When I was a wee lad, the kids at my church asked me if I knew what Kiss stood for. No, I said, I did not know.
"Knights In Satan's Service," they told me as they shotgunned a whole tumbler of Welch's red grape juice, also known as Jesus' blood.
"Really?" I asked.
"Yeah. And they have a whole army."
I knew then that my fear of Gene Simmons was well founded.
This is a fear that I have harbored for all my life, through the dark madness of Kiss Meet the Phantom of the Park , to the post-apocalyptic-whore-wasteland of the sans-makeup years, through the shifting guitarist-drummer lineups of the 80s and 90s, to the horrific non-normality of Family Jewels and finally -- and this was really the last straw -- to Gene being rude to Terry Gross on NPR.
This man is no mere vassal in someone else's employ. Gene Simmons is Satan Himself.
KISS -- all caps -- brought its >Alive 666 35 tour to Kansas City last night, at the Sprint Center, which is not so much a building as a lens for focusing the demonic powers of the Elder World.
Center stage was Gene: bat-winged, dragon-booted, stomping about and wagging his codpiece and slobbering like a Mastiff. He flicked his tongue and caused hurricanes to ravage tiny islands in Polynesia. He spat blood and levitated, all while clawing low-end chaos out of his pointy instrument.
It was SSIK.
And because this tour savors the opinions of music critics, I was granted second-row seats.
This -- and I'm not kidding -- allowed me to feel distinctly uncomfortable whenever Gene walked to the edge of the stage near me. His visits to my side of the stage became more frequent once the Dark Lord noticed the extreme youth and beauty of the girl seated in front of me, whose date was local radio celebrity Johnny Dare. Gene made frowns at Johnny's girl, he mouthed naughty words and shook his fist, and Johnny spirited her away before the encore. A wise move.
And yet KISS is still Kiss so much of the time. And what does that stand for?
Kreeps In Silly Suits.
The band started as a New York Dolls-inspired glam-punk band, settled on a signature look, and then began marketing its brand like an aggressive corporation bent on world domination: Gene, the string-pulling President; Paul Stanley, the cheerleading CEO; Ace Frehley, the wildcard, drunk VP; Peter Criss, the ... janitor?
The product is awesome: "Deuce," "Strutter," "Dr. Love," "Shout It Out Loud." These songs make you wanna fuck and sweat -- both, if possible, but not necessarily. And when KISS plays these songs, they are pure sex and evil and not-give-a-fuck-ness.
Stanley, who is almost 60, is built like Kevin Spacey in American Beauty after he started lifting weights naked in the garage. His chest-hair corona is as radiant as the glistening pelt of a wolverine in the Alaskan dawn. Ace Frehley stand-in Tommy Thayer is lithe and hunched like a cheetah. Little Eric Singer on drums and in Criss cat-man makeup is an expert pounder and powerful backup singer. And Gene, as we all know, ate your mom's vagina to death in 1983.
These guys have a lot going for them.
But then Paul gets on the microphone between songs, and shit gets weird. Children are celebrated. Wal-Mart is shouted out. People are chided for thinking Kiss has any of the answers the questions of the warses and global warmings of today. And his voice -- forgive me for saying this -- sounds like the stock, Brooklyn-accented character that's in every Disney film. (I posted the three videos I took of his stage banter in a separate entry.)
And, you know, that's cool. Wayne Coyne also talks way too much between songs. But the Flaming Lips are not in You-Know-Whose service.
Something to think about, guys.
But all in all, on a positive note, the show was something absolutely incredible, something that only KISS could deliver. And that was the most perfectly outrageous American pyro-rock show imaginable. Superlatives don't do it justice. But what other words are there?
When the amps are up loud and the flames are blowing up your lungs and Gene Simmons is grinning sickly and Paul Stanley is sailing through the air on a trapeze custom-built for his platform boot, there's really only one thing you can say.
KISS is the KISSEST.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOM
Set List
Deuce
Strutter
Let Me Go Rock 'n Roll
Hotter Than Hell
Shock Me
Calling Dr. Love
Modern Day Delilah
Cold Gin
(Tommy guitar solo)
Parasite
Say Yeah
100,000 Years
(Eric drum solo)
(Gene bass/blood solo)
I Love It Loud
Black Diamond
Rock & Roll All Nite
Encore
Shout It Out Loud
Lick It Up
Love Gun
Detroit Rock City
Appendix A: The Dead Girls
Because Buckcherry, for whatever blessed reason, is no longer the opening act for the Alive 35 tour, the crowd at Sprint Center last night got treated to an opening set from Lawrence band the Dead Girls, who won the spot through a contest held by local station 101 the Fox.
The Girls sounded truly amazing. They were sharp and intense and nailed every harmony, arpeggio and time change of their intricately structured powerpop. Their music sounds like a strange and catchy collision of Jimmy Eat World and the Police -- spidery verse hooks and great-big choruses. And they played with complete and utter passion last night.
But ... can we do something about the appearance, guys? You were dressed like it was Saturday and all you had to do was go to your friend's house and play Call of Duty and eat Bugles. I've seen these cats dress straight ladykiller at the Pitch Music Awards, but last night, opening for Satan's own vassals, they looked like slacker doofs. Listen to your girlfriends, Dead Girls.
Appendix B: Ow! My eye!
How about that compulsive pick throwing? I'm telling you, the members of KISS easily threw 218 picks into the crowd last night, maybe twice that. Their guitars and mic stands were FESTOONED with spare picks. It's like picks are KISS dollars. Though I saw Gene throw other objects as well: two or three half-full water bottles and -- I shit you not -- a rolled-up sock that he yanked from behind his codpiece. Seriously, someone in Kansas City has that rolled-up sock or whatever it was and has probably given it a name. The moral of the story: If you ever go out to lunch with a member of KISS, wear GOGGLES.
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Bearded dragons are so cool. I have been working on turning my spare room into a new habitat for mine to roam. Anyone who has suggestion let me know.
I agree with most of your review, except for the part about The Dead Girls sounding "truly amzing." What drugs were YOU on that night?? I do dig Powerpop. Everything from Badfinger to Big Star, Jellyfish to The Posies, and a hundred Beatlesque bands in between, but The Dead Girls just flat out SUCK! They were the WRONG band to open this show and there were BOOs coming from my section that actually seemed appropriate. The Dead Girls tried to show a swagger that their limited talent can't match and it was just plain effing embarrassing to watch. I never liked Ultimate Fakebook and like these losers even LESS.
Ryan,
I think the answer to your question would be "the 80's." Kiss's output from that decade is not great. Some of it was, but most...well, lessee: The Elder, Unmasked, Crazy Nights, Asylum, Hot in the Shade. Nuff Said.
Look at it this way. Kiss is celebrating 35 years of music. The set list is telling. 18 songs total. 11 of those from the first four studio records. 2 new songs, and 5 songs scattered from the rest of the 35 years. Only 2 of those from the 80's. They could have done a few more from that era and been okay (Heaven's on Fire comes to mind) but I would have also loved to hear Firehouse, Come on And Love me, and She all from the originals.
The Band clearly recognizes where their strengths lie. I still love Kiss. It was a freaking great show. From the Dead Girls (awesome) to the confetti bombs. But how telling is it that after 35 years, the best of the best from KISS came in their first 3.
Peter Rugg,
What studio work that Kiss has produced, in particular, is "erratic" and "shoddy"? Just curious.
Also, did you attend the show?
-Abused Fan and Poor Bastard-
I've seen KISS over 50 times and last night was the greates show yet...was really wondering how it would be with Ace and Peter and they rocked!
Is there anyone more abused than the KISS fan? Line-up changes, more than a decade of erratic, shoddy studio work, diluting the brand with so much crappy merchandise the very name KISS becomes meaningless, and a bass player who clearly thinks they fans are all morons..... Those poor bastards willing to hang on and put up with every miserable shitty thing that band does to push them away, KISS owes them a decent live show without a bantering about their album price. "Only 12.99!" That isn't rock and roll, it's an informercial. At least Billy Mays was coked out of his mind half the time. He was more dangerous rock and roll at the end than Gene Simmons has been since 1982.
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