Shout at the Devil

Barry Levine's camera captured one of metal's most notorious images with Shout at the Devil—a stark pentagram embossed in glossy relief against a matte black background. The photographer and concept designer deliberately crafted a cover that would become synonymous with 1980s metal controversy.

The pentagram wasn't a random choice. Nikki Sixx brought the occult symbol from his previous band Sister, where he'd performed alongside future W.A.S.P. vocalist Blackie Lawless in theatrical shows featuring blood and face paint. Sixx even asked Lawless for permission to use Sister's occult imagery, receiving the blessing as Lawless wanted to move in a different direction.

Levine executed both the photography and album cover concept for Elektra Records. His studio sessions captured the band's glammed-up theatrics, creating the gatefold images that would later serve a crucial purpose. The cover featured minimal typography—just the Mötley Crüe logo at the top and the title near the bottom, allowing the pentagram to dominate the visual space.

The album's art director Bob Defrin oversaw the final design for Elektra Records. His role was crucial in translating Levine's photographic vision into a marketable package that would survive the inevitable controversy. The gatefold format allowed for additional band photography inside while maintaining the stark pentagram exterior.

Levine went beyond photography, serving as video concept designer and choreographer for the band's early MTV appearances. His work on the "Looks That Kill" video, shot over 18 hours at A&M Records' main soundstage, helped establish the visual template for hair metal's MTV domination.

The pentagram ignited immediate controversy upon the album's September 23, 1983 release. Christian and conservative groups accused Mötley Crüe of encouraging Satan worship, leading to the album being featured in ABC's "The Devil Worshipers" report on 20/20 in 1985. Parents worldwide expressed outrage at finding the symbol in their children's record collections.

Elektra Records initially showed reluctance toward the album's satanic imagery, even forcing a title change from the band's preferred "Shout With the Devil" to avoid direct endorsement implications. The label feared backlash in America's conservative media landscape, though the band's persistence in touring ultimately drove organic sales growth.

The controversy forced Levine and Elektra to create alternate artwork. Later pressings replaced the pentagram with individual band photos originally featured in the gatefold—a masterstroke that preserved the rebellious aesthetic while appeasing critics. Some club edition versions were issued entirely without the pentagram.

The cover's composition emphasized stark minimalism—black background, red lettering, and the glossy pentagram creating dramatic contrast. Levine's photographic technique used studio lighting to make the pentagram appear to float above the matte surface. The typography remained deliberately understated, letting the symbol speak louder than words.

The gatefold interior featured Levine's band portraits in full theatrical makeup and leather attire. These images showcased the photographer's ability to capture Mötley Crüe's dangerous glamour—the corpse paint, massive hair, and tough imagery that defined glam metal's visual language.

Shout at the Devil established the visual template for Sunset Strip metal, influencing countless album covers throughout the 1980s. Levine's stark pentagram became shorthand for metallic rebellion, inspiring both imitators and parental advisory campaigns. The cover's notoriety helped spawn the PMRC and fundamentally changed how record labels approached controversial imagery.

The album reached number 17 on the Billboard chart while selling 200,000 copies in its first two weeks, proving that controversy could indeed create cash. Levine's pentagram became one of the most recognizable symbols in heavy metal history, its influence extending far beyond Mötley Crüe's catalog.

Levine later described the cover as purely theatrical—designed to court controversy rather than promote actual devil worship. Yet the photographer's stark vision created an enduring icon that continues to symbolize 1980s metal rebellion, cementing his reputation as one of the genre's most provocative visual architects.