We all know what to expect at a KISS concert. There will be smoke and confetti, flash pots and fireworks. Paul Stanley, his trademark black star painted over his right eye, will be standing center stage, as Ace Frehley struts across the stage in his silver platform boots. Peter Criss will come out from behind the drums to sing "Beth," and Gene Simmons will soar above the stage, spitting blood like some oversized Kabuki demon.
As always, general KISSteria will ensue.
Ever since it was announced that all four original members would once again be donning face paint and hitting the road, the KISS army has been on the march again. And you'd be surprised how many rockers have joined up.
Since starting its tour in June, KISS has been packing arenas from coast to coast, bringing in an average of $690,924 a night. Through it all, the band has managed to maintain the highest profile in popular music. Their painted faces have turned up everywhere, from Entertainment Weekly to Spin to the firework-fueled finale of the "MTV Video Music Awards." The band even made the cover of Forbes recently.
It isn't just the fans who are excited, either. Over the past six or seven years, it has become surprisingly popular for big-name rock stars to admit to being hard-core KISSaholics. Trent Reznor said he kept a tiny Gene Simmons figure in the studio for inspiration while recording the Nine Inch Nails album "The Downward Spiral." Lars Ulrich of Metallica, Dean Dinning of Toad the Wet Sprocket, and the late Kurt Cobain were all KISS Army recruits.
To cop a phrase from one of its early albums, KISS is "Hotter Than Hell."
It wasn't always this way. Enlisting in the KISS Army may be hot now, but there was a time when the phrase, "Yeah, and you probably like KISS, too," was one of the coldest insults a rock fan could hurl.
Even in the glory days, when "Rock and Roll All Nite" was in the charts and on the radio, admitting to being a KISS fan was almost an invitation to disrespect. Reviled by critics and dismissed by hipsters, KISS was widely seen as a group no one over the age of 12 could possibly take seriously.
David McGee remembers those days. Back in 1975, he was working for the trade journal Record World, when representatives from KISS's record label tried to drum up some interest in the band.
"Obviously, they were trying to get the trades behind them," he says. "But I was the only one in the office that would go to see 'em."
