As Snider prepares to bring down the curtain on Twisted Sister (the band is closing out its “Forty and Fuck It” tour, with Mike Portnoy subbing for drummer A.J. Pero, who died last year), he’s embarking on a new musical chapter when he releases a solo album, We Are the Ones, on Oct. 28. The album contains a stripped-down, elegiac version of “We’re Not Gonna Take It,” but beyond that it’s loaded with driving, contemporary-sounding rock. “It’s not Twisted Sister. It’s not heavy metal,” he says. “A lot of my existing fans might hate it, and that’s OK. I’m trying to move forward.

Snider gamely discussed future plans and his Twisted Sister past with Music Aficionado, along with how his signature song fit into the current presidential race—until it didn’t.

Twisted Sister were a Tri-State Area mainstay for years—years—before getting a record deal. Did it feel as if that day would never come?

Oh, absolutely. We were on the floor. By the time of our fifth go-round with the American labels and the broad rejection we faced, it was incredibly frustrating. We were getting to the end of our rope. [Guitarist] Jay Jay [French] forgets this stuff, but he posted a picture of us from a press kit, and it was what we called the “have it your way” picture. One picture had us with full makeup and costumes, and the other one had us with no makeup and costumes. It was like, “Sign us. If you don’t like the makeup, we’ll take it off. We got to the “have it your way” stage, where we were so desperate that we’d surrender the makeup and costumes to get a deal.

On the other hand, like the Beatles, you guys did your homework. By the time the masses saw you, you were ready.

It’s funny—I was just watching a piece on that new documentary on the Beatles. They were even saying that the Beatles were a really tight rock band. People forget that. The fame and the craziness overshadowed that. I remember reading in Lemmy’s book, where he talked about seeing the Beatles at the Cavern Club and seeing the Stones in bars, and he said that if anybody wondered who was the better band, it was the Beatles. They were a great live band at their core.

And that’s Twisted Sister. We put in the time. People ask me, “How did you learn to command an audience like that?” Doing happy hour at the Jersey Shore—that’ll do it. That’s a tough crowd. Fifty drunk people at the Osprey—if I can handle them, I can handle anybody. Sixty thousand in Germany is easy.

Stay Hungry was a massive success, but some of the early fans felt it wasn’t hardcore metal enough. 

That was an odd transition. At first, people were like “Yeahhhh!” And then it became our big sell-out record. It’s the same album. What’s funny is that the material for my so-called “commercial” album was written when we were flat on the balls of our asses. It was written before we went in to record You Can’t Stop Rock ‘N’ Roll. I was always writing ahead. So the material on ‘Stay Hungry’ was written during the toughest, darkest time we ever faced. And then I get “Oh, that’s the big sell-out record.” No, dude, we were on the floor for that one.

You, Frank Zappa and John Denver made for an odd trio at the PMRC hearings. Did they know your music at all?

I don’t know about John—I never got to meet him, and I really wanted to. Frank and I were unsure of how he would handle it. He was so squeaky clean at that point, so we thought he would abandon the cause, which he didn’t. We never got a chance to thank him. Frank knew my music. He told me that he had Dweezil and Moon Unit with him and they were big fans. Little Dweezil and Moon Unit came in, and I met them and we took pictures. They were very nice. Frank was aware of my music.

Twisted Sister had a long breakup period. Who led the charge to reform?

Credit where credit is due. We never would have reformed without [drummer] A.J. Pero. He was the only member of the band who kept contact with everybody else during the breakup period. He was friends with everybody and kept the lines of communication open. When things went to the next level with the 9/11 and the New York Steel concert event, it was because those lines were open a little bit because of A.J.

The band is doing its final tour with Mike Portnoy subbing for A.J. Is it all a little bittersweet?

No doubt. Playing without A.J., great guy that he was, is because he left behind a mess in his personal affairs. Continuing to play allowed us to give money to his families—he’s had three wives, and there’s children—so we can help keep things alive for them. We did it for A.J. He had picked Mike Portnoy prior as his fill-in. He didn’t think he would die; it was just in case he would get sick and couldn’t play. But we all have fill-in people. These are big-money gigs, and if somebody can’t make it, it’s a loss to everybody else.

Mike’s done an incredible job. As far as it being bittersweet—sure. I love the guys, I love the band, and I’m proud of our legacy. But the time has come to call it. I don’t want people to say, “Man, I remember when Twisted was great.” You can’t beat time or gravity, though I’m doing a pretty good job of it.

About your new album, you’ve said that you didn’t want to do the “typical thing”—country or “new classic rock. What is “new classic rock”?

New classic rock is old music with new songs. I tried doing some songs and my wife had no response. I asked her, “You didn’t like it?” And she said, “It’s fine, but it’s the same old thing.” She asked me if there was somebody who could get me to do something new, and I remembered Damon Ranger, who had approached me some months before. He said, “Dude, with the right music, you could reach a whole new audience.” So I decided to call him.

But even while the plan was to connect with new fans, you still question it.

I do. I still question it. I have a very distinct image and sound, and the music I’m playing now might not entertain my past fans. I get that. There are some fans who enjoy other stuff, and if you like the Foo Fighters and Thirty Seconds to Mars, then you might like my new record. It’s new-sounding heavy rock, but it’s not head-banging heavy metal. So I’m an old guy going for a new audience.

Over Again is a pretty rousing rocker. I could see the Foo Fighters doing it.

It’s mainstream contemporary rock. I love the Foo Fighters, and I can enjoy new rock. I wasn’t always that way: Back in my 20s, I was a mental case. It was a sin to hear three notes of a non-metal artist. When I hear new bands, I respond to genuine energy. But it’s funny—even the Foo Fighters aren’t even new anymore.

We Are the Ones is a muscular anthem, and the message is very “Dee.” Do these kinds of mission statement songs come easily to you?

That’s what I bring to the table. Damon told me that my message is what’s important. Fighting back, believing in yourself, rebellion—that’s what I represent. I subscribe to a particular kind of songwriting, but I needed Damon to help me craft my message to a contemporary audience. Hopefully they’ll listen.Why did you decide to re-record “We’re Not Gonna Take It” as a stripped-down piano-driven number?

It’s virtually become a folk song. Everybody all over the world knows it. You can go to the deepest places in Africa, and people will say, “We’re not gonna take it.” It’s become almost karaoke. It’s a rock and jock favorite; it’s in TV and movies. It’s transcended the genre. But the realization that the message has gotten lost hit me. Now more than ever, people have to be reminded me of the message of the song. It was dangerous when it came out.

So I decided to strip it down and let people hear the words. I’ve performed it this way a few times, and somebody said to me, “It’s like being punched in the face with the lyrics.” I think it’s very effective.

When you wrote it, was the Who an influence?

No, not at all. I love the Who, but when I wrote it, I forgot that they had the title. That’s how I write—I work off titles. “I Wanna Rock—OK, how should that go?” I did the same thing with “We’re Not Gonna Take It.” It was a great title. Of course, I have the Tommy album, but I forgot their title. I’m pretty proud that I overshadowed theirs, which is an incredible song.

You let Donald Trump use it for his campaign, but then you took it back.

Donald Trump, for whatever else people think about him, is a great guy, and he’s a classy guy. We were friends from the show, and I became friends with his family. But you know, friends don’t always discuss politics over dinner. Politics, religion and sports—those are relationship killers. So when he started running, he called me and asked if could use the song. Even though we don’t see eye to eye on everything, I said sure. I almost didn’t take it seriously.

Then after a few months of listening to him expound on his beliefs, I called him up and said, “I can’t let you use it anymore. I know I haven’t publicly endorsed you, but people are viewing it as an endorsement. My band’s mortified, and I have to ask you to stop using the song.” He said OK. That night, he stopped using it. When I say he’s a classy guy, it’s because few people ask. They just use a song as if it’s their right.

We started out talking about the critics assessment of your past work. Any hopes that they might be kinder these days?

Again, I don’t do it for you, as in the critics. I do it for myself and the audience. If critics come along for the ride, great. It’s nice to be appreciated. But critics by definition criticize. That’s why they’re called “critics.” You expect that they’re going to hyper-analyze and criticize. But I’m opening a new door, and I want to try to engage a new audience, because I know that most of the old fans won’t be engaged. I don’t want to sell metalheads on my new music. I’m a metalhead! I get it—I’m not trying to change people from their listening habits. If people want to come along on this new journey, and for critics too, they’re welcome to check it out. I’m looking for challenges and new experience. I don’t pine for the ’80s. I think 2030 is gonna be a blast.