Shut Up and Give Me the Mic (42 page)

For the first time, Suzette and Jesse were able to accompany me, and we moved into the Oakwood Apartments in Burbank. The Oak-woods
are legendary, furnished rental units (complete with bedding, kitchen appliances, and utensils) that have housed so many “entry-level” musicians and actors. I remember being blown away by how nice they were. At that point in my career, it was living the high life! (“Look, this switch turns on the gas fireplace!”)
²

It was great having my wife and son with me. I almost felt like a “real dad,” working all day, then coming home to my wife and kid. On my days off, we would go to family-type places, such as Knott’s Berry Farm, Universal Studios, and Disneyland. On our visit to Disneyland, things began to change forever.

Suzette, fifteen-month-old Jesse, and I were having a great time at the park . . . when someone recognized me. Keep in mind, Twisted Sister was not really famous yet, other than within the hard-core heavy metal scene. But some headbanger spotted me and asked for an autograph and picture.
Sure.

As I signed and posed, other people started to notice. “Hey, that’s that guy from the MTV commercial!” Now
they
wanted autographs.
Okay.
Quickly, more and more people started to gather around for autographs and pictures. After I signed for several minutes without my even looking up, a deep male voice said to me, “Make it out to
Lashonda
.”

I lifted my head to see a large black man standing in front of me. “Your name’s Lashonda?”

“No! That’s my two-year-old daughter.” He laughed. Then he leaned in and asked, “Who are you?”

What!? I was spending my family time signing autographs for people who didn’t even know who I was? And speaking of family, where the hell were Suzette and Jesse?

I looked around to find the crowd had literally pushed my wife and son away, who were now a good distance from me. I made my apologies to the disappointed crowd (“Where’s he going? Who
was
he?”) and ran to Suzette and Jesse. The crowd followed. We quickly headed onto a ride. When we got off at the other end, people were
there waiting for us. Most of them didn’t even know who I was! That is the insanity of celebrity. People are obsessed with anybody who is anything, even if they’ve never heard of or seen the person before. Imagine what it’s like when they actually know you? (I would soon find out.)

I grabbed Suzette and Jesse, and we quickly exited the park, vowing not to return, unless it was for a parade in my honor. (That never happened, and I’ve been back to Disneyland and Disney World many times, in disguise.)

Regrettably, that day set a new standard for our family extracurricular activities . . . which essentially became none. My notoriety continued to increase, causing me to become more and more reclusive. For practically my entire life I’d wanted to be famous, and now I was beginning to discover the downside. The saying “Be careful what you wish for . . . because you might get it” rang in my ears. I finally understood.

32

R
ecording with Tom Werman continued to be torturous. I fought a constant battle to keep the integrity of our band intact from someone I knew was not a fan of my band or even heavy metal.

Tom Werman drove an expensive Porsche, with the custom license plate 33
RPM,
which represented the rotational speed of a long-playing record. Cute. Every day he would pull up to a reserved spot in front of the studio, park his car, then laboriously set the car alarm, put on a car cover to protect his “baby” from the sun, and run a cable lock under the vehicle to secure the cover. It probably took him ten minutes each day to complete this task.

Now, sometimes Werman would drive me so crazy I would have to leave the studio to get away from him and go outside for some air. One time, while I was out, a devilish idea struck me. I went over to Tom’s beloved Porsche and rocked the car, setting off the alarm. I then ducked into the alleyway alongside Cherokee Studios and waited.

In a flash, Werman burst out of the front door of the building, looking around frantically. Seeing no suspicious activity, he must have assumed a passing truck or something set off his alarm. Tom then went through the lengthy process of undoing the lock, taking off the cover, opening the car (the whole time with the alarm screaming), resetting the alarm, relocking the car, putting the cover
back on, running the cable lock back under the car, and securing the cover once again.

Once he was sure his baby was all right, he headed back into the studio. I’d wait a minute or so until I was sure he’d be settled in the studio, sitting comfortably in his chair, then I’d dart out and shake his Porsche, setting off the alarm again. Back into the alley I would duck, and moments later Werman would come bursting through the door, cursing and fuming, and start the entire process all over again. It was great!

DURING MY FRUSTRATION OF
recording with Werman, Geoff Workman was my only solace. The guy would make me laugh, deflect Werman for me, and figure out ways to get what my band needed for the record. Workman believed bands didn’t need producers, they needed an objective additional “band member” to help them get what they instinctively knew was right. Geoff was a smart man.

One day I was particularly down and feeling beaten by Werman. The daily battle with the guy was really getting to me. Tom wasn’t in the studio at that moment and Geoff asked me what was wrong.

“Tom’s destroying my band’s album.”

“Don’t worry,” Workman replied without a hint of a smile, “it will be fine. This record will go at least platinum, or I’ll quit the business.”

This was some statement. Geoff had worked on a lot of hugely successful records. “Yeah? Will you put that in writing?” I joked.

“Get me a piece of paper,” Workman commanded his assistant engineer, Gary McGachan. With that, Geoff wrote,
The record I am presently working on with “Twisted Sister” is guaranteed to go at least platinum or I resign. . . .
He then signed his name, and Gary signed as witness. It really cheered me up.

I still have that piece of paper. It’s laminated and sits in the frame of my now triple-platinum
Stay Hungry
album. Thanks for that, Geoff. You have no idea how much I needed that emotional boost at that moment. You saved me.

DURING RECORDING, WE DECIDED
our new record would be called
Stay Hungry
. The band always used one of the song titles from the album. It focused attention on a “nonsingle” track of our choosing (radio always gave airplay to title tracks), which would inevitably be one of our heavier songs.

The song “Stay Hungry,” and the rest of the music on the
Stay Hungry
album, was inspired by a book I had read in the early eighties, by Arnold Schwarzenegger. Published in 1977, during his bodybuilding heyday,
Arnold: The Education of a Bodybuilder
was part-autobiographical/part-motivational. One of Arnold’s motivational edicts was to “stay hungry,” to always keep that feeling of desperation and drive you have when you’re just starting out. He believed if you become too content, you will lose your edge and fail. (Boy, did I ever learn that the hard way!)

Predating
any
of his later career successes, in the book Arnold laid out the game plan for his life. Paraphrased, he said, “First I will become the most successful bodybuilder in the history of the sport, then I will invest my winnings and become a real estate tycoon, then I will become the biggest movie star
in the world
, and then I will go into politics.” This was 1977! At the time I was inspired by Arnold’s “aiming for the stars in hopes of hitting the moon” attitude. As the years went by, and step by step he did
exactly
what he said he was going to do, I was completely blown away. I was one of the few who was not stunned when Arnold decided to run for governor. It was all in his book!

Reading
Arnold: The Education of a Bodybuilder
taught me to never give up and inspired the biggest album of my career.
Stay Hungry
was dedicated to Arnold Schwarzenegger.

Many years later, my music publishers received a call from Arnold’s campaign headquarters in the early days of his run for governor of California, requesting the use of “We’re Not Gonna Take It” as his campaign song. I was blown away. I had written that song (and the others from the
Stay Hungry
album) fired up on “Arnold-speak.” Now he was getting inspiration from a song he inspired me to write?! Talk about “going full circle.”

I granted usage to Arnold gratis and wished him well. Arnold Schwarzenegger is a man who does what he commits to do, and even though I was not a resident of California, I fully supported him. You may not like the way he gets the job done, but he
always
achieves his goals. I respect that.

When I was asked to perform my song at Arnold’s final rally, I jumped at the opportunity, mainly because it gave me the chance to meet a man who had changed my life for the better.

As I stood on the stage, in front of the California state capitol, at the epicenter of a media maelstrom the likes of which I hadn’t seen since the PMRC hearings decades earlier (much more about that later), singing “We’re Not Gonna Take It” over and over and over to a roaring crowd, it was surreal. Who woulda thunk it?

Suddenly, Arnold appeared in the distance at the end of a ridiculously long red carpet and began to approach the stage. I was thrilled when my hero
¹
came right up to me, warmly shook my hand, and rocked out to the song he inspired me to write! When Arnold acknowledged and thanked me to the crowd—with his legendary Austrian accent—it was the icing on the cake. Stay hungry indeed!

I’M THE ASSHOLE.
I
admit it
. I’m the one the band blames for all of their woes, all of the band’s failings and our eventual demise. Why not blame me? I wrote every song and was responsible for virtually every bit of creativity (with the help of Suzette) within the band. Besides . . . it’s a hell of a lot easier than taking responsibility for your own failings, or accepting one’s own inabilities.

While my bandmates are at it, they should blame me for the success of the band, too. I’ll take personal responsibility for every bit of inventiveness, originality, and manic drive that made the band a success.
That’s all my fault as well.
Though my band will probably say nothing could be farther from the truth, I’ll let my post–Twisted
Sister success do the talking. I haven’t noticed the rest of them doing all that much. I’m just sayin’ . . .

During the recording of
Stay Hungry
, I was doing daily battle with Tom Werman to keep the integrity of our band intact. You would have been hard-pressed to find another band member there with me to fight the good fight, other than when they were needed to record something. Believe me, no one was stopping anybody from hanging out for hours on end, babysitting our producer.

To make matters worse, the growing resentment Mark Mendoza had for me, along with his secret passive-aggressive behavior toward everything I tried to do, was making it increasingly difficult for me to get things done. The biggest problem was, I had no idea that Mark was upset with me. He never said anything to me about it. Maybe I should have been less oblivious.