When you have a dear friend who is absolutely gaga for a musical group, you go to a concert with him. Part of the joy is watching him share something that means so much. Now, I admit I am not your typical KISS concert-goer. Furthermore, I should note that as a child wandering through record stores with my audiophile parents I found myself rather terrified of those four nerdy New York City boys with a fetish for Kabuki make up and superhero tropes. I am pretty certain I can blame their album covers for my lifelong fear of clowns.
Yet, here I was at Detroit‘s spectacular, state-of-the-art Little Caesars Arena, singing along at the top of my lungs beside my friend Blaine to such ubiquitous pop rock hits as “Beth,” “Rock-n-Roll All Nite (Party Every Day)” – not “part OF every day” as I used to believe – “Detroit Rock City,” “Heaven’s On Fire,” and “I Was Made for Lovin’ You.” In fact, that last number – so swanky, so disco, a little bit Blondie, a whole lot Donna Summer – was the highlight of the set for me. However, I detected from all of the seated KISS fans that this particular ditty was not exactly one of their top tier requests. Paul Stanley had to exclaim, “This is one of our biggest international hits!” Emphasis on international.
What I never realized about a KISS show is how sweet-natured the whole enterprise is. All I ever knew were images of Gene Simmons’ reptilian tongue and bat wings and platform boots. But the crowd was about as gracious and polite as could be, many of them dressed up in makeshift versions of their favorite band members’ costumes. It was like hair metal comic-con.
I also never realized, or perhaps this is a late in life development, that front man Paul Stanley is some strange cross between Bette Davis, Bugs Bunny, and Dr. Frank-n-Furter. And Gene Simmons is his Joan Crawford/Elmer Fudd/Id. They are both oddly hypnotic … and utterly adorable. I guess it makes a kind of sense as Gene is pals with Cher and Liza Minnelli, even managing Liza’s career toward an epically camp collaboration with the Pet Shop Boys in the late 80s. Don’t drop bombs, indeed.
And just when you think the entire show is veering off into some unhinged Transylvanian borscht-belt-vaudeville-on-crack self-indulgence, these boys bring an awe-inspiring martial musicality. Drummer Eric Singer and guitarist Tommy Thayer are insanely talented musicians – Buddy Rich and Jimi Hendrix in grease paint. To be honest, I was floored … and Blaine was validated.
It’s clear that it troubles the band that what they have gained in worldwide success has never been offset with total credibility or artistic respect. They even mentioned their appreciation for Detroit fans who have stood by them through thick and thin, even as it took them multiple attempts to make it into the Rock-n-Roll Hall of Fame. Jealousy is jealousy, and it hurts no matter your level of notoriety or achievement.
I haven’t even touched on the spectacle of it all. The staging was electric, with no end of pyrotechnics, floating platforms, fog machines, video displays, and gauche Vegas glitz. KISS leaves it all on the field. After 45 years of complete commitment to their adoring audience, the impending retirement implied by this self-proclaimed “Final Tour Ever” seems well-deserved.
Well, Blaine, you’ve got a new recruit for the #KissArmy. Incredible show! Photos here … assorted video clips follow.