nude highway driving

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.