(by S. Brook Reed)
(photography by Greg M1)
Looking like a bad acid trip, ‘80s-era (and current) Twisted Sister drummer A.J. Pero and bassist Mark “The Animal” Mendoza would have humiliated you in the presence of your peers. Observing them in their flashy mock-transvestite apparel, you may have been tempted to comment…or simply gaze to long. But then, only sadists exclaimed “defect” in the bands animated market of abhorrence…
Not even Type O Negative brute Peter Steele would be fool enough to tag Frankenstein-monster-sized lollipop-licker Dee Snider a queer. Including guitarists Eddie “Fingers” Ojeda and Jay Jay French, the quintet’s crimson nightmare factor marked Twisted Sister complicity to history’s most misunderstood metal rebels.
The inflammatories first fell into play in a fast-living late ‘70s New York City club scene. Some called it “violent pleasurable interests,” I see it merely as anger management therapy. Blatantly seeking confrontation, the band’s sick clown act was its own pain clinic of discord. You’ve heard of “tough love;” this was cold-slap rancor. Psychopathic-electroshock. Brutal truth. In need of treatment, downtown street fighters were drawn to the band like kids to an amusement park. Most folk enjoy flamboyance, a good butts ‘n’ balls joke, but not da boys from da hood. And certainly not Twisted-Fucking-Sister. The angry show-goers heckled, objecting to what seemed counterproductive to nature. They extended inapt inquests and condemning word choices…like the highly forbidden, yet inevitable, “faggot!” Excuse me? Larger than life, Snider, sporting his pre-rant cocked-brow grin, would retort. His verbally abusive ravings were trauma-inspiring, his crowd-invading brutality, bone-breaking. The hell bent fury of this gang-like prodigy merged grotesque imagery with sincerely ill-repute. It exceeded black metal’s contemporary abatement. The bands fans understood: This was more than shock-rock; it was fuck-the-siblings-of-society destruction rock! Songs “Destroyer,” “Sin After Sin,” (Under The Blade, 1982) “Burn In Hell” and “Horror-Teria, Part One, Captain Howdy” (Stay Hungry, 1984) validate it — early ‘80s Twisted Sister and their fans were SMFs!
With the cheer of holiday record, A Twisted Christmas, still in the air, and Strangeland and Van Helsing’s Curse sequels brewing in the pot, I evaded the obvious to focus on a retrospective of chaos with a still abrasive, yet enthusiastic, Dee Snider. Indeed, the man is as twisted as ever.
Metal Maniacs: The first three Twisted Sister albums were virtually pure metal, Stay Hungry being the ’84 chart-breaker that later led to a more commercial approach. What do you think of those early records now?
Dee Snider: Very accurate — the core Twisted Sister albums! Sellouts? No! We were proud. But we were on a budget.
MM: Do you prefer the original, raw Secret Records version of debut album Under The Blade or the more accessible, revamped, later re-released Atlantic variant?
DS: Either or — it doesn’t matter. Mark Mendoza reworked it. I wasn’t a fan of the low-budget original; I wanted a pure sound. But that stuff was from the down ‘n’ dirty club days. I wrote the album in an old van next to our rehearsal barn.
MM: I saw the band twice on the Stay Hungry tour. I considered you the most intense, dangerous central point in rock. Once, on a foggy, illuminated stage, you crawled about wickedly on your hands and knees, while singing the early verses of “Burn In Hell.” Perhaps one had to be there, but it was among the most insane, effective live displays I’ve witnessed.
DS: I did that sometimes for that song, but not every night. We never did the same thing every night; I liked spontaneity. I didn’t want to be like Van Halen’s David Lee Roth, chanting the same thing to the same section of the audience every night, with the same fake bottle of Jack Daniels. But yeah, I still crawl around while singing “Burn In Hell” once in awhile.
MM: That’s one of your favorite songs, right?
DS: “Burn In Hell,” “Under The Blade,” “I Am (I’m Me)”…
MM: When I saw you opening for Iron Maiden’s Powerslave tour in ’84, you briefly stopped the show to reprimand a front-row-goer that insulted you with a Maiden banner. He tried to stand up to you, but ultimately declined in utter fear. I saw his face — he was terrified.
DS: I would sometimes throw away entire shows obsessing with one audience member, trying to break the cocky ones. But I remember one guy who wouldn’t break. None of my taunts had any effect on him! I’d stopped shows many times to deal with mouthy people…but this guy wouldn’t budge! I couldn’t see him very well in the crowd until the lights finally hit him just right. At that point I could see he was about a 22-year-old kid that was going bald prematurely. I pointed out my thick-as-fuck hair and the fact that I was older than him. I made up a silly song about his hair loss. I’d finally found his soft spot, so-to-speak. He lost composure. He turned red as stage lights. The band also carried an inside joke with our core fans at shows. If we were opening for a larger act, the empty seats reserved in the front for the headliner-exclusive fans, those were the “dick-suckin’ punk seats.” I’d discuss it with our fans prior to the arrival of the opposition. Then they’d come strollin’ in — the dick-suckin’ punks — late in our set. I’d stop the band mid-song to sarcastically say, “hey, how ya doin’?” to our incoming friends. They didn’t understand why thousands of people were laughing at them!
MM: Word has it that you, the infamous Dee Snider, have been known to fly offstage to fight hecklers. Tell you’re funniest fight story.
DS: When our band started, the music scene was at the height of disco. But Twisted Sister was loud and over-the-top. Our attitude was, “look, listen, or get out!” But sometimes the audience thought — thought — they were in charge. I was always flying offstage to defend the band’s honor. “Who you callin’ a fag?”
MM: Society was very conservative then; and you were contemptuously bold. I guess being Twisted Sister 30 years ago, was like being that “boy named sue” in the Johnny Cash song; you had to be tough as nails to sustain the name and image.
DS: Early on, a gay magazine had heard about us and wanted to review one of our shows. After seeing our hostile presentation, and meeting us, they said, “…but you’re not gay.” Very observant. Some nights, when objects were thrown onstage, we were blinded by the lights and couldn’t see who had thrown what. Once somebody threw a bottle at me and I refused to continue the show until that person came forward. “Who the fuck threw that?” I said. The crowd was silent. “Whoever threw that bottle, be a man and say so!” Still nothing. “Whoever threw that, your mother sucks dick!” “Fuck you! Fuck you!” the guy instantly yelled while rushing forward. In those days, we had our biker friends at the shows. I always figured if there was ever any real trouble, our buddies would back us. This particular show was in about ’78 and I was wearing awkward spiked red heels. I took a few steps back to get a running dive on this guy! Guitarist Eddie Ojeda claimed all he saw out of the corner of his eye were those glossy, abnormally oversized woman’s shoes soaring past his head! I remember thinking while I was in the air, “if I miss this guy, my friends and fans will catch me.” Not a chance! My swan dive landed — bam! — hard on the floor! Upon attempting to get up, I saw the guy standing there in this crazy Kung Fu stance, ready to take me on! My biker pals? They were ushering people out of the way, forming a fight-circle! Due to my pre-existing, floor-hitting injuries, I couldn’t even get up, never mind the fight! Shows were cancelled due to those injuries. The last time I dove off the stage was in ’84 when we were opening for Dio. I went after another object-thrower. I took him down! The next day, our attorney and manager called; they’d heard about the fight. “You’ve got a hit record now,” they said. “You can’t beat people up anymore!” So we hired a body guard! While on tour in Australia, he beat up a guy who’d been following us in a car while we were driving around town. The guy had been calling us homos! We finally pulled over and the body guard whipped his ass! Afterwards, our man looked at me and asked, “how was that boss?” “Like watching someone else fuck your ol’ lady,” I said. “It looks good, but it doesn’t feel the same.”
IN REVIEW:
Under The Blade, Secret Records, 1982
Dimmu Borgir robbed second album Stormblåst of ambience with its re-recorded, high-budget version. Suicidal Tendencies omitted the personality from their self-titled, indie-backed debut with a ludicrous corporate remake. Ditto on both counts for Twisted Sister’s originally dagger-sharp first effort, Under The Blade. When bassist Mark Mendoza remixed/mastered the one-time crusher, the result was the demise of the record’s inhuman charisma and relentless charm. While the guitars retained their diatonic scales, they exchanged their upfront qualities with commercially-tainted, newly-layered chorus volume. In short, excessive over-dubbing and altering drained the album’s lifeblood.
With UFO bassist Pete Way on production detail, the authentic (and difficult to obtain) Under The Blade was perhaps Twisted Sister’s finest hour. “Bad Boys (Of Rock ‘N’ Roll),” with its laryngitis vocals and mind-revoking beats, keeps steps with our release-through-metal theme. It’s “how bad can a bad boy be if he sets you free?” proposal is fine self-theology. “Shoot ‘Em Down” will flood your listening experience with incessantly giggly heavy rock. The “master baiter” pun does not submit to those lacking humor sense. These mood-stoking cranksters are the albums weakest moments.
“Destroyer” is sledge hammer tested and mother disapproved. The weightiest of the band’s catalog, the track couldn’t jump out of the way of its own massive shadow; Vietnam War tanks claim no agility. Transgression is alive and remorseless with “Sin After Sin.” Stealing from Judas Priest’s ’77 album of the same name, the track is not far removed from its inspiration. An influx of sick guitar triads comb rampant verse/chorus purgatory into this excellent traditional metal celebration. Maintaining equality, the title-track refuses to be outdone. As flesh-slicing as the tag indicates, French and Ojeda’s crimson guitar alternations repeatedly draw blood. Snider’s bridge and chorus leave memorable scars. This makes “Under The Blade” something of a band essay.
You Can’t Stop Rock ‘N Roll, Atlantic, 1983
The identity crisis. Second album syndrome, as some call it, was at odds with Twisted Sister. The fact is, the band’s major label debut, You Can’t Stop Rock ‘N’ Roll, is a solid album with pure song structure. Unfortunately, the tunes sound like someone else’s construction. “Ride To Live, Live To Ride” and “Power And The Glory,” their anthemic nature too dramatic for this band, would be better-placed in Judas Priest or Manowar tracks. Virtually dynamics-free, the one-dimensional resonance of this Stuart Epps-produced record sees numerous moments melting too perfectly together. “The Kids Are Back,” “Like A Knife In The Back,” and “I Am (I’m Me)” are turn-it-up-and-play-it-again heel-stompers, yet their chorus-reliant rockin’ mash brings fellow Big Applers Kiss to mind. Okay, an angrier Kiss. Generally speaking, the record is not as — pardon the pun — cutting edge as precursor Under The Blade nor as devilishly delightful as follow-up Stay Hungry.
The abstract, album-closing title-track is the album’s saving grace. A rushing thrust, this anthem is more applicable to the band’s back alley sound. With guitar accents so tuneful, even Accept’s Wolf Hoffman would be proud. The luster of this mix could not be from the same studio sessions. Riot-inducing rock ‘n ‘roll activism, the inaptly-named song is sheer metal.
Listen to You Can’t Stop Rock ‘N’ Roll. Enjoy it. But after you’ve heard track 10, you’ll wonder what happened to the other nine.
Stay Hungry, Atlantic, 1984
Yikes! This album houses annoying longtime hit-single “We’re Not Gonna Take It!” A song that some say single-handedly hooked success for the band, later injected a needle into its inflated ego. We metal fans can be quick to abandon great acts. Post-radio status, they become damaged goods. It’s like discovering your school rival dated the girl/guy you were hopelessly infatuated with. You lose interest. Admit it.
But if airplay must infect good bands with terminal illness, the induction of carcinogens should be via the hand of moderately interesting songs. “The Beast” and “I Wannna Rock” more snuggly fit the bill, the latter enjoying mild mainstream attention. The tracks build a transition ramp, launching the record into a chemo-state.
As jubilantly as a fat lady in a fudge shop, “SMF” raises its ugly head; a deranged allegiance to a warped band. What does it stand for? Well, anyone with a taste for Twisted Sister’s musical disposition must be a Sick Mother Fucker, this writer included. “Burn In Hell” is sure to tickle the fancy of even the snootiest metalheads. But don’t sit too closely to the speakers; it was once said that a heat-blistered Snider reaches out from the damned to pull the listener in. Whatever. “Horror-Teria, Part One, Captain Howdy” is the devil’s accomplice. Wonderfully disturbing, this creep-show song could come off as extremely threatening to the wholesome ear. But Twisted Sister fans of the day were dark-hearted bastards, and our toxic spirits soared as the cartoonish song tripped about in a colorful collage of terror.
