Peter Criss - Let Me Rock You

There was a bit on controversy when the original line-up of KISS could not play nice and dish out a few songs together during the band's induction ceremony into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. And while the decision not to perform was petty and a slap to the face of many KISS fans, Paul Stanley or Gene Simmons could have easily pointed out  Peter Criss' solo albums as the reason why they would never want to perform with the Cat Man ever again.

If you're keeping track, we're only up to the third Criss solo record (the second since his departure from KISS) and already there is a huge pattern emerging. Criss had ample time-and one would assume, ample resources-to piece together a coherent ensemble of musicians and songs in his slow pace of solo releases.

Coming off two years since his abysmal Out Of Control release, Let Me Rock You finally shows Peter without any hint of his KISS past on the cover, but within the grooves it finds him to be continually haunted by his past while having no plan as to how he can escape it and no clue of how what kind of artist he'd like us to view him ass.

Instead, Criss teams up once again with producer Vini Poncia, an enabler of rock drummers (see Ringo Starr) and the man who is also complicit in reducing KISS into disco-chasing poseurs who completely disregard the impact it would have on the band's overall credibility. With his help, he demonstrated how far the band was willing to go in terms of sacrificing their wobbly credibility for the sake of a chart topper.

Poncia was Criss' suggestion, so it's not as if there isn't plenty of blame to go around here. But what's interesting is how Criss continues to use Vini even after he's logged some pretty disastrous results previously. Even stranger, Poncia was hired back by KISS for  some additional shit-flinging in the studio later on during the 80's, hinting that the band's camp is pretty limited on networking and even suggests how willing they are to tolerate mediocrity over someone who would come in an challenge the band and compete with their egos.

The thing is, there should be no ego left in Criss at this point. By 1982, he was largely forgotten, except for the ever-present KISS fans, and he rewards this diminishing base with songs that alternate between  half-assed hard rock songs devoid of any bite right next to Criss' and Poncia's history of Brill Building devotion. It's a mess of competing styles and lazy execution, seemingly suggesting that it is our responsibility to find the  hooks within this clusterfuck and credit Criss for being more talented than he actually is.

The Cat Man only contributes to the creation of 2 of Let Me Rock You's 10 selections, and he utilizes a pair of session drummers for the proceedings too, all of which begs the question: "So what did Peter Criss actually do for this solo record?"

Evidently, not much. With no drumming, no character in his vocal abilities and no actual songs that have any sort of personal relevance, Let Me Rock You is, at best, contractual obligation, serving no purpose other than to continue his former band's penchant for socking it to the wallets of their fans and further damaging Criss' reputation by forcing these schmucks to eat  his shit.

The irony of allowing the Gene Simmons song "Feels Like Heaven" into his third record is a great example of how little Criss really cares about his own quality control. He even lets Russ Ballard (again, another KISS enabler) add a few tracks to the cause and even a young kid named Steve Stevens (of Billy Idol fame) gets a shot and showing off his own shiny turds with one of the worst tracks on the release, "First Day In The Rain."

But the absolute worst is Criss cover of John Lennon's "Jealous Guy," which is riddled with an abundance of echo that try to cover up Peter's lack of vocal abilities and which are delivered at such an awkward pace that you'd be forgiven if you questioned the man's ability to keep tempo.

Let Me Rock You is Criss' third dud in a row, so pathetic that it makes Gene and Paul seem brilliant in their hiring of the tiny lapdog known as Eric Carr. It also provides some legitimacy in the notion that KISS fans will buy nearly anything related to the band and how Gene and Paul may have had the right idea in keeping Criss away from the reunion proceedings over thirty years after this hairball was first released.

You Wanted The Best, You Got The Shaft! KISS Vs. The Rock & Roll Hall Of Fame

Sorry. I took some time off to boycott winter.

Now that it’s Spring, let’s pick up with a Glam-Racket tradition: making fun of the band KISS.

You really didn’t think that I would be able to ignore the almost daily statements coming out of Paul Stanley and Gene Simmons concerning their Rock & Roll Hall of Fame induction, did you?

To be honest, I almost did, as the two co-founders reluctance to perform with the other two co-founding members was nothing that would really surprise the most fair weather of KISS fans, so why comment on it.

But what’s different here is the constant barrage of whining complaints about the Rock Hall process, which has been a continual complaint by anyone who noticed how the RRHF overlooks certain genres and is managed by a few rich white boys with a limited view of rock music. Just because Gene and Paul have suddenly brought the hypocrisy into the spotlight once again doesn't mean that we have to listen, particularly since their own actions are riddled with hypocrisy too.  We have been talking about the lack of legitimacy and transparency in the RRHF for quite some time now and we will continue bitching about it long after these two wealthy men have hung up their platform shoes and worked out a retirement plan with whoever wants to assume the moniker for future KISS Army mouthbreathers.

Let’s begin there, where Paul Stanley suggested that KISS will continue long after he and Gene call it a day. His first ridiculous mistake is to suggest that the band KISS and the KISS corporation are two separate things. If he wants to hint that someone will be granted the authority to dress up like the band's characters and continue peddling KISS shows to whoever wants to don the makeup, then he should be able to understand that there are a lot of people who resent this idea, particularly those who are drawn to the original members that got this band rolling.

Gene and Paul can remind us all they want that it was their idea and their hard work that made it all possible, but to pretend that Ace and Peter are not entitled to a certain amount of higher praise than later "members" is extremely shortsighted. If he is really sincere about letting other people use the original member's make up scheme and appearance, then all of his phony baloney complaints about how other KISS members are deserving of a RRHF induction is suddenly irrelevant. He has every legal right to allow other people to continue on with his band’s image, but he doesn’t have the power to dictate to the rest of us how this line-up will be received, or how many more fans feel that it was the original members that made the band what they were.

Obviously, to anyone with an ounce of logic in their head recognizes that replacement members will only further taint the band’s reputation and secure the very real fact that the band’s brief output featuring Gene, Paul, Ace and Peter is the only part of KISS that's worth examining. And as someone who straight-up hates this band, I’m smart enough to recognize that this original line-up was hugely influential and deserves to be in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

What’s so disingenuous about Paul’s constant complaining is how he's suddenly incensed and has now assumed the role of the heavy. That has traditionally been Gene’s m.o.  He has a history of slighting Ace and Peter and questioning their contributions. To now point out how these two members were often m.i.a. for much of the line-up’s later records is silly, particularly since Paul and Gene signed off on trying to pull the wool over their fans by suggesting that Ace and Peter were still active members when the liner notes told otherwise. To only now fess up to their diminishing contributions and continually suggest that their roles weren’t essential to building the “product” is childish. There is nobody in their right mind that will suggest that Lick It Up, Revenge or Sonic Boom is as influential as Destroyer or Rock and Roll Over or that posters of Tommy Thayer and Vinnie Vincent line the bedroom walls of rock and roll fans around the world.

Besides, both Gene and Paul have cock-blocked Vincent’s contributions and for years have suggested that his role in rebuilding KISS during the mid-80’s unmasked period was not pivotal. The very reason that he left the camp was because Gene and Paul never allowing him to be a true member even when his material was essential in providing the band with their first gold record since Unmasked, even without makeup. Even Eric Carr, the drummer they love to refer to and eulogize was never a full fledged member of KISS’ and never received full corporate authority with any of their licensing opportunities. They were paid to play, and anything with a logo at the merch table helped fund only two parties: Gene and Paul. So why on earth are they now whining about not allowing anyone besides the original line-up into the RRHF when they didn’t even offer these people full membership to begin with?

For many years, Paul seemed to be the most rational of the two, particularly in regards to white-washing Ace and Peter’s struggle with addictions and in acknowledging their contributions. Gene was usually the one who brought up the stories of their abuse and lack of creative input, which is ironic considering how Gene himself checked out during most of the 80’s, leaving Paul alone to entertain his commercial drive, usually with outside help.

Now, it seems that the roles have reversed: Gene seems almost amiable when discussing the possibility of Ace and Peter joining him and Paul onstage for a song or two.  Paul, on the other hand, goes ballistic at being told by the Hall of who is being honored and who isn't. Stanley seems bent out of shape that he wasn't consulted in all of this, and how the Hall wasn't interested in having the current configuration of the band perform during the ceremonies. Of course, Paul has a new autobiography that’s out, so it appears that all of his fucking commentary is just another way to build interest for his pocketbook, never mind the fact that his band is now comprised of two poseurs who are merely hired hands.

Stanley likes to use the Grateful Dead as an example of how unfair the RRHF has been to KISS and their desire to put on the makeup with their two staff members and play during the induction ceremony. But nobody gives a shit about the current configuration of KISS, so why not just admit that you’ve run your logo into the ground, be a man and take the honor without performing, an honor-by the way-that you fucking owe to the poor saps that lobbied hard on your behalf?

All of Gene and Paul’s talk about how their fans are the most important thing has been sullied by this entire fiasco. You could tell that the two were hurt after being overlooked for so many years, but as soon as they get in-under the condition that only the original membership gains entrance-they pout and take their toys and go home. I believe that I even read where one of them dared to suggest that the RRHF would be making money from KISS’ legacy, so why would they allow the Hall’s leadership to dictate how their band was going to be presented?

How about the fact that all of the band’s archives are only taking up space in a warehouse at the moment, draining Gene and Paul’s pocketbooks in rental fees when they could be placed in a venue designed to display them, in turn building up interest in the band and opening wallets in return. But neither KISS member likes the idea of someone else mucking up the supply chain of KISS dipping directly in their fan’s pocketbooks.

Need proof?

Walk up to Simmons in an unauthorized KISS t-shirt and ask him to autograph something. Changes are he’ll refuse based upon the origins of your attire and then browbeat you how you’re not a real fan by wearing a knockoff.

They also aren't very good at planning a business model beyond what's happening with their next, immediate product. After that, well it's just Paul Stanley talking a bunch of horseshit (does he really think fans are going to pay top dollar for an officially licensed cover band?) and Gene Simmons reminding us all how he's smarter, wealthier, and more promiscuous than the rest of us.

The band's immediate plans are a summer tour with Def Leppard, a package deal that enables them to capture an audience that might consider dropping $75 for a good seat to see both bands, but certainly not for one as the only headliner. I mean my wife saw Lep at a frigging county fair a few days after the boy was born, and that was nearly 11 years ago.

If KISS thinks that all of these incessant press releases that Gene and Paul keep issuing are going to translate into more ticket sales, then they are mistaken. For all of this talk to try an legitimize the band's current line up or to build any kind of sympathy for Stanley's bullshit concern for all of the other band members hired hands, they are merely showing how greedy and  ego-driven they are by pretending that they are anything but a brand that based more on their history than any current creative output.You see a lot of references to the band's 40th anniversary, but let's be honest here: those four decades continue to pull from the original line up years quite heavily.

All they had to do was play nice for a night. Christ, they could have easily just gathered at the end of the performance for a one-off version of "Rock & Roll All Night" and then gone their separate ways. Instead, Simmons and Stanley needed to make it a fighting match after they've already won and gotten exactly what they wanted. Rather than confront the anger and bitterness for a mere three minutes and thirty seconds as a thank you to those fans that brought them out of their shitty little existence that was Wicked Lester, they piss on their own food supply.

Fuck KISS.

Take it back and give it to The Zombies.

Peter Criss - Out Of Control

Pretend for a moment that you're the drummer for America's most popular rock band. Despite not being a very accomplished drummer and an even less talented singer, you've managed to score a Top 10 single that propels your group to superstardom and your limited drumming skills are still recognized enough to be considered "influential," albeit mostly for appearance rather than ability.

Is all of this enough to cash out and go solo?

Some may claim it was Peter Criss' ego that led him to quit KISS, while others may cite the drugs, pressure or the sheer displeasure of having to work with Gene Simmons. Whatever the reason, if Criss' first solo record from 1978 was any indication that embarking on a solo career was the wrong career direction entirely, his second offering Out Of Control confirms it.

Teaming up again with longtime collaborator Stan Penridge, a friend from his pre-KISS days who co-wrote "Beth" and is all over that 1978 solo monstrosity, Out Of Control was supposed to serve as Criss' first foray into post-KISS independence. And like the solo record before this, life on his own seems to be a very challenging place for Criss as it resides in the middle of his hard-rock persona and his obvious comfort with more standard rock fare.

"Looks like this time I'm on my own/Starting over again" Criss muses with the syrup-laden opener "By Myself," an obligatory nod to the obvious. But whatever all by myself jive that Criss tries to impose from the get-go is nothing but baloney, particularly when the second song reaches into KISS' own limited arsenal of hooks and lifts straight from nemesis Simmons' hit "Calling Dr. Love" for "In Trouble Again." In fact, the rest of Out Of Control is so dismal that you almost wish Simmons' would have sued Criss for copyright infringement, thereby preventing it from ever obtaining a release date.

It is the work of mere obligation instead of any real inspiration. Out Of Control is a lazy recording of two mildly talented buddies pissing away one man's lottery winnings on the misguided notion that there is an audience for a old top cat who has used up his nine lives already.

Chelsea - Chelsea

Let's say you're like me, a masochist, and you set out to review the first Peter Criss solo album from 1978, released as part of the band's solo record project where all four members released their own solo record simultaneously, but as KISS.

Follow me?

Anyway, during the course of reading about why that record was such a piece of shit you discover that Criss drummed for another band called Chelsea, and they actually released a record for Decca several years before KISS had ever formed.

And as a masochist you dig deeper, to the point where you actually go and check out this lone Chelsea record, because you are curious: "Just how bad can this band be?"

I suppose it depends on what you consider to be "bad," but the short answer is "pretty bad" with the asterisk by the overall rating indicating that it "has some weird vibe" to it that qualifies Chelsea as a worthy garage sale find, if not for the fact that it contains Peter Cris(s)' first recorded offering, but because it is a slice of how clueless record companies were in 1970, seemingly signing bands with such blind (and deaf) reasoning that an album like this was even considered.

But here are the things that make Chelsea weirdly alluring:

1. It was produced by the same dude that produced Van Morrison's Astral Weeks and Moondance.
2. That same dude also produced John Cale's Vintage Violence album.
3. John Cale performs viola on Chelsea for two tracks.
4. One of the tracks features him with oodles of reverb, giving the performance a very droney and weird vibe.
5. The lone track composed by the entire band, "Polly Von," is clearly designed to be the band's "epic" and is somewhat intriguing. It comes complete with strings and an endless guitar solo on one channel while a reverb-laden one is found on the other.
6. More reverb.

There are many more things that make Chelsea less alluring, primarily:

1. Chelsea-the band-never seem to discover what kind of band they are. One moment they're folk, another they're a trippy psychedelic band, sometimes they get a little bluesy, and others they want to rock out.
2. The singer is devoid of personality and an awful songwriter.
3. Peter Criss' drumming is notably shitty.

The best that frontman Peter Shepley can come up with is along the lines of "It's a long long river/So just let it run/It's a long long journey/But there's only one" ("Long River"), which was probably heavy as fuck at the time, given the amount of drugs these N.Y.C. hippies were ingesting. The worst would have to be the line "hard rock music" repeated over and over ("Hard Rock Music") while Criss inexplicitly bangs on some bongos.

Squint hard enough and you can hear some kindred spirits with the Velvet Underground, particularly with Cale's brief cameo. But such squinting can also make a migraine, which is ultimately ill-advised since Chelsea can produce enough of a headache on its own thanks to the band's endless parade of indecision and meanderings.

In other words, Chelsea is much better than Criss' 1978 solo offering and, to be completely honest, it's better than a bunch of titles in KISS' catalog. But other than the novelty of serving as a footnote to KISS' pre-makeup history...excuse me, kisstory...there is very little need to seek out Chelsea.

KISS - Peter Criss

When the members of KISS decided to take advantage of their stardom by releasing four records simultaneously, the decision merely accentuated the reality that the band's real talents were noticeably restricted to just a few members - and even then, the talent was either in short supply or frustratingly sporadic.

With Peter Criss, there was at least a sliver of potential since the drummer of "the hottest band in the land" was the only member to actually have a major label deal with a record company prior to his cat makeup, albeit briefly with the one-record offering of his previous band Chelsea.

The band imploded while recording their second album, which is not saying a lot since they were never really that good to begin with. So why on Earth would Criss return to leftover material from Chelsea's second album when it came time to slop together songs for his first solo record after being blessed with KISS' golden ticket success?

Chock it up to drugs, pressure, or that aforementioned talent void, because Peter Criss not only ranks as the worst offering in KISS' misguided solo project venture, it quite possibly be one of the worst records ever presented with a platinum disc for sales exceeding 1,000,000 units.

Dreadfully overproduced and rigidly performed to the point where any passion has been sucked dry from the performance, Peter Criss is a mirror of the excess that began to infiltrate the KISS line-up. It's also a testament to the KISS Army for how much they were willing to endure for the logo and the band members who facilitated mediocrity.

Criss peppers his solo album with weak and misguided attempts at what can only be described as jazz/disco/soft rock blend, propelled by his tepid drumming and his Chelsea cohort Stan Penridge's anonymous guitar work. Female backing vocalists are added to sweeten the mix while horns pop up on several tracks, making some songs sound like outtakes from the jingle factory. A pointless cover of "Tossin' & Turnin'" is added as a nod to Criss' youth, while side two finds him giving up the percussion duties entirely to a session player, giving him more time to focus on his vocal abilities. Admittedly, the vocals probably deserved a session player more than the drums

Clocking in at a mere 35 minutes, Peter Criss could be viewed as a bold attempt to distance the artist from the choreographed bombast of his more notable group offerings, or at least a glimpse at the kind of music Criss really enjoys outside of the make-up and pyrotechnics. But that would require at least a hint of some fundamental ability or at least a desire to create something somewhat memorable.

There is no evidence of either on this record. Instead, Peter Criss marks the first KISS record that confirms every single critic's complaint about this band while gutting their credibility entirely.

KISS - Animalize

We were nearing the end of the 1984/85 school year, and the student council met a final time to schedule our annual end-of-year assembly, the one where the leaders in the council get up, hand out awards, say the class’ final goodbyes and share a few memories. We also surveyed the class to identify their favorite things, like TV shows (The Cosby Show), movie (Purple Rain) and favorite song.


As the Senior Class President and general man about musical taste, I remember thinking that there would be no way a song I thought was “Cool” would make it to the top of the survey, thereby making our class appear a tad bit more “cool” in the process. I may have had a bit of pull in my lobbying abilities, but I understood the reality of trying to get a large percentage of our 150 student class size to agree on one song to be next to impossible.

A friend of mine with equally decent taste in music presented a great idea. He figured that we lobby for a song so ridiculous that we’d get a large percentage of people willing to take part in the joke, thereby making our choice victorious. With so many excellent choices in bad music circa ‘84/’85, you would think that narrowing down a selection would be difficult.

You would be wrong.

My issues with Kiss are nothing new; they have been festering ever since I heard their music when it first arrived in the ‘70’s. My opinion was barely considered, as most of my friends loved Kiss, and I was forced to endure their bad music for many years.

By the 80’s, the band was on the decline-making my ridicule of them an exercise in comedic timing. Even the popularity rebound of the unmasking for Lick It Up was only a validation for the true believers. Nobody else in their right mind would even casually listen to that shit, and all of this made my salutations of “Kiss!” and other band references like spitting out water like Gene does with fake blood, made for comedy gold.

The friend I mentioned before was also a Kiss fan. He would endure endless ribbing from me for still hanging on, obediently purchasing Creatures Of The Night and Lick It Up. I got a little pissed at him when he bought their latest record, Animalize, without a second thought. It was as if he wasn't listening to me! Why was he continuing to buy these Kiss albums?

I’d visit his house and hang out in his bedroom, reading the liner notes of his latest Kiss purchases and make fun of every lyric, line by line. The lead-off single for Animalize was “Heaven’s On Fire.” We were subjected to it on MTV, announced every three hours and fifty minutes with Paul Stanley’s shrieking introduction while his hands emitted flames for the camera.

My friend suggested that we nominate “Heaven’s On Fire” as the favorite song of the Class of 1985.

We took the idea around to the different cliques and sold the idea of choosing “Heaven’s On Fire.” Admittedly, it was kind of fun at first, explaining that Kiss sucked and the song sucked and wouldn’t that be funny.

Sure enough, it won.

 We got up in front of the entire school, talked about how awesome we were and then read through the list of winners from our informal vote. There was a large yell when we named “Heaven’s On Fire” as our favorite song, but not everyone in our class got the joke. When the assembly ended, I overheard four dudes talking in the hall about the song choice, oblivious of the joke, but very much on the same page.

“What was the deal with Kiss?” one kid asked.

“Who even likes them anymore?” Another friend agreed, adding “’Heaven’s On Fire’ isn’t even one of their good songs!”

Apart from this review, the last time I listened to Animalize was in my friend’s bedroom, probably on some dreary fall day just like it is now. The only thing I remembered from that original encounter was how stupid the cover looked and how stupid the songs were.

Still feel the same way today.

One of the first things I notice with a fresh spin is how Gene’s bass is way up in the mix. And then I discover that Gene barely even plays on Animalize. Here is a prime example of how, at the core of this band’s existence, lies a cold and calculating dark heart. It isn’t until you get to the fine print of the liner notes, and in the folklore of Kisstory, in which you notice how the concept of “the band” is a completely fluid and irrelevant notion.

Players are nothing more than tools of the trade. As long as there is a visual product and a person (read: Gene or Paul) selling the product, then you have a band. Any notion of camaraderie or considering the band as a “gang” motif is immediately eliminated which in turns, practically stifles any level of emotional contact.

The limitations of Simmons’ playing are already well documented, but his nearly complete absence on Animalize is telling. Not only does he barely play a note, but his vocal and creative contributions are half-assed, even by Gene standards.

He takes sole songwriting credit for “Burn Bitch Burn.” Impossibly qualifying as one of the worst Kiss songs ever recorded. The song shows Simmons just throwing words together, patching lines together in no relation to each other, everything carried by an arrangement that has no sense of melody or cadence.

“Lonely Is The Hunter” is another blast of lyrical nonsense, strongly suggesting that Simmons was only minimally composing for Animalize, while focusing most of his attention on a (then) growing film career.

That leaves Paul Stanley with the sole responsibility of piecing together the rest of Animalize with a cast of friends like Desmond Child and Jean Beauvoir to help him out. And as you could probably guess, the results are a very convoluted mess of disjointed ideas. Stanley seems to have one tone throughout the entire record, loud enough to be annoying while showing very little range and, once again, proving how hard it is to get emotive over words you just shat out because you needed nine songs to make a record.

Eric Carr’s drumming shows little versatility beyond his ability to hit both sticks down at the same time and new guitarist Mark St. John demonstrates how the easiest was to get kicked off the Kiss payroll is to take too many sick days and assume that you’re going to step in the same role as Ace Frehley by playing everything through a fucking Rockman.

St. John’s most notorious moment didn’t come from his flatline soloing or (eventual) short tenure with the band, but with getting the piss knocked out of him while doing time for drug possession. It seemed that his performance on Animalize could not trump the fact that he was a snitch on the streets.

 But the real criminal activity is the fact that Animalize managed to become the band’s biggest selling album since Dynasty and that “Heaven’s On Fire” became the favorite song of my Senior class. It is deserving of nothing and should be used as another mark of the contempt that Kiss not only has towards its fans, but on the genre in which they navigate from.

On its own, Animalize is a barely audible blip on the hair-metal radar from a decade that is littered with bands that spent their whole lives working to get the one album or one song that Kiss manages to draw up in their sleep.

It’s hard to believe that a record like this would ultimately become as successful as it did, and it’s even more amazing that a band like Kiss could draw something up like this, straight from committee instead of honest collaboration and rehearsing. It’s almost like they viewed the material of Animalize as nothing more than a joke.

Which is ironic, because that was one of the first things a lot of us heard right from day one.

Ghost - Infesissumam

I’ve given up trying to remain completely up-to-speed on every new rock release, particularly when it comes to titles that have a more mainstream appeal. At the same time, I occasionally come across a band or record that has an amount of popularity large enough to be ashamed that I was completely in the dark about prior to my own exposure.

I “discovered” Ghost just last month at a friend’s house, shortly after he had been exposed to them for the first time. I should probably admit that no one involved in this discovery is under the age of thirty, which is part of the problem. It doesn’t appear that Ghost is the type of band that would even appeal to someone over the age of 30, but more on that a little later.

My first exposure was a video, and based on the quality of it, I wasn’t entirely sure if the entire thing was a gag or if the members of Ghost really did take themselves seriously. There were dudes dressed in robes, their faces completely covered in black masks, and there seemed to be lit candles on the walls. I say "seemed" to be because the video quality looked suspect, like it may have been a college project for someone's Video Production 101 student. I say this with my own experience, having taken Video Production 101 in college and having received a solid B- for my efforts.

 The "video music production" project was a killer; do you know how hard it is matching up pre-recorded audio with people lip-synching the lyrics? So my initial reaction-the costumes, the set, the religious themes, the cheesiness of the video quality-was one of total humor. Of course, it didn’t help that my friend provided a running commentary of the video as it was playing, mostly from the perspective of an outfit that had no clue what they were doing.

 After a long musical introduction, there was a shot of a different perspective. Someone was walking towards the band. There was a lot of fake smoke for him to navigate through.

"Here comes the main dude. He's like the Pope or somethin'" offered my friend.

And sure as shit, a man wearing a more ornate robe than the other members slowly made his way to the place where the other members were performing. He had what appeared to be a Catholic Cardinal's hat on his head and his face was painted in white, eerily resembling a skull.

His name, we discovered after a quick call to Wikipedia on my smart phone, was "Papa Emeritus," or "Papa Emeritus II" after reading about some ridiculous transition of the two characters. I got bored with the story, so I stopped reading and returned to the lol's.

What ended my laughter was the fact that the band’s set for this video shoot contained props that required someone to blueprint and fucking build them.

We’re not talking about a bunch of teenagers slopping together a set for a summer musical production of Pippin, but one in which materials were considered beforehand, purchased and carefully pieced together in an effort that aligned with the band’s curious religious motif, which also must have entailed some serious planning to begin with. After everything was all planned, then someone went down to Just Ask Rentals and put a deposit on a smoke machine.

 We moved to live video footage, and it is at this point where I start to get very curious about this band. There were people actually digging this shit, and while I haven't even begun to discuss what these guys sound like yet, lets just say that it was in no way as aggressive as you would think grown men in robes and religious attire should sound like. I mean, if Kiss can pull out a song as heavy as "Ladies Room," then Ghost should be fucking Slayer in terms of loudness. But no, Ghost is perfectly content with sounding like a summer musical production of Pippin, with a guy doing hammer-ons on his guitar in the background.

 While the live performance was by no means an arena show, it was one from what appeared to be a rather large theatre. And that rather large theatre appeared filled with fans who seemed to know Every. Single. Word.

“These guys aren’t American.” I suggested, not attempting to question the band’s love of freedom.

“Fuck no,” replied my friend. “This has got to be European.” Understanding what I was attempting to relate.

And sure as shit, another cursory search confirmed that Ghost is another fucking band from Sweden, forced to add a “B.C.” to the end of their name because some dumbass American band already used it for their own, while not having the good sense to package their look in anonymous Darth Vader masks while dressing their frontman up to look like a Satanic Cardinal.

The religious imagery is another dead giveaway to the country of origin, because nobody in America gives a shit about religion anymore, and those that do typically hang around the hypocrisy elements. Ghost seem to enjoy the contradictory elements of their Satanic approach rather than focus too much on the church’s history of abuse, control and war.

You know, the same things that most religions attempt to rally against.

Ghost’s approach to this topic is done in such a half-assed manner that you have to believe that any discussion of it gets them tripped up in trying to explain it all. Indeed, most interviews that I’ve seen where the topic is brought up, a member-usually an anonymous minion, since the lead singer is apparently doing double duty as a vocalist by the name of Tobias Forge, a thirty-two year old man who puts fake blood on his face, plays guitar and sings for another metal band called Repugnant. He likes to be called "Mary Goore" when playing in that band. But in Ghost, he's "Papa Emeritus" and he doesn't play a guitar-at least that I know of, I've wasted too many hours in front of a computer screen trying to piece all of this nonsense together.

He just walks around slowly and makes these exaggerated motions that vaguely resemble what a man of the cloth would do. So when the band, mostly the "Nameless Ghouls" that make up Ghost's musical performers, gets cornered into talking about what all of this religious imagery means, they play coy and dish out some printable bullshit about "Satanism" in an almost embarrassing attempt to come off as more heavy than their sound illustrates.

It's working: The dude that turned my friend on to Ghost used the fact that they were “Satanists” as a primary reason to check them out. He's 32 years old and clearly out of this band's targeted age demographic. Then again, so are my friend and I.

So let's cut to the chase: as Satan as my witness, Ghost may be the most improperly marketed band since Kiss roamed the Earth in their costumes, and by that I mean their look completely snookers the fact that they are as sweet as Cool Whip in the mix and about as nutritious.

Ghost's sophomore effort, Infestissumam is the band's major label debut, whatever that means, because they seem to be doing just fine in terms of self-promotion. The rub is how when Ghost plays footsie with things like the anti-Christ, then their marketing power in the States loses traction.

Because as much as we dislike going to church here in the U.S., we sure as shit won't replace it with a bizarro one who's biggest promoter resembles the white-faced demon dude that inhabits Linda Blair in The Exorcist.

And based on the band's pop leanings, one can only assume that worldwide domination is at play here. After all, what possesses a thirty-two year old man to dress like this?

God bless the children of the beast.

There were reports (I wasn’t kidding about my research) that the band wanted Infesissumam to sound like a big budget rock album circa 1978, but the reality is that most rock records from 1978 sound much heavier than this. That fact includes Kiss’ Destroyer album, a record that Ghost would seem greatly indebted to on the surface while musically, the pairing is notably much different. This isn’t to suggest that Gene, Paul, Ace and Peter are better musicians than the Nameless Ghouls that play in Ghost (they aren’t) but they certainly have their roots directly in the same soil as rock and roll’s expansive family tree.

Ghost, on the other hand, pull from the same amount of European classical elements as they would from Detroit rock city, leaving Infestissumam a confusing blend of metal, pop, and Johan Helmich Roman influences.

The guitars are mixed low, as are the drums and any other hint of real metallic aggression. Keyboards and frequent religious chants (some in Latin, or at least a reasonable facsimile) are the formula here, along with endless meanderings about religious topics seemingly derived from Cliff’s Notes pocket bibles and Catholic worship inserts. Side two begins with chants of "Belial, Behemoth, Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Satanas, Lucifer ... Hail Satan, Archangelo," which probably mean as much to Ghost as their made-up word "Idolatrine."

My guess is that they were attempting to be clever with that one, combining the word "Idolatry" (which Infestissumam qualifies as) and the word "latrine" (ditto) in an attempt to suggest, I dunno, Piss Christ, maybe? There’s nothing offensive about such lines like “Idolatrine for the imbeciles” unless you’re smart enough to figure out that you are exactly the kind of imbecile they were referring to.

I’d actually have a modicum of respect for Ghost if their intention was a bit malicious, but based on other examples throughout the record, it appears they’re just pulling things out of their ass and, when that is too much of a challenge, making shit up. Literally. For “Depth Of Satan’s Eyes,” the lyricist cobbles together such nonsense like “The swamp of feces that is the word/Flatuates a whirlwind storm in which you swirl," while not even managing to enunciate the word "feces" properly.

I'll betcha it sounds even dumber in their native language, and I'll betcha that Ghost begins backing off the Satanic jive when they realize just how much money they're leaving on the table because of the baggage that comes with it.

Until that time, Ghost remains nothing more than a visual curio-a band that I would actually pay to see if they came through my hometown because, let's face it, this concept only works in relation to the detail that went into this production from day one.

Musically, Ghost suffer from that lack of excitement on record. It becomes lost in its garbled message and mainstream gloss, coming off like the entitled sons of Uriah Heep who listen to as much EDM as they did Demons and Wizards.

The irony is that most of Infestissumam's best tracks are the ones that shy away from the band's supposed heavy lineage. "Ghuleh/Zombie Queen" starts out as a nice progressive piece before unexpectedly transforming into a nifty surf-rock bit.

"Monstrance Clock," the record's closer, also hangs around the softer side of Satan while, more importantly, finally finding a winning chorus after practically avoiding any sense of melody for the first forty minutes of the record.

Tellingly, the discussion of Ghost seems to have gone beyond the credibility of their musical legacy to one that acknowledges its limitations before going straight to the band's worth in bringing in, ahem, new converts to metal.

To be honest, I'm not sure that I see how relevant that discussion even is, given the sheer lack of metal that Ghost seems to be portraying on Infestissumam. Is as if these people are looking for a reason to justify what ultimately is a guilty pleasure. There is nothing more compelling to Ghost than what you see visually, and if you're like me-(well) over thirty and obsessing about a band that put together an image before a note was even created, then you should be old enough to admit that your fascination is beyond anything they've put to wax.

Liking Ghost is not only being able to laugh at the sheer ridiculous of their gimmick, but also acknowledging that their shtick only works as live theater. Because the sound of their recorded service only demonstrates the gaping holes in their endlessly promoted book of worship.

Kiss - Killers

The only reason Killers gets a mention is because of four new tracks written especially for the compilation. Otherwise, the record is nothing more than a contractual best-of offering, a collection of some of the band’s better known tracks up until that point, but hardly a comprehensive gathering like Double Platinum intended to be.

The band had just experienced an unmitigated failure with the experimental The Elder, a divisive (and awful) record that not only pissed of fans, but also the band’s foreign record companies.

Here’s what I don’t understand: did Gene and Paul’s marketing prowess start later in their career? Because the entire genesis of the Killers project seems like it was based on poor negotiating and contractual obligation.

With sales of The Elder pushing the band closer to the where-are-they-now category, the band’s foreign representatives cobbled together a quick greatest hits project and demanded the band contribute four new songs to the release. How a band leaves themselves this vulnerable is beyond me, but Gene and Paul can never be called anything but compliant in their business dealings; the two members obediently directed their new drummer back into the studio and secured the rights from Ace Frehley to use his picture for the cover, on a ruse that continued to pretend to fans that he was still an actual member.

Kiss then scrambled for help with outside creative forces to come up with the new material, eventually working with none other than Bryan Adams for one track (“Down On Your Knees”) and Kiss nut-swinger Adam Mitchell on a couple (“I Am A Legend Tonight” and “Partners In Crime”). The fourth song is the Stanley penned “Nowhere To Run” and none of these new cuts represent anything worthwhile to the average Kiss fan or any passive fan.

For completists, they represent some kind of baloney bridge between the misguided bridge between The Elder’s “art” leanings and Creatures Of Habit’s required rock resurgence. The reality is that the new tracks on Killers were quickly created and their mediocrity approved as a “meets requirements” rating for those of you in the professional world or a solid “C-“ if you’re more familiar with educational grades.

Sonically, the tracks stick out like a sore thumb from the rest of the cuts, wallowing in a production quality that is more like a demo recording than a final mix.

Speaking of, Killers is somewhat of note for including the single mix of “Shout It Out Loud,” “Detroit Rock City” and “I Was Made For Lovin’ You.” It also contains the live edit of “Rock And Roll All Night,” which was the version that most familiar heard when the band began their unbelievable ascent, while its typically the studio version that gets the nod for most Kiss compilations.

Killers ended up being a moderate success in overseas countries while arriving in America as a pricey import with a ridiculous cover art, including the misleading notion that Ace was even a part of the newly recorded tracks. For this deception and for the band’s compromising attitude towards the new songs within this release-particularly considering how homogeneous the new tracks actually turn out-Killers is another in a long line of questionable products authorized by the band.

KISS - Lick It Up

Thirty years ago today, KISS did the impossible and made a correction to their downward trajectory by releasing an album where the members appeared without their makeup.

Hard to believe, but the record buying public was swindled once again by viewing such an event as an important artistic endeavor, rather than rightly hearing that Lick It Up was anything more than par-for-the-course bullshit, this time featuring “newest” member, guitarist Vinnie Vincent.

I’m already getting mad at the band again by writing this, and I haven’t even gotten to the actual review of the record yet.

You see, Vincent had already contributed to their last album, Creatures Of The Night, a surprisingly decent effort that continued to feature original guitarist Ace Frehley on the cover (and subsequent video for the lead-off single, “I Love It Loud”) even when he was nowhere on the recording.

Vincent was hired to be a reliable songwriter and contributor after Ace became disillusioned with the band’s nonsense, while the remaining creative core of Gene Simmons and Paul Stanley refused to provide Frehley’s replacement with any contract, naming him as an official member.

Now, you would think that such an arrangement would have caused Vincent to balk at any additional work with Simmons and Stanley, but the dumbass continued along with them, including a stint as a full-fledged makeup-wearing member going by the name of “The Ankh Warrior.”

The makeup thing clearly wasn’t working for them any longer, so Simmons and Stanley pressed on sans makeup, and they suckered Vincent into working with them again for Lick It Up.

Here’s the thing, the idea of KISS doing a record without their makeup was still a huge deal thirty years ago, even though they had released an album entitled Unmasked three years before Lick It Up. As fans discovered, Unmasked was a ruse to sell more records; none of the members actually ditched their makeup as the title suggested.

Lick It Up was different as KISS actually swindled MTV into giving them airtime for the big “reveal,” although they let the second least popular VJ, JJ Jackson (Nina Blackwood was first because they gave her the graveyard shift while “Triple J” got evenings) host the event. Jackson did a good job of hyping the proceedings, but if you were like me (yes, I watched it), the moment you saw the member’s true faces, you screamed at the television screen for them to put it back on.

The members of KISS are not the most visually stunning specimens in rock music.

Thirty years later, nobody gives a shit about what the members of KISS look like, and all we have left is the recorded evidence of Lick It Up, 10 songs of frustratingly mediocre arrangements and an endless parade of embarrassing sexuality that goes beyond the norms of traditional rock and roll juvenilia.

The title track was everywhere, or at least it seemed. Despite having MTV on board and placing the post-apocalyptic video which featured thralls of women thrusting themselves at the makeup-free band members, the actual single never made it into the Top 40 Billboard charts, leaving “Beth” as the lone hit single (at that time) for these pathetic creatures of the night.

Again, the 10 songs featured on Lick It Up were the direct result of Vinnie Vincent’s involvement with the band, and while he fought tooth and nail to suggest that his contributions were the reason for the band’s resurgence-adding to his suggestion that he should become a full, card-carrying member of the band-there is nothing on this album to warrant any amount of pride or credit.

If anything, Vinnie Vincent would have done better to hide his involvement, telling anyone who feigned interest on his career that he was a session player for Happy Days or the tambourine player for Dan Hartman.

“Lick It Up” is essentially two chords and a suggestive lyric, which doubles as a sexual innuendo for eating sperm and is remarkably not even close to the most patently offensive article on the album.

For that, you have to (once again) rely on Gene Simmons, who pens an ode to anal sex (“Fits Like A Glove”) as well as one to skull fucking (“Dance All Over Your Face”). Simmons dwells on the opposite sex and the act of intercourse with such a notable amount of disdain that you wonder if all of his conquests were mentally challenged enough to legally consent.

And after viewing his face on the cover, you also tend to wonder if he was still “masked” for the acts themselves.

All of this sounds like sour grapes, I realize, but when you hear Lick It Up you immediately ponder “What’s the big deal?” and “Why was this even notable?” These are the musical equivalents of conversations in the locker room after 8^th grade football practice or the musings of some schmuck who has never seen the female form outside of his dad’s Playboy collection. To understand that this was the work of men past the age of 30 is an embarrassment, and the lack of creative musicality on Lick It Up is a slight to the rock and roll genre.

Ironically, Paul Stanley later nailed it on when he declared that Lick It Up was a sub-par effort, one in which fans purchased it because “people were listening with their eyes and not their ears.” Had they been using both of their senses, it be should have been clear that KISS were a very ugly band with very ugly intentions.

The Story Of Rock 'N Roll Comics

I will confess to following Marvel comics in the mid-70’s, a supermarket habit that I took up while my Mom took our cocker spaniel to obedience school at the local armory. I’ll even admit that I groaned a bit when I learned that she threw away all of those comics-including a first issue edition of Howard the Duck.

That money could have come in handy living in a third floor, one bedroom apartment with my girlfriend as we penny-pinched our way through our early twenties. Instead, I just supplemented my income with used record and cd sales. It became a routine ritual, particularly if I was going to see a band a club later that same day. The extra money meant we could start with an import or two before referring back to the regular Leinenkugel drafts.

It was around this same time when a younger friend of mine began diving into the maddening world of record collecting. The harder the find, the better potential for envy.

Most of our collected purchases stemmed from singles with rare b-sides, import copies with obscure bonus tracks, and the occasional bootleg where earned money was spent on cassette soundboard recordings.

But one day, my friend brought in a couple of comic books. Not just the Marvel or hipster underground fare, but a comic book devoted enitrely to rock and roll bands. I grabbed his copy of the Pearl Jam comic and began to skim through it.

The artwork wasn’t bad from what I recall, but the storyline presented was some glaringly fictionalized account of the beginnings of everyone’s favorite Northwestern rock band, Pearl Jam.

Being a fan of rock and roll writ, I can attest to some basic knowledge about certain rock and roll bands. While Pearl Jam is by no means a favorite of mine-I once owned Ten and now the only Pearl Jam related item in my collection is the single they did with Neil Young-I do know the basic story of their origins.

The comic book version I was reading suggested that during the band’s initial days, the members were struggling with a band name. That challenge ended when a band member presented his bandmates with a Mason jar of some of his aunt’s homemade jam that featured some hallucinogenic properties. The comic book then declares the band settled upon a name after that psychedelic spread in honor of the woman who created it.

The story is total horseshit, but I vaguely remember people suggesting it back during that time when people pondered, “I wonder how Pearl Jam came up with their name?” I stopped caring during the time they were known as Mother Love Bone, and who the fuck wants to figure out that name origin.

I wouldn’t be surprised if that quote from the comic book was completely butchered, but the point is, this is the same kind of research that the comic was working with on this full color spotlight presented in the Pearl Jam edition of Rock ‘n’ Roll Comics.

I never bothered to read another copy of Rock ‘n’ Roll Comics after that, and my friend also stopped seeking out this fictionalized accounts of other bands that were highlighted.

And the stores that carried Rock ‘n’ Roll Comics suddenly stopped carrying these serials, leaving one with the impression that the company who produced this stuff was beginning to run low on revenue.

Twenty years later, a documentary was released that fully explains the history of that company as well as the story of its eccentric owner, Todd Loren. The Story of Rock n Roll Comics presents Loren as a very divisive man, one who is seen as some first amendment crusader almost as much as he is for financially screwing the artists and writers who helped bring his vision to the comic book page.

Before he became one of the most controversial figures in the comic world, Todd Loren began as a mail-order retailer specializing in hard to find imports and rare musical items. If you were looking for a bootleg of some Roger Waters concert during the Pros and Cons of Hitchhiking tour, then Loren’s company-Musicade-would probably be a great place to find a copy.

Dealing in bootleg records and the like can be a tough racket, but Loren was a tough cookie and he found success at a young age. Musicade adverts could be found in the back of such publications as Rolling Stone magazine at one point, but it wasn’t long after making such progress before Loren decided to pitch the mail order business and combine his own love of music with another passion: comics.

It was a parody comic of Bruce Springsteen that gave Loren the idea of mixing the two art forms, and it was through unsavory business practices that Todd collected a stable of writers and artists to come up with creative ideas at a very low price.

The end result was a cheaply made yet unquestionably enviable idea of taking rock folk lore and using it as the creative fictional spark for a comic story line. My original complaint of the series lack of accuracy is about as pointless as me arguing how there’s no way that cosmic rays are the reason how the members of the Fantastic Four got their powers.

“It’s obviously not real…it’s a cartoon!” as Mojo Nixon wisely points out during one of his interview segments on The Story of Rock ‘n’ Roll Comics. Evidently, the two worked together during Todd’s life and Nixon is used as one of Loren’s supporters, both in his business practices and in his advocacy of the first amendment.

It’s that struggle which takes up the bulk of the film, positioning Todd Loren as a true fighter of the right to free speech while the other side presents him as an opportunist, someone who used the notion of the first amendment as a thin cover for Loren’s ultimate goal: to make money.

Nothing exemplifies this more than Loren’s actions when he made the decision to fold Musicade and start Revolutionary Comics, the comic book company he started with some assistance from his father.

Not that Loren needed his old man for financial assistance, it seems, just for moral support. It makes perfect sense that he’d look to his own family for this given the fact that he effectively fired everyone from Musicade, an act that is presented to swiftly in the documentary that it almost seems callous and selfish.

Almost as soon as Loren started Revolutionary Comics, he attracted controversy. He failed to distinguish the idea that bands might want to be in control of the entire aspect of their career, even their visual image.

No sooner than did Revolutionary Comics turn away from things like conspiracy theories, erotic hell ladies, and even sports figures, Loren found a niche within the music fan base who found entertainment and collectability in these very crude publications.

Almost immediately, Loren discovered that the world of rock and roll is filled with lawyers and legal teams who have nothing more to do then look for licensing infractions copyright infringement.  

He wore this conflict like a badge of honor, devoting cover space for the motto “Unauthorized…And Proud Of It!” which probably antagonized his industry foe even more.

What killed them off for good was a court ruling that identified Rock ‘n’ Roll Comics as work that was protected from legal action. After a judge sided on Loren’s side, the company began ramping up production to include everything from New Kids on the Block to Pink Floyd to the Sex Pistols.

He burned many bridges along the way, giving aspiring artists a chance to be published for the first time while systematically disposing of other ones who began to question the financial obligation that Loren offered for their work.

He developed a rubber stamp contact. Literally. One that he used on his payment checks, thereby forcing his contributors to sign away all rights to their work in order for them to endorse their payment.

To his peers, his comics trivialized the work that they sought to legitimize. The professional competition was eager to point out his company’s shoddy layout and amateurish composition.

There’s also room to suggest that some of their complaints were fostered from sour grapes, particularly when you learn about some projects where the rock and roll artists themselves gave Loren verbal permission to proceed with his unauthorized accounts while granting other publications authorized status, for a fee.

Both Jerry Garcia and, surprisingly, Gene Simmons overlooked their own organization’s litigious history and allowed Loren to continue his serialized accounts of their bands. For Jerry, the decision was probably based on some hippie idealism while Gene understood that any minor publication like Rock ‘n’ Roll Comics would do more to help Kiss’ exposure than impact their bottom line.

The Story of Rock ‘n’ Roll Comics does little to draw much attention to Loren’s unfavorable image as an explanation for the violent manner in which he died. As the documentary draws closer to its conclusion, it announces how a father who became concerned at his son’s absence from work suddenly turns into a homicide investigation.

Todd seldom missed work, so when he failed to show up one morning, his father went over to his apartment only to discover his son’s body brutally stabbed to death.

The gruesome discovery also provided his friends and family with another shock: Loren was homosexual. His personal life was extremely private, to the point where none of his friends and coworkers knew that he was gay. 

The case remains unsolved, but the killer’s pattern and location match that of serial killer Andrew Cunanan, murderer of fashion designer Gianni Versace. It’s widely believed that Todd was one of Cunanan’s first victims, but with the killer’s suicide in 1997, it became impossible to question him about his involvement with Loren’s 1992 murder.

With this strange twist, the story of Todd Loren and Rock ‘n’ Roll Comics ends almost as immediately as it began. The series continued under the leadership of Todd’s father for a few years after his murder, but the comics failed to find direction without Loren’s unwavering drive and the business folded.

The absence of Rock ‘n’ Roll Comics only made them that much more collectible. As someone who remembers the comic’s past and can attest to their questionable worth, I can’t say that I fully appreciate the higher cost these comics command.

What I can appreciate is how The Story Of Rock ‘n’ Roll Comics successfully explores the behind-the-scenes account of this niche business and becomes a more fascinating topic than any of the storylines of their rock and roll inspiration.

This review originally appeared in Glorious Noise.

KISS - Ace Frehley

I’ve taken a bunch of shots at Kiss and most of them are deserved.
But the one thing that I haven’t managed to accomplish is to find a Kiss record that is so awesome that it warrants the amount of worship that sustains a band for nearly forty years.

I’m not done with the catalog, but what I can claim is that the best of the lot is nearly 30 years old and is not good enough (in my opinion) to give them a pass at the band’s creative declined that began as quickly as we began to see any evidence of their greatness.

One of the album’s in their catalog that people kept encouraging me to listen to isn’t even a Kiss album. It’s Ace Frehley’s solo album, cited by the Kiss Army as the best solo album of the lot and performed by the band’s true hard rock patriarch.

I’ve got to confess that those folks were on to something, but their praise may be a little lacking in some circles. Ace Frehley is not only the best of the solo albums, it may even be the last great glam rock album of the 70’s, serving as a vital blueprint for the glam metal bands that began popping up in the early 80’s.

Ace Frehley got a bunch of traction from the hit single “New York Groove,” a song that eventually loses its luster the moment you hear the original version by the band Hello. It’s note for note, and if it ain’t broke don’t fix it.

That being said, the track works well within the sequence of the record and with the fact that Ace must have been saving up his best material for this outing. Either that or Gene and Paul could have been cockblocking his contributions entirely.

I don’t know if that’s the case, but it’s very clear that Frehley has a different approach to his material than anything else in the Kiss cannon, and that is probably what makes it so enjoyable. His music is heavier; his lyrics straddle between an afterthought and precocious druggy couplets. In other words, it mirrors Ace’s awesome cover portrait, while the other solo records merely rehash the image for end cap marketing, snagging the attention of the pre-teens loitering in suburban shopping malls. Ace Frehley was the only record that hinted at any danger while underhandedly demonstrating that awesome riffs could still come out from under the influence.

With nearly every track sounding like a winner, it’s “I’m In Need Of Love” that stands as the perfect example of Ace’s unique approach of sloppy Stonesy blooze performed live on fucking Skylab. “Snowblind” and the opener “Rip It Out” bring things closer to planet Earth but they’re equally rewarding, rocking terra firma with some memorable riffs.

Much of this is due to Frehley’s choice of producer, Eddie Kramer. The man who brought Hendrix’s otherworldly guitar antics to tape does a great job of getting Ace’s more restrained guitarwork off the ground. Kramer gives Frehley’s tone a nice bite and his work is just as vital to the success of Ace Frehley as the musicians.

Based on all of this, it’s no wonder that Ace Frehley is revered among Kiss fans and why it continues to be referenced as a vital piece of Kisstory. Gene and Paul were foolish not to give Ace more of an input in the albums, particularly after the band began to become more of a parody of their costumes rather than trying to break down the walls of legitimacy with Les Pauls and a nice buzz.

Kiss Plushes On Sale Today So That You Can Help With Gene Simmons' Retirement

After the Kiss Kasket and Kiss skins for Mini Cooper automobiles, nothing surprises me any more. Here's the press release from the Funko company.


The folks at FUNKO have come up with yet another way to reinvent one of the most influential rock and roll bands of all-time of all time... KISS! On September 7th, they will release their new line of KISS Plushies to the masses. (Click on the images to the right for hi res photos)

The line consists of four dolls: Gene Simmons 'The Demon', Paul Stanley 'The Starchild', Ace Frehley 'The Spaceman', and Peter Criss 'The Catman'.

Each doll is 7" tall and is available for pre-order at www.entertainmentearth.com. They will start shipping to customers on September 11, at which time they will be available at local FYE stores. Each doll will retail in the 10.99-12.99 price range.

KISS holds honors as one of America's top gold record champions, recording 36 albums over 32 years selling over 85 million albums worldwide. The band formed in New York City in December 1972 and was easily identified by each member's trademark face paint and stage outfits. They rose to prominence in the mid and late-1970s on the basis of their elaborate live performances, which featured fire breathing, blood spitting, smoking guitars, and pyrotechnics. KISS has been awarded 24 gold albums to date.The band has sold over 85 million albums to date.

The original lineup of Paul Stanley (vocals and rhythm guitar), Gene Simmons (vocals and bass guitar), Ace Frehley (lead guitar and vocals), and Peter Criss (drums, percussion and vocals) is the most successful and identifiable. With their makeup and costumes,

they took on the personae of comic book-style characters: The Demon (Simmons), Starchild (Stanley), Spaceman (Frehley), and Catman (Criss). The band explains that the fans were the ones who ultimately chose their makeup designs.

The "Demon" makeup reflected Gene's cynicism and dark elements, as well as his love for comic books. Paul Stanley became the "Starchild" due to his tendency to be referred to as the "starry-eyed lover" and "hopeless romantic." Ace Frehley's "Spaceman" makeup was a reflection of him wanting to go for a ride in a space ship and supposedly being from another planet. Peter Criss' "Catman" makeup was in accordance with the belief that Peter had nine lives due to his rough childhood in Brooklyn.

"Over thirty years of record-breaking tours around the globe include high-profile appearances at Super Bowl XXXIII, the 2002 Winter Olympics in Salt Lake City and most recently, the 2005 Rockin' The Corps concert dedicated to our troops in Iraq and Afghanistan.

The KISS legacy continues to grow, generation after generation, transcending age, race and creed.

The unparalleled devotion and loyalty of the KISS Army to the "Hottest Band in the World" is a striking testament to the band's unbreakable bond with its fans.

How Low Can You Go: A Week Of Bassists Behaving Badly

Is it just me, or has the week in music been dominated by the zany behavior of bass players?

First of all, and I’ve struggled whether or not to even mention this for fear of reprisal and for worry that I may demonstrate a change in my hostility towards the band Kiss-I nearly broke down watching an episode of Gene Simmon’s Family Jewels, the one where he returns to Israel for the first time in 50 some years.

For those of you who haven’t seen it, evidently Gene hasn’t been with his Father in that amount of time either, supposedly because he was still upset that his father "abandoned" he and his mother. You could probably be a Freshman Psych major and figure out that Gene has some major daddy issues resulting from this.

The irony is that their divorce culminated with Gene’s mom moving to America and, as any major dude will tell you, the rest is history.

So while the split prompted both his rise to fame and an unhealthy resentment towards his father, it made for a homecoming narrative that had Gene meeting new members of his family while rekindling some lost memories of a country that he left when his mother packed it up and headed to N.Y.C. for a new life with her song.

The Israeli homecoming made for some stunning television, particularly when you see Gene meet his step-brothers and sisters. It culiminates when they nudge him towards considering that his father wasn't all that bad as his resentment made him out to be. All of this comes rushing out when you see/hear Gene break down at his father’s gravesite, finally realizing that he may have squandered a relation with his dad because of some poorly conceived perceptions.

For the first time in my life, I saw Gene as something more than just a money-grabbing opportunist and understood the origins of his misogynistic ways. None of this made Gene’s faults right, just explainable. And in typical Gene fashion, he was back to his huckster/fuckster ways within the first few moments of the next episode.

Gene’s no dummy, so you’ve got to believe that the hugeness of the event-the fact that Gene actually expressed emotion and vulnerability for the first time in front of his fans, that this episode and real event would be leading towards some kind of revelation. An epiphany that would add a new dimension to his character as he gets ready to slide into retirement.

Yet like a dummy, he can’t let it happen. He can only squander a golden opportunity to make him more likeable to a wider audience, something he and his brand desperately need as his/their relevance a quickly diminishing year after year.

And Gene, unlike Paul who views his Kiss character as some kind of aging Broadway character who will continue the role until he physically can no longer do it, is all about revenue stream. So why he didn’t seize this moment of human vulnerability and create a new revenue stream of redeemed family man who’s finally found that commitment to family after fucking 10,000 skanks in the past forty years.

It’s 2011 dude, we all threw up a bit when we saw you in that homemade porn with that blonde chick who wouldn’t even kiss your ugly ass or take off her flip-flops. Hang it up and be a man, because you’re already ten times as lame as you made out your old man to be.

And then there’s the former bassist from Queens Of The Stone Age-Nick Oliveri-who proved this week that not only is he drug-fueled crazy, he’s drug-fueled and gun-totin’ crazy! At least that’s they described it when Oliveri got into a fight with his old lady of such epic proportions that the SWAT team was called to his home and a standoff ensued.

I remember once when the cops were called when my ex-wife and I got into a fight a few months before we got divorced thanks to her father who didn’t seem to grasp the idea that she was trying to beat my ass, not the other way around.

I’m really not sure what’s going on with Oliveri’s ordeal other than to hope that he’s not such a pussy that he thinks that beating up a woman is a “tough” thing to do, but do I need to remind you that Josh Homme kicked Oliveri’s ass out of Q.O.T.S.A. for doing the exact same thing?

I’ll leave it up to you to determine if you think that Josh was the bitch in those events.

Finally, there the dude from Coheed and Cambodia who threatened to blow up a Walgreens if they didn’t front him some Oxies last week.

After showing the pharmacy assistant his Smartphone with the words “I have a bomb!” and “Gimmie all your good pills!” they gave Mike Todd (he goes by "Mic", but as his actions demonstrate, it’s going to take more than dropping letters from your first name to make you cool, dude) a bottle of Anacin and told him to get the fuck out, to which he did.

To further demonstrate how uncool the bass player from Coheed and Chlamydia is, he hailed a cab and told the cabbie to drop him off at the tour bus at the Comcast Center where his band was scheduled to open for Soundgarden in just a few short hours.

The cops originally wanted to arrest Chris Cornell for that piece of shit Scream album, but the pharmaceutical companies reminded them that these little heroin Chicklets are pricey, and we can’t be just giving them away to every prog-metal bassist with a smart phone.

One look at his mug shot and you can’t help but feel sorry for the dude, I mean, just look at him. His life is fucked and it’s all because he crossed paths with a multi-billion dollar pharmaceutical company who’s created a country of junkies under the pretense of “pain management.”

On a much lighter note, there was one bassist who managed to remind us that it’s possible to be cooler than the three other bassists combined and still play the instrument without much pay or recognition, but rather for the sheer passion of it.

Kira Roessler was a former bass player with Black Flag and former spouse of Mike Watt. She also has a ten-and-a-half inch cock.

Dos, the on-and-off again collaboration she does with her ex-husband wife is preparing for a new album and, as a result, Kira was recently interviewed by the Village Voice. She talks about her past, accurately defines the meaning of punk rock, and graciously provides her humble insights to her instrument of choice that is frequently neglected and dismissed.

One of the things she mentions that struck me-mainly because I felt the same way when I saw footage of Watt playing with the re-formed Stooges-is how Watt is becoming a better bass player because he’s finally beginning to play bass differently than he has throughout his career. I say “beginning” with the understanding that it’s now going on a good decade or so, but you get my drift. His skills as a bassist are very much recognized and they would have remained that way had he not played an additional note or changed in the way that he played.

But he has changed the way he played.

The gig required it.

And sometimes doing something outside of your comfort zone is the most frightening thing you can do, and the fact that Watt has done that very thing only means that he’s getting better at his craft.

The interview with Kira is a very enjoyable read. She’s not afraid to speak her mind and she reminds us that punk rock wasn’t/isn’t about a set of rules (there are none!) and how, at its core, punk rock is about the community.

At the end of the week full of the worst of the low end, it was great to finally come across some good news from someone who’s reached rock bottom.

In a good way, of course!