TWISTED SISTER: LOCAL HEROES IN WARPAINT MAKE GOOD
Out in the endless flatlands of Long Island's Suffolk County, where the trafficclogged main streets are lined with every necessity for fast-food living and drive-in convenience, there used to be a rock 'n' roll joint called Hammerheads.
TWISTED SISTER: LOCAL HEROES IN WARPAINT MAKE GOOD
by
Toby Goldstein
Out in the endless flatlands of Long Island's Suffolk County, where the trafficclogged main streets are lined with every necessity for fast-food living and drive-in convenience, there used to be a rock 'n' roll joint called Hammerheads. About four years ago, the club was at its peak, with Friday night boppers curling around its hangar-like exterior, waiting patiently in the freezing cold, I.D.'s clutched in hand—to see Twisted Sister. Oh, excuse me. I mean TWISTED! FUCKING! SISTER! You couldn't really imagine this group in anything than capital letters. They were loud! were mean! They were ug-lee! And, defiance of rock's swiftly moving trends had already made Kiss's gimmick wear Twisted Sister wore makeup.