03/31/2014
PUCKER UP FOR A BIG FAT KISS ANNIVERSARY YEAR
Edna Gundersen, USA TODAY
When Kiss roared onto the public stage in greasepaint and comic-book costumes, critics predicted the loud New York rock quartet would soon kiss the dust. Those detractors have been eating the band's dust for 40 years.
Since releasing its self-titled debut and Hotter Than Hell in 1974, Kiss has sold an estimated 100 million albums worldwide and built a formidable Kiss Army that continues to fill arenas and stadiums around the globe. Declared America's most popular band by a 1977 Gallup poll, Kiss refuses to relinquish the title, opening every concert with the declaration, "You wanted the best! You got the best! The hottest band in the world!"
Pundits remain hostile (music author Dave Marsh, a Rock and Roll Hall of Fame nominating committee member, recently posted on his blog that Kiss "added not the slightest musical value to rock" and does not deserve its upcoming induction). Kiss Army vets loyally defend and exalt their heroes, as does the band itself.
"I look across the stage and see the best funk band in rock 'n' roll," says bassist Gene Simmons, 64. "We put on a two-hour show that knocks your socks off. There is that sense of electric church. And there's no corner on Earth where we're not gods to people who name their kids after our songs and tattoo our faces on their bodies."
Edna Gundersen, USA TODAY
When Kiss roared onto the public stage in greasepaint and comic-book costumes, critics predicted the loud New York rock quartet would soon kiss the dust. Those detractors have been eating the band's dust for 40 years.
Since releasing its self-titled debut and Hotter Than Hell in 1974, Kiss has sold an estimated 100 million albums worldwide and built a formidable Kiss Army that continues to fill arenas and stadiums around the globe. Declared America's most popular band by a 1977 Gallup poll, Kiss refuses to relinquish the title, opening every concert with the declaration, "You wanted the best! You got the best! The hottest band in the world!"
Pundits remain hostile (music author Dave Marsh, a Rock and Roll Hall of Fame nominating committee member, recently posted on his blog that Kiss "added not the slightest musical value to rock" and does not deserve its upcoming induction). Kiss Army vets loyally defend and exalt their heroes, as does the band itself.
"I look across the stage and see the best funk band in rock 'n' roll," says bassist Gene Simmons, 64. "We put on a two-hour show that knocks your socks off. There is that sense of electric church. And there's no corner on Earth where we're not gods to people who name their kids after our songs and tattoo our faces on their bodies."
Guitarist Paul Stanley, 62, chimes in, "Rock bands make music. A phenomenon impacts society. We're the biggest secret society on Earth. Every show is a tribal gathering that goes beyond rock 'n' roll and any demographic. We're in Kiss, but we're also fans of Kiss. We started this to be the band we never saw."
For its 40th anniversary, the band has readied a big fat Kiss blowout. Today brings the reissue of 10 remastered Kiss albums on vinyl. Another 18 titles are due by mid-2014. Kiss 40, a 40-track, two-CD set with such classics as Rock and Roll All Nite, Love Gun and Detroit Rock City, arrives in May. The just-released vinyl mother lode, Kissteria � The Ultimate Road Case, holds 34 discs and loads of extras. A 42-city tour with Def Leppard starts June 23.
When Kiss launched, "I hoped for five years," says Stanley, seated opposite Simmons at an office conference table. "Nobody could foresee this. Would I be in my 60s jumping around in a pair of tights playing to 100,000 people? That's absurd. But here we are. We have stood the test of time."
When Simmons heard Kiss' debut single Nothin' to Lose on the radio, "It went from zero to 60," he says. "Unlike Paul, who is pragmatic and humble, I'm delusional. Because I have an inflated ego, I thought there's nowhere we can't go and nothing we can't do. And sure enough, Kiss has become bigger than a band. It's a culture and a way of life."
Simmons, the "Demon," and Stanley, the "Starchild," founded Kiss with Peter "Catman" Criss and Ace "Spaceman" Frehley, both gone by 1982. The pair returned for MTV Unplugged in 1995, and the reunion lasted through 1998's Psycho Circus and a world tour, then dissolved a few years later.
A vocal minority considers their replacements, guitarist Tommy Thayer and drummer Eric Singer, imposters.
"We couldn't have started without Ace and Peter, and we couldn't have continued without Tommy and Eric," Stanley says.
Citing the substance abuse and friction that derailed the original quartet, "this is the lineup that should have always been Kiss, without drugs, alcohol, dysfunction, dark clouds," says Simmons. "The 'all-for-one, one-for-all' thing about Kiss is stronger than ever."
Even Kiss naysayers can't deny the band's massive impact. Besides shaping a slew of hair bands, Kiss also inspired such grunge greats as Nirvana and Soundgarden and far-flung acts including Garth Brooks and Daft Punk.
Formerly derided, the band's trademark glam camp, big-top theatrics and mercenary zeal have been widely embraced by superstars ranging from Bruce Springsteen to Katy Perry.
The fire-breathing, blood-spewing, fog-shrouded metal demigods also gave rise to the concept of branding, essential now but taboo in rock's early era.
"Once we blazed the trail and others saw there was money to be made, they followed suit," Stanley says. "When we started, the connotation of a fan club was teeny-bopper, not credible. We're not marketing geniuses. The only thing we've done is listen well. If someone wants a Kiss pencil, Kiss blanket, Kiss skis, we give it to them. We're not brilliant, but our hearing is fairly acute."
The band has reaped a fortune peddling such collectibles as belt buckles, pinball machines and, for diehards, $6,000 caskets. Forbes places the combined net worth of Simmons and Stanley at $450 million. Since 2000, Kiss tours have sold more than 3 million tickets and grossed roughly $200 million, according to Billboard Boxscores.
"Very early in their career, Kiss emphasized brand-building and explosive live performances, and this has served them extremely well over the decades," says Ray Waddell, Billboard senior editor/touring. "Out of the gate, they were very serious about not taking themselves too seriously, so fans have embraced the over-the-top merchandising, the multiple 'farewell' tours, the overt capitalism. From the beginning, fans have been in on the joke. The makeup, and wide array of merch opportunities it spawned, was a masterstroke and played out in ways I'm sure even Kiss couldn't imagine.
"They always give fans their money's worth in explosions and blood, and they can tour successfully as long as they want to," he says. "That said, it has to be Gene and Paul out there to continue. Ultimately, arena rock, and the power of live music overall, is about fans breathing the same air as their heroes. The history needs to be in the room. Otherwise, it's just a rock 'n' roll circus."
Kiss without its twin towers? In Face the Music: A Life Exposed, his autobiography out April 8, Stanley insists Kiss can last indefinitely with a series of dedicated replacements.
"The band is more important than the individuals," he says. "We are a movement. We may have started it, but if the movement is sound, it can carry on without me or Gene. The fans are there for Kiss, the ideal. It has nothing to do with who's in the band."
Simmons concurs, though less enthusiastically. "There are no rules," he says. "Can Kiss continue without us? Sure."
Neither is eyeing retirement and both can envision a 50th anniversary carousal. They credit much of the band's durability to their own sturdy partnership.
"We share a strong work ethic," Stanley says. "It starts with that. Being bright doesn't hurt. We come from similar backgrounds: European Jews who left their homelands to avoid being gassed."
Their bond has been tested over the decades, most seriously in the 1980s, "when I sold my soul to Hollywood," Simmons says. "Self-aggrandizement? I'm often guilty of that. Do I think I'm better-looking than I am? Oh, yeah. It's tough for me to walk by a mirror without paying homage to me. Paul's the brother that I never had, but that doesn't mean we agree on everything. He has funny-looking shoes that even Liberace wouldn't wear."
When Stanley wed longtime girlfriend Erin Sutton in 2005, Simmons was barred from the ceremony.
"My wedding was important to me," Stanley says. "I had no qualms about calling Gene up and saying, 'You're not invited.' I couldn't have someone there who insults the tenets of marriage. I don't care how close we are, Gene had no place at my wedding."
Stanley and Erin live in Beverly Hills with their three children, ages 2, 5 and 7, and he has a son, Evan, 19, from an earlier marriage.
Minutes away are Simmons and actress/model Shannon Tweed, who wed in 2011 after 28 years together. The couple and kids Nick, 25, and Sophie, 21, starred in A&E's reality series Gene Simmons Family Jewels.
"I was very bad for decades," says Simmons, notorious for his licentious lifestyle. "I was immature all my life. When you come from nothing and all of a sudden you have the keys to the kingdom, it's like living inside a bakery. And I'm a glutton.
"Shannon is wiser than I am, a better person than I'll ever be. She said, 'It's time to make a choice.' I would compartmentalize the sexual escapades. I was arrogant."
Slipping out of his wisecracking persona, Simmons shares an emotional story about Tweed tricking him into visiting his father's grave, then pulls out his phone to display photos of his kids.
"They are bright and respectful," he beams, then cracks, "They tell me when my breath stinks and when I'm full of hot air."
Stanley marvels at how family values crept into the Kiss crypt.
"During the '80s, I saw Mike and the Mechanics checking into the Sunset Marquis Hotel with strollers and nannies, and I thought it was so uncool," he says. "There's nothing cooler nowadays than having my little kids run up and down the aisle of our private jet or seeing them on the side of the stage in their pajamas."
Kiss is a demanding mistress, and soon will yank the Demon and Starchild from their domestic havens.
"In hindsight, it might have been smarter to be in a band like U2 or the Rolling Stones," Simmons says. "You wear sneakers, a T-shirt, stand still and strum your guitar, thank you very much. There's a workout regimen before we go on tour. You wear eight-inch platform heels for hours, take two hours to put on makeup. On stage, you fly through the air, sometimes 50 feet high, spit fire and walk out drenched in sweat.
"We show up on time. There's no Axl Rose disease, no excuses. We want you to leave and say, 'There is a Santa Claus.' Kiss is real."
When Kiss roared onto the public stage in greasepaint and comic-book costumes, critics predicted the loud New York rock quartet would soon kiss the dust. Those detractors have been eating the band's dust for 40 years.
Since releasing its self-titled debut and Hotter Than Hell in 1974, Kiss has sold an estimated 100 million albums worldwide and built a formidable Kiss Army that continues to fill arenas and stadiums around the globe. Declared America's most popular band by a 1977 Gallup poll, Kiss refuses to relinquish the title, opening every concert with the declaration, "You wanted the best! You got the best! The hottest band in the world!"
Pundits remain hostile (music author Dave Marsh, a Rock and Roll Hall of Fame nominating committee member, recently posted on his blog that Kiss "added not the slightest musical value to rock" and does not deserve its upcoming induction). Kiss Army vets loyally defend and exalt their heroes, as does the band itself.
"I look across the stage and see the best funk band in rock 'n' roll," says bassist Gene Simmons, 64. "We put on a two-hour show that knocks your socks off. There is that sense of electric church. And there's no corner on Earth where we're not gods to people who name their kids after our songs and tattoo our faces on their bodies."
Edna Gundersen, USA TODAY
When Kiss roared onto the public stage in greasepaint and comic-book costumes, critics predicted the loud New York rock quartet would soon kiss the dust. Those detractors have been eating the band's dust for 40 years.
Since releasing its self-titled debut and Hotter Than Hell in 1974, Kiss has sold an estimated 100 million albums worldwide and built a formidable Kiss Army that continues to fill arenas and stadiums around the globe. Declared America's most popular band by a 1977 Gallup poll, Kiss refuses to relinquish the title, opening every concert with the declaration, "You wanted the best! You got the best! The hottest band in the world!"
Pundits remain hostile (music author Dave Marsh, a Rock and Roll Hall of Fame nominating committee member, recently posted on his blog that Kiss "added not the slightest musical value to rock" and does not deserve its upcoming induction). Kiss Army vets loyally defend and exalt their heroes, as does the band itself.
"I look across the stage and see the best funk band in rock 'n' roll," says bassist Gene Simmons, 64. "We put on a two-hour show that knocks your socks off. There is that sense of electric church. And there's no corner on Earth where we're not gods to people who name their kids after our songs and tattoo our faces on their bodies."
Guitarist Paul Stanley, 62, chimes in, "Rock bands make music. A phenomenon impacts society. We're the biggest secret society on Earth. Every show is a tribal gathering that goes beyond rock 'n' roll and any demographic. We're in Kiss, but we're also fans of Kiss. We started this to be the band we never saw."
For its 40th anniversary, the band has readied a big fat Kiss blowout. Today brings the reissue of 10 remastered Kiss albums on vinyl. Another 18 titles are due by mid-2014. Kiss 40, a 40-track, two-CD set with such classics as Rock and Roll All Nite, Love Gun and Detroit Rock City, arrives in May. The just-released vinyl mother lode, Kissteria � The Ultimate Road Case, holds 34 discs and loads of extras. A 42-city tour with Def Leppard starts June 23.
When Kiss launched, "I hoped for five years," says Stanley, seated opposite Simmons at an office conference table. "Nobody could foresee this. Would I be in my 60s jumping around in a pair of tights playing to 100,000 people? That's absurd. But here we are. We have stood the test of time."
When Simmons heard Kiss' debut single Nothin' to Lose on the radio, "It went from zero to 60," he says. "Unlike Paul, who is pragmatic and humble, I'm delusional. Because I have an inflated ego, I thought there's nowhere we can't go and nothing we can't do. And sure enough, Kiss has become bigger than a band. It's a culture and a way of life."
Simmons, the "Demon," and Stanley, the "Starchild," founded Kiss with Peter "Catman" Criss and Ace "Spaceman" Frehley, both gone by 1982. The pair returned for MTV Unplugged in 1995, and the reunion lasted through 1998's Psycho Circus and a world tour, then dissolved a few years later.
A vocal minority considers their replacements, guitarist Tommy Thayer and drummer Eric Singer, imposters.
"We couldn't have started without Ace and Peter, and we couldn't have continued without Tommy and Eric," Stanley says.
Citing the substance abuse and friction that derailed the original quartet, "this is the lineup that should have always been Kiss, without drugs, alcohol, dysfunction, dark clouds," says Simmons. "The 'all-for-one, one-for-all' thing about Kiss is stronger than ever."
Even Kiss naysayers can't deny the band's massive impact. Besides shaping a slew of hair bands, Kiss also inspired such grunge greats as Nirvana and Soundgarden and far-flung acts including Garth Brooks and Daft Punk.
Formerly derided, the band's trademark glam camp, big-top theatrics and mercenary zeal have been widely embraced by superstars ranging from Bruce Springsteen to Katy Perry.
The fire-breathing, blood-spewing, fog-shrouded metal demigods also gave rise to the concept of branding, essential now but taboo in rock's early era.
"Once we blazed the trail and others saw there was money to be made, they followed suit," Stanley says. "When we started, the connotation of a fan club was teeny-bopper, not credible. We're not marketing geniuses. The only thing we've done is listen well. If someone wants a Kiss pencil, Kiss blanket, Kiss skis, we give it to them. We're not brilliant, but our hearing is fairly acute."
The band has reaped a fortune peddling such collectibles as belt buckles, pinball machines and, for diehards, $6,000 caskets. Forbes places the combined net worth of Simmons and Stanley at $450 million. Since 2000, Kiss tours have sold more than 3 million tickets and grossed roughly $200 million, according to Billboard Boxscores.
"Very early in their career, Kiss emphasized brand-building and explosive live performances, and this has served them extremely well over the decades," says Ray Waddell, Billboard senior editor/touring. "Out of the gate, they were very serious about not taking themselves too seriously, so fans have embraced the over-the-top merchandising, the multiple 'farewell' tours, the overt capitalism. From the beginning, fans have been in on the joke. The makeup, and wide array of merch opportunities it spawned, was a masterstroke and played out in ways I'm sure even Kiss couldn't imagine.
"They always give fans their money's worth in explosions and blood, and they can tour successfully as long as they want to," he says. "That said, it has to be Gene and Paul out there to continue. Ultimately, arena rock, and the power of live music overall, is about fans breathing the same air as their heroes. The history needs to be in the room. Otherwise, it's just a rock 'n' roll circus."
Kiss without its twin towers? In Face the Music: A Life Exposed, his autobiography out April 8, Stanley insists Kiss can last indefinitely with a series of dedicated replacements.
"The band is more important than the individuals," he says. "We are a movement. We may have started it, but if the movement is sound, it can carry on without me or Gene. The fans are there for Kiss, the ideal. It has nothing to do with who's in the band."
Simmons concurs, though less enthusiastically. "There are no rules," he says. "Can Kiss continue without us? Sure."
Neither is eyeing retirement and both can envision a 50th anniversary carousal. They credit much of the band's durability to their own sturdy partnership.
"We share a strong work ethic," Stanley says. "It starts with that. Being bright doesn't hurt. We come from similar backgrounds: European Jews who left their homelands to avoid being gassed."
Their bond has been tested over the decades, most seriously in the 1980s, "when I sold my soul to Hollywood," Simmons says. "Self-aggrandizement? I'm often guilty of that. Do I think I'm better-looking than I am? Oh, yeah. It's tough for me to walk by a mirror without paying homage to me. Paul's the brother that I never had, but that doesn't mean we agree on everything. He has funny-looking shoes that even Liberace wouldn't wear."
When Stanley wed longtime girlfriend Erin Sutton in 2005, Simmons was barred from the ceremony.
"My wedding was important to me," Stanley says. "I had no qualms about calling Gene up and saying, 'You're not invited.' I couldn't have someone there who insults the tenets of marriage. I don't care how close we are, Gene had no place at my wedding."
Stanley and Erin live in Beverly Hills with their three children, ages 2, 5 and 7, and he has a son, Evan, 19, from an earlier marriage.
Minutes away are Simmons and actress/model Shannon Tweed, who wed in 2011 after 28 years together. The couple and kids Nick, 25, and Sophie, 21, starred in A&E's reality series Gene Simmons Family Jewels.
"I was very bad for decades," says Simmons, notorious for his licentious lifestyle. "I was immature all my life. When you come from nothing and all of a sudden you have the keys to the kingdom, it's like living inside a bakery. And I'm a glutton.
"Shannon is wiser than I am, a better person than I'll ever be. She said, 'It's time to make a choice.' I would compartmentalize the sexual escapades. I was arrogant."
Slipping out of his wisecracking persona, Simmons shares an emotional story about Tweed tricking him into visiting his father's grave, then pulls out his phone to display photos of his kids.
"They are bright and respectful," he beams, then cracks, "They tell me when my breath stinks and when I'm full of hot air."
Stanley marvels at how family values crept into the Kiss crypt.
"During the '80s, I saw Mike and the Mechanics checking into the Sunset Marquis Hotel with strollers and nannies, and I thought it was so uncool," he says. "There's nothing cooler nowadays than having my little kids run up and down the aisle of our private jet or seeing them on the side of the stage in their pajamas."
Kiss is a demanding mistress, and soon will yank the Demon and Starchild from their domestic havens.
"In hindsight, it might have been smarter to be in a band like U2 or the Rolling Stones," Simmons says. "You wear sneakers, a T-shirt, stand still and strum your guitar, thank you very much. There's a workout regimen before we go on tour. You wear eight-inch platform heels for hours, take two hours to put on makeup. On stage, you fly through the air, sometimes 50 feet high, spit fire and walk out drenched in sweat.
"We show up on time. There's no Axl Rose disease, no excuses. We want you to leave and say, 'There is a Santa Claus.' Kiss is real."
