth thanks Denver for his “excellent statement” and reassures him that the PMRC only desires additional information, not censorship. Denver responds by reminding the committee that some of the senators at this very hearing have already admitted they would support censorship if it was done constitutionally.

  After Gore finishes drooling over Denver, they discuss the appropriate role of the record companies. Just as it threatens to become a somewhat illuminating debate, Danforth interrupts and reminds Denver that, once again, he has somewhere else to be. Denver then announces that he has a noon appointment with NASA and Gore wishes him luck in getting on the space shuttle!VII

  After Denver shuffles out, it’s time for Dee Snider, the lead singer of Twisted Sister. If Denver was the witnesses’ ego, and Zappa was the superego, Snider was definitely the id. At the time, I worshipped Snider. He was an East Coast guy responsible for the best goddamn videos in the history of MTV, as well as one of the most underrated heavy metal albums ever, Love Is for Suckers.VIII

  Unlike Zappa, who came dressed to the nines, Snider arrives in a sleeveless jean jacket and sunglasses. He begins his statement by wishing everyone both good morning and good afternoon since, he admits, he has no idea which it is. Watching the full hearing it’s abundantly clear that Snider is making a small joke, referencing the fact that the hearing is entering its third hour and many, himself included, have lost track of time. But for those predisposed to cast judgment on a grown man who looks like Shirley Temple on acid, this statement is further proof that Snider is completely detached from reality.

  However, those people are in for a rude awakening. From the moment he opens his mouth, Snider is surprisingly articulate and comports himself better than friend and foe on both sides of the issue. He lacks the smugness of the friendly witnesses and comes across as guileless and genuine. Nor does he seethe with Zappa’s self-righteous anger or, like the milquetoast Denver, seem willing to accept the committee’s assurances at face value. He’s forceful but endearingly nervous, passionate but not closed-minded. But above all, Snider is likeable.

  In a rather impressive bit of oration, Snider intends to “show just how unfair the whole concept of lyrical interpretation and judgment can be and how many times this can amount to little more than character assassination.” He lays right into Tipper, calling her a liar and slanderous, and challenges her claim that the lyrics to his song “Under the Blade” encourage sadomasochism, bondage, and rape. On the contrary, he says, it’s a song about the fear of surgery.

  Snider also deserves credit for being one of the few to inject the concept of parental responsibility into the debate. Danforth wonders how, if Snider is against parental guidance labels, parents can possibly be aware of the type of music their children are listening to. Snider’s an
swer is nothing if not practical. “Well, quite simply, as a parent myself and as a rock fan, I know that when I see an album cover with a severed goat’s head in the middle of a pentagram between a woman’s legs, that is not the kind of album I want my son to be listening to.”

  Before Gore can chime in, Snider asks him if he will also profess to being a fan of his music, a reference to Gore’s sycophantic fawning over Zappa and Denver. Gore, humorless and stiff as always, declares he is not, in fact, a fan of Twisted Sister. He then tries to nail Snider right away by asking him what the letters “SMF” in the Twisted Sister Fan Club refer to. Snider replies that they stand for the “Sick Motherfucking Friends of Twisted Sister.” Gore sarcastically asks if this fan club is also a “Christian group,” mocking Snider’s self-proclaimed characterization of his religious beliefs. Without missing a beat, Snider counters, “I don’t believe that profanity has anything to do with Christianity, thank you.” And of course, Snider is correct. Now, I realize most people wouldn’t want their preacher dropping F-bombs from the pulpit, but I have at least a layman’s understanding of the Bible and nowhere does it say, “Thou shalt not say ‘shit,’ ‘piss,’ ‘fuck,’ ‘cunt,’ ‘cocksucker,’ ‘motherfucker,’ and ‘tits.’ ” That wasn’t God, it was George Carlin. Come to think of it, the Bible doesn’t say much about profanity besides warning against taking the Lord’s name in vain. That’s one of his commandments, whereas rape, child molestation, and spousal abuse don’t make the list. To be honest, I might have picked a different set of ten, but then again, I’m no theologian.

  Now we come to my favorite part of Snider vs. Gore. In a bogus attempt to find some common ground, Gore asks Snider to concede that it’s at least conceivable that the lyrics to “Under the Blade” could be interpreted in a variety of ways. Snider replies, “Ms. Gore was looking for sadomasochism and bondage and she found it.” Gore responds with a hoarse, “Yeah,” and clears his throat, possibly trying to process the newfound revelation that his wife might be up for a little B & D.

  In one of the most illuminating exchanges, Senator John D. Rockefeller IV (D–West Virginia) asks Snider why he feels compelled to attack “Senator Gore’s wife” so vehemently. Snider clarifies that he’s not attacking the senator’s wife, but rather the head of the PMRC. It’s a seemingly minor but actually extremely important distinction, one that Rockefeller fails to recognize but of which Snider is all too aware. As I previously mentioned, this entire charade reeked of chauvinism if not misogyny—and not on the part of the artists. Although this was certainly not his intent, Rockefeller demonstrates his myopic view on women. To him, and presumably to his fellow senators, judging by their silence, being the wife of Al Gore is Tipper’s raison d’être. But to Snider, she’s a worthy adversary, the leader (or at least figurehead) of an organization devoted to fucking with his livelihood. Snider might not pull his punches—he’s explicit about his disdain for Tipper and her ilk—but in his condemnation he pays her far more respect than Rockefeller and his cronies do with their support.

  In hindsight, one of the most striking things from Snider’s testimony is just how closely it fits the popular image of a staunch conservative circa 2014. In fact, if you ignore the fact that Snider looks insane, his rant could be ripped right from the playbook of the Christian Right. Married? Check. A loving father? Check. Proudly religious? Check. Abstains from tobacco, drink, and drugs? Check, check, and check. Forget any of this “it takes a village” bullshit; Snider is strident in his belief that the sole responsibility for raising his child falls to him and his wife. When Gore declares it’s not reasonable for parents to listen to all the albums they buy their children, it’s Snider who reminds him that being a parent isn’t always easy.

  Honestly, I’m not sure exactly what this observation proves. That Snider was always a stealth pilgrim, hiding in plain sight under a cloak of denim, spandex, and lipstick? Or that cultural mores change so rapidly from generation to generation that what was once considered aberrant is now the status quo? Still, there’s something telling about the fact that it was Snider, one of the few heavy metal icons to embrace his Christianity, who chose to suffer the slings and arrows of his persecutors and plead his case before Congress.

  Years later, Twisted Sister released what I consider to be the greatest version of “O Come All Ye Faithful” ever recorded, proving you can take the boy out of the church, but you can’t take the church out of the boy. Of course, in the video, which hearkens back to their classic “We’re Not Gonna Take It,” Snider makes a prim housewife so hot with his religiosity that she tears open her blouse and head-bangs with a life-size candy cane.

  Eventually, the PMRC got its way. Parental Advisory labels were slapped on any album with questionable content. The labels were a godsend to two groups: 1) brain-dead parents who were either too lazy or too apathetic to decide for themselves what was appropriate for their children, and 2) those very same children, who now had a guide to the good stuff.

  Although they couldn’t be bothered to attend the hearings, artists of every stripe lashed out at the PMRC, specifically Tipper. On his 1989 album, The Iceberg/Freedom of Speech . . . Just Watch What You Say, Ice-T speculates in the crudest of terms that she might be sexually frustrated, while in “Sucks,” KMFDM wants to “strip” her. Usual suspects like the Dead Kennedys, Rage Against the Machine (who really rage against anything), Danzig, and Sonic Youth also added their own denunciations.

  This might be heretical to admit, since she was public enemy number one for a generation of heavy metal fans, but I always felt somewhat bad for Tipper. She always seemed more overwhelmed and, quite frankly, clueless than hell-bent on the censorship effort that was ascribed to her. Watching the hearings again, I’m struck by another thought: only thirty-seven years old, Tipper was already saddled with four young children. In another life, she should have been rocking out to the artists she was pitted against, not serving the agenda of a bunch of old men who hijacked her well-intentioned but misguided campaign.

  Some of Tipper’s fellow culture warriors carried on the good fight. Evangelical minister and PMRC friend Bob Larson, author of numerous books with catchy titles like Rock: Practical Help for Those Who Listen to the Words and Don’t Like What They Hear, continued publishing dire warnings about metal, Satanism, and anything else fun. Admittedly, I’ve never read Rock, but if the fact that there are dozens of copies on Amazon listed for $0.01 is indicative of anything, I probably won’t. More recently, Larson has devoted much of his time to performing exorcisms with his drop-dead-gorgeous nineteen-year-old daughter, Brynne, a self-described virgin who looks like a younger Jessica Chastain. In 2013, Vice Media produced a short documentary following Brynne Larson and her two friends Tess and Savannah Scherkenback, who bill themselves as “the Teenage Exorcists.” The film, in which the group travels to Ukraine to ply their trade, is both heartbreaking and laugh-out-loud funny—neither of which was the intention of the miniature Merrins.

  Years later, Tipper would basically admit that the PMRC hearings were a disaster. “If I could rewrite the script, I certainly would,” she told Daily Variety. Her husband, however, was far less conciliatory, blaming the entire mess on the Republicans on the committee. “I was not in favor of the hearing,” Gore told a group of high-powered Hollywood executives. Anybody who watched the hearing for half a second can see what a huge, steaming pile of bullshit this is. Gore clearly relished his prominent role, especially the opportunity to spar with Snider, one of Tipper’s fiercest critics.

  The truth is, there are few politicians as contemptible as Al Gore (full disclosure: I voted for him in the 2000 presidential election). In 2006, he traveled to Saudi Arabia, birthplace of eighteen of the 9/11 hijackers, and apologized for America’s treatment of Saudi nationals. While taking a break from kissing Saudi ass and flogging his Oscar-winning PowerPoint on global warming, he managed to sell his fledgling network, Current TV, to the Qatar-owned Al Jazeera Media Network. Now, even if you don’t subscribe to the belief
that Al Jazeera is a font of anti-Americanism and anti-Semitism, and find nothing cynical about a staunch defender of the 99 percent rushing to close the deal in order to avoid an impending tax increase on his estimated $100 million profit, you’d have to have the sense of humor of, well, Gore not to find it deliciously ironic that the crown prince of everything green sold out to one of the world’s largest oil producers. When asked about the incongruity between his espoused beliefs and the chief revenue source of his Qatari buyer, the best defense Gore could muster was some dubious claim that Al Jazeera has “outstanding” and “extensive” coverage on climate change. In light of the purchase, Gore can certainly afford the best PR flacks that money can buy. And this is what they came up with? It’s kind of like defending a serial rapist because he makes a donation to a women’s shelter around the holidays.

  * * *

  In the tradition of Dylan, I want to wrap this chapter up by bringing it all back home. I think there’s a seminal moment in everyone’s life when they realize they’re getting old, and for me, this was tied to Ozzy.

  One of the unapologetically geeky things that I love to do is attend haunted houses around Halloween. In the old days, these were held in high school gymnasiums or park district headquarters where the extent of the decorations were papier-mâché bats and Styrofoam tombstones. If you were lucky, a volunteer from the local church or Girl Scout troop might pop out of a darkened corner and shriek in your face. But in recent years, a burgeoning industry of high-end, temporary haunted house attractions has sprung up. These feature real actors (or more accurately, real wannabe actors), lifelike props, animatronics, and old-school carnival staples like the “Vortex Tunnel” and the “Hall of Mirrors” updated with a Halloween twist. The more elaborate ones even have a gift shop for those who can’t pass up a T-shirt emblazoned with the phrase “I survived ______.” These itinerant attractions are virtual cash registers because really, when I was a kid, I would have paid anything for twenty minutes of sanctioned darkness alone with my girlfriend. To have her terrified and clinging to me the entire time would have been just the cherry on top. In fact, to all you comptrollers out there, bitching about bankruptcy and your dying cities, you want a surefire way to increase seasonal revenue? Pour all your discretionary funds into the biggest, baddest haunted house you can afford. It will pay you back in spades. I promise you, people will happily shell out twenty bucks a pop for the pleasure of being groped by some part-time barista in a rubber vampire mask.