A Shoot and a Work: Kiss, Live at Verizon Centerwww.expressnightout.com
FORGET KISS' CRAPPY 1999 association with WCW, which featured the group mucking up "God of Thunder" on "Nitro" and introducing The Demon, a wrestler based on Gene Simmons' stage persona. The band and sports entertainment really are kindred spirits, sharing a similar storyline, one that includes a spectacular rise, an uncertain fall and a resurrection as PG entertainment for the entire family.
In the 1970s, kids didn't know if professional wrestling was real (a shoot) or fake (a work), and the over-the-top cartoon characters in the ring might as well been real to a child. The same goes for Kiss, whose growth from cult band to cultural icons was helped along by the ongoing mystery of who was behind the spooky makeup, what they were really like when they weren't spitting blood, and was Ace Frehley really from outer space?
So, when singer-guitarist Paul Stanley invoked Stone Cold Steve Austin's name while teaching the multi-generational Kiss Army how to sing "Black Diamond" on Tuesday at Verizon Center, it brought the whole rassin' and rockin' combo together once again. Plus, they share a mostly working-class fan-base — one that often spans from father to son and mother to daughter, all clad in official gear — who really couldn't care what you think about their tastes.
And just as pro wrestling eventually had to admit it was fake, and then evolve into more family-friendly fare, Kiss had to take off the makeup — even though it's back on now — and let people know the faces behind the paint, all while licensing its classic image to appear on every conceivable product, including those things marketed toward kids despite the band's frequently lascivious lyrics.
As wrestling and Kiss evolved with the times, the artistry of the athletes and the musicians were suddenly on display without the added benefit of smoke and mirrors to help create the magic — yet both forms of entertainment have survived and, despite some ups and downs, often thrived to the tune of millions of dollars of income.
Ultimately, that's why Kiss is out on stage for yet another tour — to earn a lot of money. It's pure capitalist art. Kiss' leaders are salesmen first and artists a distant second. It's not so much a musical group anymore but a Vegas show that travels from town to town, and the band will almost certainly be franchised, a la Blue Man Group, when Paul Stanley and Gene Simmons hang it up. (They've already replaced original Kiss members Ace Frehley and Peter Criss while retaining their makeup designs.) Then you'll have multiple Kiss performing acts, playing everywhere from the Strip to Branson, that can entertain the future offspring of the many, many kids who were with their parents at Verizon Center.
Crass? Sure. But Kiss are unapologetic about any of it, and why should they be sorry? We still buy it, just like we still buy into pro wrestling. You wanted the best, you got the best — the hottest marketing and merchandising machine in the land, Kiss!
As long as you accept these parameters, you can enjoy the sight of Stanley, 57, and Simmons, 60, prancing around on stage and basically doing the same show, in pretty much the same outfits, they've engaged in for 35 years. Paul's voice is pitchier, Gene's face is saggier, but what Kiss does is entertain and they do it very well. They're still not great musicians, and the forever-catchy glam-rock songs that once seemed so heavy and mysterious to awe-struck kids in the 1970s now sound light and obvious in 2009 — but so does pro wrestling, whose scripted body blows now look silly in comparison to bloodsports like mixed martial arts.
But no one watches wrestling purely for violence anymore, just as nobody looks to Kiss for songs of high art ("Music From the Elder" excepted, of course). We watch both spectacles because they're familiar and comforting. It's all about the showmanship, the imagery, and we find drama in the small details that emerge from these highly choreographed events.
Like wrestling matches, Kiss concerts must be scripted down to the minute. For instance, every time Stanley mentioned a Kiss album, its cover instantly appeared on the large TV screen at the back of the stage. Plus, you've got the regular concert bits that Kiss has done forever, from the solo spaces for Ace — now played by Tommy Thayer — and drummer Eric Singer — who now plays the Cat character — to Simmons' trademark spotlights. He still blows fire after "Hotter Than Hell" (not much of a flame in D.C., though) and he still does a bass "solo" — noise, really — while drooling blood. Simmons was also cable-yanked up to a platform high above the stage, where he then performed "I Love It Loud." It was an impressive physical display by the sexagenarian — no pun intended, though Simmons has almost certainly heavily breathed that pasty joke before.
But the greatest thing about Kiss' live staging isn't the band's synchronized body-rocking, or when Stanley jumped on a ring and cable then zip-lined across the audience to a platform in the arena's center to perform "Love Gun." No, the best part of the script, and the show, are Paul Stanley's song introductions, which are routinely, and unintentionally, hilarious. Stanley's solicitous patter is part carny barker, part earnest salesman, part pied-piper of partying. And everything is said in a voice that sounds like Bea Arthur on meth and helium: scratchy, excited and really high-pitched.
Stanley even cut a wrestling-style promo — aka, an on-mic insult. "This is where all the news is from — current affairs, world events," he said to the D.C. crowd before trashing bands who discuss the environment and politics on stage. "We're here tonight to escape!" he squealed. Then Kiss broke into "Rock and Roll All Nite," accompanied by a blizzard of canon-blasted confetti.
So many genius things came out of Stanley's mouth that it was hard to get it all down on paper, but a partial list is below. And if none of these statements are funny to you, it's because you're not reading them in Paul Stanley's voice, which means you haven't meditated on 70-straight minutes of his song intros.
» Stanley remembered playing the the Cap Centre and The Bayou in Georgetown, adding "I'm surprised I didn't have to spend any nights in jail!"
» He thanked all the "D.C. people!" who bought Kiss' new album, "Sonic Boom," which is a Walmart exclusive. He then introduced its first single, "Modern Day Delilah," by saying, "All the classics aren't necessarily old. We just did an album of classics called 'Sonic Boom!' ... You may have heard this one on the radio!" (!!!)
» When the D.C. crowd booed Paul's mention of Philly from the night before, the gentle Starchild let them know, "It's all right, D.C.! It's good to be proud where you're from!"
» The song "100,000 Years" was intro'd classically: "We're doing a lot of classics. This is one of the classics of classics. We got songs, we've got classics, and we've got classics of classics!" (!!!)
» "100,000 Years" devolved into a uneventful drum solo with Singer alone on stage. Later, Pitchy Paul came back out and screeched, "I want my guitar!" and was soon joined by the rest of the band in a long, flat improvisation that had Stanley exclaiming, "Oh, baby! That sounds good!" (Jazzbo Jones was not impressed, but the audience ate up every obvious lick.)
» Kiss started to blend "Lick It Up" into The Who's "Baba O'Riley," right up to and including the legendary, "YEEAH!" scream. With great anticipation it seemed like Kiss would follow through and cover an all-time classic of rock radio — but instead of singing Who lyrics, Paul dug deep from his bag o' patter and said, "D.C., I need you to clap your hands!" The statement was as anticlimactic as it reads, and the song petered back into "Lick It Up."
» Paul remembered growing up in New York City and coming to D.C. to visit the Lincoln Memorial and the Washington Monument. He then said, "Never did I dream this would be like a second home!" (!!!)
» He introduced "Cold Gin," which usually gets a pro-alcohol talk-up, with the responsible warning to "Don't drink and drive!" (!!!)
» As an introduction to the final song, "Detroit Rock City," Paul rubbed his philosopher's stone and came up with this wisdom: "Being in a rock city is a state of mind! It's believing what you believe in and not caring what anybody says!"
That last statement is pretty much a body-slam summation of the genius of Kiss.
