Reading Crackity’s post about his first album (and subsequent awesome posts about music in general) and seeing the KISS billboard the other day got me thinking about my first self-induced dive into the pool of rock.
I was about 7 years old and had saved up enough allowance for a chemical reaction to occur, thus burning a hole in my pocket. My mother took me to the then-regional store called Wal-Mart to find something. I immediately headed for the music section.
I knew nothing about music other than what my parents owned, which I wouldn’t really begin to appreciate until 13 years later (though I still don’t appreciate Barry Manilow). I wanted something for me, something cooler than The Country Bears. I scanned the record albums hoping for that something to catch my eye, and that’s when I saw the cool cartoon guys.
I really didn’t know anything about rock ‘n’ roll, I really didn’t know anything about kabuki makeup and religious controversy, and I sure as hell didn’t know what “Put your hand in my pocket, grab onto my rocket” meant. But I did love the album cover — they looked like superheroes to me — and I wanted in on the game.
And because my parents aren’t like 99% of small-town Missouri (“I can’t believe you listen to them … my parents told me the name stands for Knights in Satan’s Service!”) my mother let me buy the album. I’m almost positive it was less than $5.
“Rock and Roll Over” was KISS’ second album in 1976, and was supposed to be a return to their roots after the somewhat experimental “Destroyer.” I didn’t know any of this, either … I just knew that the moment I put the needle down I was a changed man (err, kid). The album opens with “I Want You,” which lulls you a bit with the slow, acoustic opening then rips your lungs out when the jam kicks in. It has the hits “Calling Dr. Love” and “Hard Luck Woman,” and the super-head-bobbin’ “Take Me” and “Makin’ Love.” I think 4/5 of the album is about getting laid, which I was oblivious to as I played it over and over again. Even now, I think this is one of their most-rockin’ albums (Note: All KISS albums after “Dynasty” are dead to me — they broke my 10-year-old heart with “Unmasked,” and I completely gave up when they took their makeup off on MTV, a network I’ve never liked since.)
Addicted from the start, I became a loyal fan (though never an official member of the Army) once I saw the gatefold photo of “Alive II.” I faithfully wore the free tattoos to school. I played the pinball machine at 7-Eleven. I got T-shirts and other clothes — there’s still a Mother’s Day card I made that features me in my Webelos uniform, sporting my Destroyer belt buckle. I watched “KISS Meets the Phantom of the Park” whenever I could. I tried to become Gene Simmons. I wanted to spit blood. I wanted to blow shit up.
Anything else I listened to at this time in my life was directly related to KISS traits those performers had, which led me to some decent music. I started listening to The Who because they also destroyed their instruments. I got into Alice Cooper because he wore makeup and seemed to be on KISS’ plane of existence. I opened my mind to the Rolling Stones because KISS covered “2000 Man.” I dug David Bowie because he had the theatrics thing down … and also wore makeup. I spent hours imitating their moves, channeling the rage of rock ‘n’ roll and feeling larger than life, even showing off my dangerous moves for my baby-sitters’ hot friends (I was damn sexy with a Giant Tinkertoy bass guitar). Only a lack of musical skills (and patience for lessons) prevented me from becoming a total rock god.
KISS also helped set the stage of my future musical fandom. I usually gravitate toward bands who are passionate about their work, put everything into their albums and shows and make you feel like part of something, which is why I later got into punk. You can say what you want about the well-oiled KISS merchandising machine, but they truly loved what they did and they truly love their fans — hell, they even fought Dr. Doom and printed a comic book about it in their own blood! I know Black Flag never did that, but they did have the same hard-working, give-it-all-you-got-for-the-fans mentality (especially Henry Rollins who, like Gene Simmons, leads an alcohol- and drug-free life). KISS also saved me from being a hair-metal kid. Their makeup stunt on MTV pissed me off so much, I rejected the metal genre entirely — save for a brief lapse (fuck you, I like Ratt) — and started buying albums by other weirdoes like Devo, Sparks and Gary Numan. (Unfortunately, I also in my disgust gave away much of my KISS merchandise … that damn Destroyer belt buckle just moved on eBay for $76!)
Maybe because they were such an integral part of my youth, I’ll never stop thinking KISS is cool. I didn’t get to see them in concert the first time around (damnit, Mom!), but when they reunited and put on the makeup in 1996 I was at the Denver show, singing every song with thousands of nostalgia-seekers my age, throwing the devil sign every time there was fire and screaming every time we saw blood. I still bang my head when I hear the opening chords to “Detroit Rock City.” I still get body chills hearing the explosions go off during the “Alive II” version of “Shout it Out Loud.” I still make evil faces during “God of Thunder.” I still want to hang out with Gene Simmons and wear his dragon boots, maybe even try my hand at spitting fire. I still sometimes consider getting that skin under my tongue cut.
Most importantly, I still love music and still lose my mind when I hear something that truly moves me. Even when I’m drowning in stress and anxiety (read: the past 12 months) I can still put on some tunage I love and forget that what we’ve collectively designated as “the real world” sucks. And most of the time I still don’t give a shit what people think about me … one of the greatest gifts I got from my childhood KISS exploits. I never got the cool-ass transistor radio or the make-up set, but I get did the attitude and the spirit of rock ‘n’ roll.
And one of these days I’ll get the blood capsules, I swear.
sid world headquarters
