Shut Up and Give Me the Mic (49 page)

One night, in Worcester, Massachusetts, there was a guy sitting about seven rows back from the front who was very unhappy with me and Twisted Sister. Since Dio’s stage set had my band cramped toward the very lip of the stage—in front of the lights—I could see every subtle, and not so subtle, nuance of his hostility toward us. Apparently, he abhorred the endless ridicule I was heaping upon him and his like-minded brethren and sisthren. Toward the end of our set, his anger got the best of him. As I stood staring directly at him in disbelief, he took careful aim with a bottle and let the lethal weapon fly. I easily sidestepped the projectile, but I was stunned! After all these years of being a blind target on stage, I finally not only saw my assailant but watched as he unabashedly tried to cause me bodily harm.

Sometimes I think people view seeing a live concert like they’re at the movies—the characters onstage are two-dimensional and not actually real. Well, I ain’t no fucking movie! Dressed in full Twisted Sister regalia (the makeup, the spandex, the shoulder pads, the heels,
everything
), I climbed off the stage, over the barrier, then over seven rows of audience members and chairs, and dived on that fucking piece of shit. Within seconds, crew members—including the intrepid Joe Gerber and our dedicated and loyal stage manager Frank Rubino—came to my aid, scrambling off the stage and into the fray. My band played on.

As my assailant was dragged out of the arena, I climbed back over the rows of chairs and people, over the barricade, onto the stage and finished the set to a stunning ovation from the crowd.
Don’t fuck with Dee fucking Snider and Twisted fucking Sister, dammit!

The next morning I was woken by the phone in my room. On the line were my manager, my lawyer, and my accountant.

“
Are you out of your fucking mind?!
” screamed the usually serene Mark Puma.

“What are you talking about?” I replied, confused. I was still half asleep.

“Last night! What the hell do you think you were doing last night?!” Mark was yelling.

I tried to remember what had happened the night before. After a while all the dates become a blur—as you’ll find out in a minute.

“The fight?”
I offered. I’d been scrapping with people in the audience for years; I couldn’t imagine why they would be calling about that.

“Yes, the fight! You can’t be attacking people in the audience anymore,” continued Mark.
“You’re famous now!”

“You have money,” chimed in my accountant.

“You’ll get your ass sued for everything you’ve worked so hard to get,” added my attorney.

The significance of what they were saying began to set into my caffeine-less, foggy mind.

“That piece of shit threw a bottle at me! What was I supposed to do,” I parried, my head beginning to clear, “just sit there and take it?”

“We will get you a bodyguard,” said Mark Puma.

“A bodyguard?” I replied. “For what?
To protect them from me?!”

But that’s just what they did. They got me a bodyguard so I wouldn’t have to do the dirty—potentially litigious—job of defending my and the band’s honor. Essentially,
protect the scumbags from me!

Several months later, I would be on a promotional tour in Australia with my bodyguard, Vic. He was a black, six-feet-tall, 225-pound, ex-military bodybuilder who had worked for Mick Jagger, David Bowie, and Freddie Mercury.
¹

We were in a limo, leaving an appearance at a nightclub, when my car stopped at a light and a carload of rowdy kids pulled up along side us. One asshole was hanging out the window and yelling, “Twisted Sister sucks!
You fucking suck
!” Vic jumped out of the
limo, and let’s just say he took care of the situation. He got back in the limo, and we drove off. With pride, Vic turned to me and said, “How was that, boss?” to which I responded:

“A lot like watching someone else have sex with your wife. It may look good . . . but
it doesn’t feel the same.”

38

A
fter touring awhile, the cities become a blur. It’s not that you’re not into the shows and the audience, but the city and the venue are pretty inconsequential. You’re just there to rock.

In the Midwest one of the most ubiquitous concert venues is “the shed.” These indoor/outdoor venues are designed to hold from five thousand to twenty-five thousand people with a portion of the crowd seated under an open, roofed-in area and the rest of the audience outside standing or sitting on the lawn behind it.

It was mid-August, and Dio/Twisted Sister had played Chicago the night before, and now we were in Detroit, performing in a virtually identical-looking concert shed. I think you can see where this is going. We opened our set in Detroit the way we did every show, three songs in a row, without stopping, except for the mandatory “If you’re ready to kick some ass, we are Twisted fuckin’ Sister!” after the first song. The boys and I slammed them with “You Can’t Stop Rock ’n’ Roll,” and the Detroit headbangers were salivating.

Then I opened my big mouth.
“How you doin’, Chicago!?”

The crowd went quiet.
That’s odd.
I looked over at Jay Jay, who was shaking his head and mouthing,
Detroit!
Oh, shit! Calling a town by a different name is like calling your girlfriend another girl’s name. Calling rival towns such as Detroit and Chicago each other’s name is like calling your wife another woman’s name . . .
in bed!
No matter what I did, I could not come back from that major faux pas.
I even tried leaving the stage and starting the show over. We never recovered.

Ever since that fateful day, I have been paranoid to say the name of any place I’m performing out loud onstage. I’m terrified I’ll get it wrong again. When I first say the city name, I’ll slur it and pull away from the microphone just in case I’ve got it wrong.

“How you doin’ [something indecipherable]!”

Did he say “Somethingburgville?”

Now I always have the name of the town or city taped on the monitor or on the drum riser just in case.

Sorry about that, Chicago ...I mean,
Detroit.

BY THE END OF
August, it was time for Twisted Sister to follow up on our hugely successful
We’re Not Gonna Take It
video.
WNGTI
had changed the face of the format, so the bar was set high. You think I’m exaggerating? Consider the videos that came before
WNGTI
and those that came after. Van Halen was bragging about spending only a few dollars on the “Panama” video, then all of a sudden it’s their “all story line and big budget” with “Hot for Teacher.” Mötley Crüe were fighting nonsensical Amazonian women in the “Looks That Kill” video in ’83, then suddenly they’re in a high school setting, complete with a cult actor in the cast, in “Smokin’ in the Boys Room” in 1985. What happened?
We’re Not Gonna Take It
happened, that’s what. Game changer.

The obvious second single from the
Stay Hungry
album was “I Wanna Rock.” Besides the fans’ love of the song and its natural hook, it had been teased in the first video. The son was listening to the song in his room when his dad burst in, and he said to his father before blowing him out the window,
“I wanna rock!”
¹

Twisted once again teamed up with innovative director Marty Callner. In the four months since the release of the
WNGTI
video,
my pal Marty had become the most in-demand rock-video director in the business. And deservedly so. For the new Twisted video’s preproduction, production, and postproduction, I moved into Marty’s house in Beverly Hills. That way we could hang out and work on the project pretty much nonstop. These specialized living arrangements created a physical distance between the band and me and definitely further drove a wedge between us.

Having my creative ideas and persona be accepted on such a mass scale made me feel more and more comfortable flexing my “control freak” muscles. I no longer had any doubts (if I ever did) about my abilities and importance. I had all but dropped the ruse of pretending to care what anybody else thought. I knew (and always had) what was best for Twisted Sister and was actively and openly steering the ship. I was becoming a megalomaniac.

MY CLOSEST FRIEND WITHIN
the band had been Mark Mendoza; he
was
my best friend. But starting with the bringing of Tom Werman on board to produce the band, we had been drifting further and further apart. We no longer hung out or roomed together (as we always had in the past), and Mark’s obvious efforts to sabotage what I was trying to do for the band pushed me away even more.

In fairness to Mark, I definitely created my own distance from the band, as well. The small rifts between Jay Jay, Eddie, and me in the early days of the band had festered and grown. The success we were having as a band—and I was having as a creative and “star” personality—were fertilizer to those seeds of discontent. Negative feelings were flourishing.

Further exacerbating the problem was our manager, Mark Puma. Mark was an easygoing, smooth-things-over kind of guy, quick to put a Band-Aid on a problem, rather than find the cure. Instead of talking directly to each other about our differences (the healthy approach), band members would complain to Puma, hoping he would set the other guy straight. Puma would at all costs avoid asking or addressing the tough questions and figure out a way to assuage the problem for the time being. Unfortunately, the real issue
would never be addressed and would continue to grow like some untreated cancer.

MY CONCEPT FOR THE
I Wanna Rock
video was simple: do a sequel to the
WNGTI
video and answer the question “What does the father/Neidermeyer do for a living?” He would be an even bigger asshole at his job. Marty and I again wrote the video together and brought back most of the people who worked on the first one, especially the now legendary father figure, Mark Metcalf.

Mark Metcalf’s acting career had been revived by the
WNGTI
video. His amped-up, overbearing, asshole dad resonated with pretty much every kid in the world and showed Mark to be one hell of a character actor. Because of this, Metcalf didn’t come quite as cheaply for this video as he had the first time, and he was a bit more of a prima donna.

The video story played out—as you all probably know—in a high school, where Mr. Neidermeyer was a mean teacher, returning on the first day of school. Since this video was to be released to coincide with the start of the real school year, the spirit of the thing truly connected with our audience (though teachers of the era still bust my balls over all the times they had to hear “I wanna rock!” from some smart-ass kid).

By filming in the summer, securing a school for the shoot was not a problem, nor was filling it with high school students. School was out, and Twisted Sister was one of the hottest bands in the world.

The day of the shoot was a scorcher, and the AC at our school was off for the summer. Marty and I arrived at the crack of dawn to find the place mobbed by teenagers responding to KMET’s announcement for video extras. We had to cast the kids for the classroom, but since I had to get ready for the shoot (makeup and costume), I couldn’t participate. I did insist on seeing and speaking to the featured “fat headbanger” before he was locked in.