I honestly do not remember the context in which I first saw the music video for Twisted Sister's "We're Not Gonna Take It." I remember only that I was a teenager (had to be late 90s), that I'd never heard of them or the song before that moment, and that I was absolutely delighted by what I saw. I loved it, loved the goofy, low-budget short-film vibe. It was catchy, and fun, and silly, and the lead singer was a little scary in an odd way. About a year later, I bought a cassette of their Come Out and Play album from a music store for less than a dollar (still brand new; it was just heavily discounted because, as I learned from this book, there was a surplus). I took it home, listened to it for about three minutes, and then threw it away*.
That was pretty much the last time I thought about Twisted Sister until a couple of months ago when a good friend of mine told me Twisted Sister is one of his favorite bands. That surprised me, mostly because I hadn't considered that Twisted Sister might be anyone's favorite band, now or in decades past. I always figured they were just one of a million 80s-era also-rans. Every decade has them, right? I can think of 20 off the top of my head from the 90s and early aughts, bands that were huge but that, when historians 50 years from now write documentaries about the 90s, won't even get a mention. (But what do I know? Totally possible I'll run into someone 20 years from now who's still gaga for Powerman 5000) I used to read a magazine called Hit Parader, and I don't even remember seeing Twisted Sister's logo show up on any of the dozens of merchandise ads (you know, where they display a wall of little thumbnail graphics showing t-shirts or pins from a thousand different classic and current rock acts?).
Anyway, my pal queued up one of their albums, which I thought sounded like nondescript 80s metal. But as we continued our card game, he sang or hummed along with the whole thing. He wasn't kidding around — he was a big fan. Then he started to share interesting little anecdotes about their lead singer, Dee Snider, and at length he piqued my interest — I couldn't help but get swept up in my friend's enthusiasm. And I had no idea TS was ever so relevant — or groundbreaking! He went into another room and came back a moment later with this book.
And it was a really good read. Here are some disorganized thoughts:
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• Snider was a late addition to the band in the 70s. For many years (before and after Snider joined) they were strictly a cover band — as Snider tells it, audiences had near-zero tolerance for original music from local bands. The only way to sneak an original song in there was to preface it with a lie, like "This is a little-known Deep Purple song from their first album" or "This next Motorhead song never made it to the States, but it's great!"
• Even as a cover band, TS played up to five shows a night, five nights a week, all over the tri-state area and raked in lavish wages. They and other bands with similar work schedules were able to make more than a quarter-million dollars annually, all in cash, in 1970s money. I asked a couple professional musician friends if this could possibly happen in this day and age and the responses basically boiled down to "lol, no." One friend likened live performances to a passionate hobby.
• Once TS felt emboldened enough to switch to original music, they had become minor celebrities around the NY tri-state area, mostly due to the insane shows they'd put on. Their sound was part of a wave of new music that influenced a generation, but the music was almost secondary; Snider was so animated all the time and poured so much energy into his performances (his wife Suzette is responsible for their iconic, postapocalyptic drag image) that attendees would get worked up into a headbanging frenzy. They were legendary. And after TS outgrew the confines of the biggest clubs, they would sometimes rent entire arenas, promote their own shows, and play to sold out crowds of thousands. Imagine a local band, today, independently renting arena-sized concert spaces, selling out, and making rockstar-level profits from their efforts. Insane.
• Despite TS's considerable successes, literally no record label would touch them. Plenty of talent scouts would come to their shows and be blown away, promise them the world, even put together tentative contracts, only to follow up a few days later with tearful apologies because their bosses would flat out refuse to allow the deal to move forward. There were various reasons given, including that their appeal was limited to the tri-state area, and that their music was terrible (the genre wasn't exactly in its infancy, but this particular brand of rock was still looked down upon by most record labels). TS was finally signed by an overseas label that could barely afford to support them, but they got the push they needed to make themselves known worldwide. Sometime later, they ended up signing with Atlantic Records.
• Whenever Snider would get to a part in the book where the band would release a new album, or demo, or whatever else, I would don headphones and listen while I read. Whenever he got to a music video, I would set the book down and watch the video in full. It was super neat to get the behind-the-scenes and director commentary while listening to his music. Straight up, this just isn't my kind of music and never has been**, that sound popularized by the likes of Twisted Sister, Ratt, Motley Crue, Guns n' Roses, Cinderella, etc., but I tell you what, it really grew on me, and this book got me closer than ever to really getting its appeal. It was fun music for people who wanted to let loose and have fun, or to shake off all their pent-up aggression of the day. Who couldn't see the appeal in that?
• Snider wrote pretty much all of TS's songs, despite the fact he has virtually zero skill with any musical instrument. He had a tedious and unsophisticated method of recording himself singing all the imagined instruments, one at a time, and then layering the recordings. Then he and the rest of the band would get together for practice and Snider would playback a janky a cappella recording of whatever song he cooked up. I'm honestly, genuinely surprised by the mileage they got out of this. TS has some undeniably great songs. To think that any of their guitar melodies started out as "La, la, la, la LA la!" gets me every time, lol. Granted, when you listen to the Stay Hungry album you can kind of see the bones; the melodies are catchy but very simple and only consist of a few notes (even the solos tend to mimic the vocal melody). But it’s still inspiring as hell: the only tools you need to make music are an idea, a means to make noise, and a means to record it. Don’t ever let a lack of gear (or even the ability to play a particular instrument) stop you.
• (He laments once or twice that no one else in the band ever participated in the songwriting process. In my own meager way, I can relate to his bandmates. I was in a band in high school (nothing memorable, but we played original material live on a regular basis, had a website, recorded songs in a few semi-professional studio environments and had a couple CD-R releases). In the year we were together, I contributed very little compositionally. The singer and the other guitarist would bring their ideas, sing some lines of verse, show me some chords, and that's what we played. I would riff on those parts, sure, but no more than any half-competent guitarist could do. Songwriting is hard, lol, and once I saw someone else in the band could do it (they were actually really good at it!), I was relieved to let them carry that burden. The two creative forces in that band went on to other musical projects; one even got signed to a major record label.)
• Almost as soon as Twisted Sister finally hit it big, things started to go downhill. Right off a cliff, in fact. Snider anticipated things would only get better and better and better, and he put together an ambitious, genre-bending album with guest musicians, paired with a comically elaborate live setup. Meanwhile, he was spending all his money on houses and exotic cars and not even thinking about saving anything. He even had his teeth filed to points. Years before, penniless and pre-fame, he was kicked out of a gym after he was caught using the equipment without a membership. In the throes of embarrassment, he declared he would one day come back after he was rich and famous and buy that gym, and the staff laughed at him. So of course he went back there and bought the gym.
• Further, he agreed to literally every interview request, only dimly aware at times that he was overexposing himself to audiences. Couple that with the fact he hosted a metal-focused show on MTV, and that clips of TS's We're Not Gonna Take It video was showing up constantly in MTV commercials, and after a while, longtime fans were getting sick of them... and their new fans were far younger. Adults were gradually replaced with highschoolers who related to the tone of their music videos.
• Further still, Dee Snider and several other musicians were CALLED BEFORE CONGRESS to testify about their allegedly obscene music. (This is what eventually resulted in Parental Advisory stickers, which, go figure, is how I always found the best CDs in whatever music store I visited.) It's at this hearing that Snider reveals he does not smoke, does not drink, does not do drugs, has been in a committed, monogamous relationship almost all his adult life, and that he identifies as a Christian. He explains how that song Tipper Gore thinks is about sadomasochism is actually about a fellow bandmate undergoing surgery. All the songs the Parents Music Resource Center (PMRC) thinks are about sex and drugs are about anything but.
• Now, my aforementioned good friend explains that this is when TS lost their popularity, because all their fans saw this testimony and realized their heavy metal demigod was actually just a huge dork. And I believe him — he's always been a huge fan of TS, and he lived through this as it occurred. (He just so happens to like huge dorks, as do I, as we are, and he celebrates the same about bands like Rush, etc.) But as Snider tells it, the testimony was cut up and manipulated before it aired on the news so that Snider looked like an absolute A-hole. And every primetime-TV-watching parent decided then and there that their teenagers would never, ever, ever set foot in a venue where TS was performing. In short, their longtime fans were sick of seeing them everywhere, and their new fans were barred from seeing them live or buying their music.
• So yeah, their next album, Come Out and Play, bombs (comparatively — it sold more than 500K copies in the US alone). They end up canceling their tour early for lack of ticket sales. The CD sits in piles in music stores across the country. TS is pretty much done for. Snider writes a solo album but is talked into releasing it as a Twisted Sister album, and that's how we got Love is for Suckers. I hate to say it, but that album — performed by Snider and various non-TS musicians, has their best guitar work by far. Snider's financial situation imploded — he went from that lavish, rich-and-famous lifestyle to riding a bike to a dead-end desk job (which he was, to his credit, thrilled to be able to do in order to support his family).
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There's more to the book than all that, and obviously there's more to Snider than all that, but this summary is too long already. In my opinion, the only real criterion for a good memoir is honesty. I've read messy self-published memoirs that moved me to tears (form, pacing, spelling and grammar, etc., never seem to matter when someone's pouring their heart out) and polished turds from politicians who, too concerned with their image, provide boring, sanitized depictions of everyone in their circle. Snider appears to inject a lot of honestly into his writing, and the writing ain't half bad, so this gets full marks from me. In fact, the writing is so unguarded that I wonder if some reveals were perhaps unintentional:
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• Snider spends a cumulative 50-or-so pages talking in circles about how he met his wife, and he's clearly grown a little sheepish about it, because he began courting her when she was only 15 years old. You can almost hear him nervously tittering about it through the text, looking back now and recognizing that a 22-year-old hitting on someone seven years younger who sneaked out to his concert isn't exactly an endearing meet-cute. He also mentions little jokes she used to slip in about how she only agreed to date him because she was scared of him, that she wasn't attracted to him, and that she had constant plans to break up with him. (Cue that nervous titter again.) Honestly, I'm just happy it worked out — they've been married for more than 40 years, with four kids, and Suzette stuck by him through the thinnest of soap-sliver thins; their love is obvious and heartwarming — but there are some seriously awkward passages where Snider appears to be asking for the reader's blessing. He boasts that he wrote this book himself, without any help from a ghost writer, but in this particular subject, he probably could have used someone to tell him to wrap it up and move on to the next bit.
• Snider makes no bones about his temper. He is severely mercurial, and to this day holds onto many grudges. (There's one band in particular that he can't even bring himself to name, so this then-57-year-old man puts a childish spin on the band's name that involves the word "crap.") He's quick to boast about his thick skin (as he tells it, you kind of have to learn to live with insults and heckling when you're dancing around in women's clothes and makeup), but all his beef appears to be the result of the teeniest, tiniest perceived slights. A couple of bands from Europe made some vague jokes about TS and wet t-shirt contests, and Snider flew to Europe and challenged them all to fist fights (they declined). If I recall correctly, he still hates them. One band allegedly (and vaguely) threatened his wife over a costume commission gone bad, and Snider got so mad about it that he never even spoke to any of them again — despite the fact he was touring with them! Snider points out that they and their manager made multiple attempts to reach out, to bury the hatchet, or even just to find out what the problem was, and he flatly refused to engage. I'm not saying his wife is a liar, but this means that he never even bothered to hear their side of it! I looked it up; that band's frontman was baffled by the whole thing and apparently didn't understand what the issue was until this book came out 30 years later. As he tells it, their manager was unsatisfied with some costumes she made and said he didn't want to pay for them (they ended up discarding them). What Snider believes in his heart to be true, implausible as it is, is that the band's manager happily took the costumes, refused to pay for them, and then threatened to kill her if she made a stink about it. Is it inconceivable that these musicians, from overseas, with their own colloquialisms, might have meant something nonthreatening when he told Suzette he’d “take care of her?”
(Also, sheesh, this last bit made me feel terrible because it reminded me of myself when I was a teenager. I recall how quick I was to decide that a given person was now my enemy, and how I go out of my way to make sure they knew it. Most of them never knew what the hell I was upset about, or that I even had an axe to grind. I was so quick to snub people for the most cryptic reasons, you'd think I was picking them at random. I have to admit that this might be coloring some of my opinions about Snider's one-sided feuds.)
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Okay, this really has gone on too long. It's a good book. Dee Snider's a weird guy, but mostly in a good way.
* When I was a young teenager, I bought most rock music in secret and typically had to rely on album art (because I'd never heard most of them nor had any way to reliably identify them on the radio). Further, with my meager pocket money, I was usually buying singles (CDs with a single song on them; they usually went for $1-2) or bargain bin cassette tapes stores were desperate to get rid of. I sometimes bought a piece of music just based on whether I recognized the logo from an older kid's shirt. For every Black Sabbath and Joshua Tree I discovered, I cracked open duds like dance music I’d hoped would be rock, late-stage INXS or, of course, Twisted Sister's Come Out and Play (thinking, oh hey, I saw one of their videos once). If the music didn't grab in a few minutes, I would take the loss and chuck the tape or CD in the trash. Because I'd never seen The Warriors, I didn't at all understand the bizarre extended homage in the first track.
** I grew up in the 90s, when grunge became the next big thing — folks wearing plain clothes, compositions where incidental noise what treated as a feature, guitar solos were a brief sometimes-treat, and everything was dour or serious or whiny or sometimes all three at once. I loved it from the second I first heard Smells Like Teen Spirit. Grunge is my era. Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, Foo Fighters, STP, etc. I love it all.