KISS “Psycho Circus”
For about a decade -- between 1980 and 1990 -- a Kiss hamper sat in the corner of my childhood bedroom. I guess it was not technically a hamper because it had no lid. Really, it was just an aluminum cylinder into which I tossed my dirty clothes, but which I never touched. In fact, I generally tried to avert my gaze from it. It was ghoulish and terrifying. I could not see the star power or the science fiction or the glam. All I saw was blood. I honestly have no idea how it got there. Neither of my parents were fans of the band. And, for most of the 80s, I could not name a single song by them. But, I was too afraid to get rid of it, secretly assuming that if I did, Kiss would return in spirit form, with twice the bloodlust. So, it just sat there, used but strenuously avoided, until 1991, when I replaced it with a New York Giants laundry bin. To this day, I’m not sure what my mother did with that demon hamper, but I hope she buried it deep.
As music success stories go, Kiss’ is perhaps the most unconventional. They’ve had thirty Gold albums, more than any other band before or since. They’ve had fourteen Platinum albums. A 1977 Gallup poll named them the most popular band in America. Gene Simmons is reportedly one of the twenty wealthiest living musicians. Paul Stanley is not far behind. Their legend will survive many years after much greater bands have been forgotten. They were more likely to be seen on screens or in comics than heard on the radio. And Kiss is also, without a doubt, the most successful band about which I know the least. Aside from the live version of “Rock and Roll All Nite,” I had not ever willingly listened to a Kiss song until quite recently. I’d heard about “Beth” and her soapy Rock opera. I’d wrongly assumed that “New York Groove” was a Kiss deep cut (I now know that it was a cover on the Ace Frehley solo album from 1978). In the 80s, I’d changed the channel when the band came on MTV, unmasked, for the “Lick it Up” video. In the 90s, I played “Black Diamond” quite a bit, but the version I enjoyed was The Replacements cover from “Let it Be.” Whatever it was -- fear, pretension, timing -- Kiss was simply not a part of my life. They were the most famous band I ignored. They were just a brand of hamper that, for reasons I still don’t understand, my mother deposited into the corner my bedroom.
It seems unthinkable that now, in middle age, I would insert myself into a story that started almost fifty years ago. There’s just too much to consider and it would be a cold start. Additionally, any time I spend with Kiss could be more time I spent with their ostensible peers -- AC/DC or Mott the Hoople or Thin Lizzy. And, by most accounts, Kiss’ music is the inferior product. That being said, it feels wrong to imagine myself as an earnest student of Rock music and not immerse myself in Kiss at some point. No matter how much I might discount their songs or albums, I cannot avoid their gargantuan commercial success. I also cannot dismiss the oversized influence the band has had on many Rock bands formed by Generation X. Perhaps more than anything else, though, I cannot get around the uncanny, mercenary, capitalistic spirit that drove Gene Simmons, specifically, and the band, in general. Much to the chagrin of Peter and Ace, and to the concern of Paul, Gene conceived of the band as a brand and as a corporation. Kiss’ product was Rock and Roll. But their mission and vision was profit.
Mostly on the basis of their indisputable corporate success, I eventually dug in. I spent time with every album -- studio and concert -- from the first quarter century. That’s the self-titled debut from 1974 through “Psycho Circus,” the inevitable, possibly disingenuous, reunion from 1998. I listened to most of the albums only once, spending more time with the singles and fan-recommended deep cuts. Along the way, I returned to “Destroyer,” “Lick it Up,” “Animalize” and, surprisingly, “Psycho Circus.” I read heaps of reviews and watched concert videos to get a tiny sense of the spectacle. And, after a month or so in the Kiss multiverse, I was impressed by the relative consistency of their output. With only a couple of exceptions, everything is derivative, but very well made. The alley they live in is between Hard Rock, Metal, Glam and Shlock is narrow, but it’s exceptionally well lit and familiar. Kiss never strays far from home and they constantly test small, but important, market-friendly adjustments. The scale of their output is impressive to the point of being staggering. The quality lands somewhere between gratifying and underwhelming. But, nobody in the world, including me, is interested in my take on the music of Kiss. It’s too complex and historic a text to assess late and on short notice.
As a critic, I would be wholly unqualified to analyze Kiss. I’m inexperienced, bordering on ignorant. I proudly prefer many of their peers. In fact, I’d say that I’m a little cynical about both the form (surprisingly plain) and function (to create value for Kiss Inc.) of their songs and albums. I’m not from the Heartland of America, where Kiss provided disproportionate cultural value in the 1970s. I don’t read comic books. And I’m highly suspicious of Gene and Paul’s politics. So, for the better part of this essay, I’ll take off my critic’s hat, which generally feels like a costume anyways. Instead, I wanted to consider Kiss, the company, and Gene and Paul, the entrepreneurs. I’m a start-up guy. I’ve owned and operated businesses. I think a lot about the decisions that I’ve made that have either helped create value, or not; those times when I effectively predicted market demand or responded to it and those times when I grossly misjudged something and fell flat. I’ve got a couple of trophies and a lot of scars from my work life. And, as interesting as I find Kiss’ music, I find their businesses at least doubly so.
To be clear, my intent here is not craven or insincere. I am genuinely interested in Paul and, especially Gene, as entrepreneurs. As makers of music, they’ve been incredibly successful. However, they’ve been titans as merchandisers, branders and innovators. Gene and Paul are acutely aware of their interest and skills. Gene once said: “We’re not a great rock band. The musicianship is average, maybe even below, but in a year we’re going to be the biggest band in the world. I didn’t mean our music is average,” just “intentionally easily accessible. We don’t try to make the music too complex and too self-indulgent so that our fans can understand it.” Meanwhile, Paul only slightly equivocates: “We’re not making art. We’re playing rock and roll, and rock and roll is a not-thinking kind of music. There’s an art to projecting a fantasy to 2 or 3 million people. There’s an art to selling out 20,000-seat halls every night.” Gene, however, wrapped a bow on the discussion in 2002 to The A.V. Club: “Immediately, I saw that we were a rock ‘n’ roll brand, not just a rock ‘n’ roll band. See, the rest of the guys with guitars around their neck want credibility. I don’t want credibility.”
And the product speaks for itself. In addition to the Gold and Platinum albums, there are the movies, the TV shows, the comics, the action figures, the apparel, the condoms, the pinball machines, the lunchboxes, the mini-golf course and, obviously, the hampers. Kiss Inc. is massive and reaches far beyond their core fanbase. The corporation is also my way into the story. It’s where I can find insight amid a body of music that, candidly, I will never fully appreciate. And so, under that premise, I reflected back on the twenty most impactful business decisions from the first twenty five years of Kiss.
Make-up: Without question, the single most important business decision Kiss ever made was the donning of make-up in service of their iconic characters in early 1973. To hear the first Kiss album is to hear a band with a sliver of T Rex’s style and fraction of Thin Lizzy’s craft. In 1973, they had virtually nothing to add musically to a world that already had The New York Dolls, AC/DC and Mott the Hoople. But, with the masks on, America got a band that was more theatrical than Queen and more lovable than Alice Cooper. I consider the make-up to be one of the greatest business hypotheses in the history of Rock and Roll, alongside the power chord, Marshall amps and four track recording.
Orchestral Rock: “Destroyer” from 1976, repositioned Kiss closer to Meat Loaf and the hearts of their more sensitive fans. “Do You Love Me,” “Beth” and the strings and schmaltz added scale and heart where previously there was not enough. They also served to distract from Peter Criss’ plodding drums. Taken together, these changes expanded their audience, shifted the competition and helped achieve greater product market fit.
Solo albums: In 1978, all four members of Kiss released Platinum-selling solo albums. The marketing budget for this unprecedented enterprise was as bloated as the expectations. Today, these records are cut out bin staples at record stores. None of them were especially good and, I suspect, the labels only survived the decision because the products were non-returnable. That all being said, the idea has endured as a compelling branding exercise and it introduced the notion that each character could support their own merchandising lines. This ambitious move did not create a lot of short term value but I it has proven surprisingly prescient the further away we get from it. See: Boy Bands.
Comics: What was an obvious and inevitable move in 1977 -- turn the band into actual comic book characters -- proved to be a wise, long term business proposition. It’s not that the comic books made the band a lot of money, but rather that they situated them within the comic universe, where avid fans and collectors got hooked on Kiss for life.
“KISS Meets Phantom of the Park”: This campy, sci-fi film from 1978 was a commercial and critical disaster. It lost tons of money and was not funny enough to warrant ironic laughs or thrills. That being said, it flirted with science fiction around the time of “Star Wars” and made sense as a hedge against the purely cartoonish image of comic books. I would consider this a noble, if failed, experiment.
Pinball: Early on, Kiss had action figures and trading cards and lunchboxes, but their pièce de résistance arrived in 1979. Predictably, it was an instant classic, illuminating arcades and bars all around the country. In addition to being one of the most successful pinball machines of the 1980s, Kiss’ game set the stage for their future in video games and amusement parks. An excellent product, a sensible business hypothesis and, even today, a darn good game.
Disco: “I Was Made for Lovin’ You” is a great single with some unexpected boogie in its bottom. Looking back, I am certain that I’d heard this song many times before without knowing it was Kiss. “Dynasty” is far from a Disco album, but the addition of Anton Fig on drums and the cowtailing to the trends, albeit one year too late, was an act of commercial necessity. Kiss’ broad popularity was at stake in 1979 and, without the Disco hit, it is unlikely that they could have sustained momentum. This was an unflinching act of corporate preservation. I don’t applaud it, but I do admire it. And it was a heck of a single.
Replacing Peter Criss: This was a no brainer. Criss was a fairly terrible drummer to begin with and was seemingly getting worse. The Catman had the most human voice of the quartet, which helped on the ballads. But, he also weighed the band down whenever they needed to lift off. Listening to those early albums, all I can hear is the plodding beat, undoing any pace or dynamic. For a couple of albums, the band included Criss’ photo on their packaging and kept him on salary for tours. They ultimately opted to replace his character with The Fox, which was probably a mistake for narrative continuity. They let the turmoil fester for a year too long. But, in the end, the co-CEOs made the right decision.
The Elder: A nonsensical concept album to a movie that was never made (though, as of 2014, somebody was trying to adapt it to the screen) wherein Kiss decided to explore English Folk music and Prog Rock. The results were possibly worse than that last sentence sounds. “The Elder” is a universally despised album. Even the band hated it. Candidly, 1981 -- the year Kenny Rogers, Hall & Oates and Eddie Rabbit -- was not going to be kind to Kiss. But this album threatened their existence. Fortunately, they quickly pivoted.
Heavy Metal: Starting with “Creatures of the Night” and with the help of Eric Carr and Vinnie Vincent, Kiss turned their focus towards the New Wave of English Metal. They got tighter, faster and more ferocious. Without the albatross of Criss’ drumming, this version of the band sounds every bit as fierce as Iron Maiden, just older and with more of a wink. Whereas the original Kiss was mostly an average Album Oriented Rock band, version 2.0 was a high end Metal band and probably the uncredited pioneers of American Hair Metal. This shift was critical without being disruptive and helped transition the band into a new phase of their career.
Replacing Ace Frehley: This was a tough one. The Spaceman was not an obvious musical liability but he was apparently not as disciplined as Gene or Paul needed him to be. Ultimately, I can’t argue with success and, without Ace, the band was able to unmask and rise again as an elite Metal band, unencumbered by gimmicks.
Unmasking: It simply had to be done. Smoke and mirrors briefly obscured their musical liabilities but, with Ace and Peter gone, the time had come. Plus, there was no way that MTV, who was obsessed with the new, was going to put Kiss on, in their make up, next to Prince and Duran Duran in their make up. The unmasking was a great PR event and a calculated survival tactic. Because they’d already taken a step towards faster, louder Metal, the move also added credibility to their improved playing. It could have been a disaster, but it proved to be almost the opposite.
Hair Metal: Along with Quiet Riot and, in more obscure circles, The New York Dolls, Kiss invented Hair Metal back in 1973, but did not receive proper credit. By the early 80s, it was Quiet Riot and Mötley Crüe that were considered fountainheads, while Kiss was more of a Classic Rock holdover. Ever true to the market, Kiss got a little glammier and a little randier and had a huge hit with “Lick it Up.” For half a decade, they had a rightful home on “Headbanger’s Ball,” sharing hairsprayed oxygen with Ratt, Bon Jovi, Cinderella, Dokken and the like. Shrewd, but also, well deserved.
Mainstream Rock: “Crazy Nights,” from 1987, begins an awkward early middle-age for the band that was smart enough to see the end of the line for Hair Metal but not progressive enough to know what was on the other side. They had an accidental hit at the end of the 80s with a song written by Michael Bolton. And they replaced the wall of guitars with more synths, occasionally trying to sound like Bruce Springsteen. It didn’t work. This period was marked by a regression in profits and relevance. These were the lean years for Kiss Inc.
Unplugged: In 1995, the year after Dylan, The Eagles and Plant and Page performed, Kiss played an all acoustic set for MTV. It came after several years of relative inactivity for the band and also featured the return of Frehley and Criss for several classics. The move simultaneously canonized the band as important artists, worthy of a sit down evening, and as the object of great speculation -- would the original quartet reunite?! The Unplugged performance helped drive up catalogue sales and kicked off the beginning of a third act, defined by middle age and nostalgia.
KISStory: Four hundred and forty pages. Nine pounds. An instant collectible for fans plus an excuse to launch an elaborate book tour. It checked every box of in the fan service and product launch checklist. I think they’re still printing new editions of this for young Boomers and old Gen Xers. Mission accomplished.
KISS Conventions: It was just a matter of time before Kiss got big enough to graduate from Comic-Con and stand alongside Star Trek. In 1995, it happened: cover bands, memorabilia, autograph signings and fans for the flames of a full-fledged reunion of Gene, Paul, Ace and Peter. These events exploited nostalgia for profit. But also they served to further titrate Kiss to the comic and science fiction markets. Well played.
Reunion Tour: Inevitable, but exciting nonetheless. Conan O’Brien emceed a press conference announcing the Kiss Alive World Tour, which became the highest grossing music draw of the year. They played one hundred and ninety two shows and delayed their final unmasked album to make room for the first of many victory laps. Having seen some of the concert footage, I can confirm that the decision to reunite was not musically driven. The Catman did not get better with age. But, commercially, it was perfect product market fit.
Remasking: Gene, Paul, Ace and Peter are fine looking men and all, but, honestly, I’m not sure who was interested in seeing them without make-up in 1996 — maybe their wives and kids? So, the band did exactly what they needed to do — they put the costumes back on and assumed the old avatars. They quietly released one last unmasked album, “Carnival of Souls,” and put their naked era to bed. For the rest of eternity, Kiss would be iconic cartoons, projected onto large screens and printed onto merchandise in every Target and Walmart in America.
Psycho Circus: This isn’t where the story ends, but, for me, it’s where I got off the train. “Psycho Circus” was meant to be Kiss’ final album. It was marketed as a proper reunion, but, in reality, it was nothing of the sort. Ace appears on four songs and Peter appears on two. Released in 1998, the title echoes the clown-core of its predecessor, “Carnival of Souls.” These were the high days of Nu Metal -- Limp Bizkit, Marilyn Manson, Staind and the like. White Zombie was on their way out but Insane Clown Posse were lurking in Detroit. The lines between Horror and Metal were blurring and I was interested in exactly none of it.
Given the names of those late 90s Kiss records, and their recent nostalgia liquidation sales, my expectations of “Psycho Circus” were exceedingly low. I imagined record scratching, ear splitting screams and electronic beats. I pictured the four men, repainted in red, white and black. Amazingly, though, I was entirely wrong. In spite of its title, “Psycho Circus” bears zero resemblance to Nu Metal. I should have known that I had nothing to fear. Kiss is a corporation first and a band a distant second. And this corporation protects its brand and its shareholders. To this end, their eighteenth studio album is a completely digestible, totally familiar update on Kiss’ sound. It takes their market-tested ingredients, spins them around the carousel, and adds a dash of Foo Fighters and a pinch of Ozzy. Like most Kiss albums, this one excites occasionally and passes comfortably. But, also like most Kiss albums, this was not made for critics or new fans. It was made for loyal customers.
“Psycho Circus” opens with a drunk Wurlitzer and the eerie warble of a haunted house. But, once the guitars and vocals kick in, it sounds almost exactly like Dave Grohl’s band with Black Sabbath’s original lead singer. Paul’s vocals squeal, in a good way, and are piled up high. The rhythm guitar has a heaviness to it that sounds almost like Grunge. Kiss had a knack for melody, and the chorus on the title track and Gene’s “Within,” both have anthemic flair. Unlike Gene and Paul, Dave Grohl is interested in vulnerability and catharsis. And so, his breakthrough singles like “Everlong” and “My Hero,” which sound a good deal like “Psycho Circus,” have a humanity that Kiss lacks. No matter how hard they try, Paul and Gene sound more interested in their fans and their brand than they do in any deeper personal truths. The cost of their conservative investment strategy is that the lows do not feel low and the highs feel measured. The benefit, however, is gratification and confidence for longtime fans. If you love Kiss, you may not get exactly what you want from their new music, but (“The Elder” notwithstanding) you will certainly get something close.
While the first two tracks on “Psycho Circus” have a sinister, trippy vibe that vaguely honors the album’s title, they quickly shift into cruise control. The heart of the record offers a little something for everyone. To be clear, nothing about it sounds lazy or phoned in. It sounds admirably measured and professional. “I Pledge Allegiance to the State of Rock & Roll” is precisely what you’d expect. Part AC/DC. Part New York Dolls. But also kind of modern. It’s an instant concert staple and it would have sounded just fine on the radio in 1998. But, twenty five years in, Kiss didn’t give a shit about airplay. They had tickets and merch to sell and this particular song title looked great printed on just about anything.
“We Are One” is Simmons’ Jangle Rock anthem for the fans. With all of his girlfriends and movies and investments, it is hard to fathom how Gene had time for songwriting. But, I’ll be damned -- this one is a winner. It’s the song that Poison wishes that could have written. Not only is it a cheesy as shit love song to their customers, it’s got the sound of a commercial jingle. If Kiss ever made a cola, this would be its theme song.
Against all odds, all four original members get together to sustain the good vibrations on the next track, “You Wanted the Best.” Gene, Paul, Ace and Peter trade verses on a foot stomper that really does sound like classic, mid-70s Kiss. In a song about putting aside petty grievances for the benefit of the company, Gene and Paul still couldn’t find a way to let Peter play drums. It’s a decision that undoubtedly served the song, but cut against the spirit of the reunion. The climax of the album is played straight otherwise and it’s a reminder that, on average, Kiss were better than The Crüe and Poison and Winger. But, also, that they really never got weird or innovative enough to achieve what GNR or AC/DC or Zeppelin did. At the time, this song likely signified something hopeful to the Kiss Army. The reality, however, was more pragmatic. Ace and Peter were hired hands. They wanted the paycheck and Gene and Paul wanted brand cogency. Most of “Psycho Circus,” and especially the strongest moments, are handled by Kevin Valentine on drums and Tommy Thayer on lead guitar.
In the second half, Stanley invites Peter to sing on “I Finally Found my Way,” an oddly touching piano ballad that evokes Meat Loaf and Steinman. Criss’ voice, weakened with age, can’t carry the high parts, and so the orchestra helps him pick him up. That combination of vocal strain and orchestral grandeur kind of works. Kiss is oddly moving in the very rare instances that they try to sound like regular guys. Although it’s not exactly a sequel to “Beth,” it’s certainly a callback. And, if it’s the last Kiss song that Criss sings on, it’s a touching farewell.
“Psycho Circus” closes with “Dreamin’” and “Journey of 1,000 Years.” By this point, Ace and Peter are on the sidelines. With the “A team” on the field, Paul returns to his Modern Metal vibe and then finishes up with an orchestral coda that faintly recalls “November Rain.” Given the album’s title, a turn into B-movie Horror or Nu Metal was to be expected. But the surprise of “Psycho Circus” is that it never goes there. It spends the middle of the album with familiar modes — fan service and middle-aged reflection. All of it pretty good to very good. Meanwhile, the first and last tracks are far less convincing, but serve as a reminder of the band’s extraordinary influence and competence. Without Peter and Ace around, Kiss sounds a good deal like the 90s bands who grew up on them -- Foo Fighters, Soundarden, Guns N’ Roses and, even, Weezer. Moreover, they don’t sound like they are straining for youthful relevance. That’s just how their songs, with that equipment, in 1998 sounded. If anything, you can hear how those younger, more critically admired bands strived to sound like Kiss.
Though it debuted near the top of the charts, was a certified Gold record and spawned a massively successful reunion tour, “Psycho Circus” has been largely discounted since its release. Critics, who were never inclined towards Kiss to begin with, pointed to the insincerity of a “reunion album” that barely reunited its members. To casual fans and cynics, it had the stink of cheap commerce. Die-hards found plenty of reason to celebrate but the more modern tracks strayed a bit too far and there was rightful discussion about the treatment of Ace and Peter.
Within a few years, infighting boiled over again. Frehley’s contract was not renewed. And, soon after, Criss suffered the same fate. By 2004, The Spaceman and The Catman were still onstage with Kiss, but their parts were played by younger, less conflicted, understudies. As a result of the drama, all four original members appear to wince when they look back on “Psycho Circus.” Gene and Paul only hear an album that would have been better served without Ace and Peter. And Ace and Peter only hear the disingenuousness of a half hearted reunion. It’s a sad, and unfair, assessment of an album that is almost certainly better than its reputation.
While I was gutting my way through a quarter century of Kiss, I was also spending too much time watching old concert footage and interview clips on Youtube. Most of it is what you’d expect -- spectacle, bravado and characters playing their parts. But, in recent years, Gene, in particular, has been more revealing. His business ventures have made the news, as have his politics, given his apparent affection for the host of “Celebrity Apprentice.” It’s always a bit of a shock to see him on TV, unmasked, nearing seventy, tan and with a thicket of dyed, jet black hair. Onstage, Gene appears to be seven feet tall. In truth, he is only six feet, two inches. He’s a tall man, but not as tall as The Demon, or as his much taller father or son. Though he is still rather hulking, he also appears humbled by his public infidelities and the passage of time. It’s been many years since “Psycho Circus,” when Kiss last operated like a contemporary Rock band. Today, they are almost pure nostalgia -- a brand that signifies the vintage, starry eyed dreams of little boys, in the bodies of grown men, draped in the costumes of science fiction heroes and monsters.
Gene’s mother survived Nazi concentration camps and escaped to Israel. She moved to New York with her son (but without her husband) when he was just eight years old. He was fully entranced by The City, in particular, and America, in general. Even today, he’s a true believer. The Statue of Liberty, the American Flag, The Constitution -- all of these symbols apparently still move Kiss’ bassist to tears. As a boy, he was a reader of comics and science fiction and enthralled with The Beatles. His origin story is not unlike that of millions -- probably tens of millions -- of Americans born after the second World War. Gene was an immigrant and the son of an immigrant. But he felt deeply, profoundly, genetically American. He was spellbound by America. He believed that if you had a dream and if you worked relentlessly at it, that dream would come true. Inversely, he knew, in every fiber of his body, that if you relented, or if you gave up your dreams, that they would all go away. His loyalty to these notions went beyond evangelism. It is almost rabbinical. Freedom and capitalism and big dreams and hard work are Gene Simmons’ scriptures.
While I don’t have great insight into Kiss’ music -- at least not any that is additive to the discourse -- I think I did find my way into Kiss Inc. Gene was born to be a great American CEO. He had oversized faith and ambition. He worked constantly in pursuit of his dreams. And he managed his products and marketing with a silver spike-studded iron fist. He had gained everything and knew, better than most, how much there was to lose. So, as wild as the band appeared, his company was more systematic. For Gene, any risk to Kiss -- critics, drugs, jealousy, trends, competition -- was not merely a threat to the band. It was a threat to America.