The Best and the Worst: Lead Singers

The heart and soul of any successful rock band is the lead singer (or as he's often called, the prima donna man-whore).  Throughout rock and roll history, lead vocalists have ranged from the soft-toned Graham Russell and Russell Hitchcock of Air Supply (okay, I'm using the term "rock and roll" very loosely) to the harsh and garbled howling of Pearl Jam's Eddie Vedder. 

Today, we're going to look at the best and the worst of rock's famous frontmen.  Before we begin, though, a few disclaimers are in order.  First, I'm only choosing singers from reasonably well-known bands.  Yes, I realize the lead singer from The Vines is absolutely horrific, and I'm sure there's some anonymous garage band in Hackensack with a vocalist who sends the neighborhood dogs into spastic convulsions.  I'm not going to waste our time with those losers.

The second disclaimer is this:

When we get to the "worst" singers, this is by no means an assessment of the particular band in question.  In fact, some of the best bands in history have had less-than-stellar lead vocalists (I'm looking at YOU, Rush).  But taken out of context, the talent of my five worst singers is - at best - marginal.  Oh, and one more thing, we're only going to be looking at frontmen for bands, not solo artists.  So no whining about me leaving Springsteen out of the conversation.  Argue amongst yourselves as to whether he'd be among the best or the worst.

Without any further ado, we'll begin with the five best singers in the entire history of rock and roll. 

THE BEST

1. Freddie Mercury (Queen)
Freddie was one of a kind, a unique talent with an amazing vocal range.  He could bring an audience to tears with a ballad like "Save Me" and then turn right around and blow the roof off the arena with an anthem like "Bohemian Rhapsody".  Even at his most raucous, he never crossed over into the world of "screaming"; his voice was always under control and on pitch.  Plus, he was exceptional during Queen's live performances, commanding the stage like a Broadway star, not "just" a rock singer.  No doubt, Freddie was the best of the best.



2. Robert Plant (Led Zeppelin)
Like Mercury, Robert Plant could sing anything.  Hell, "Stairway to Heaven" alone is more stylistically diverse then the entire repertoire of a band like, say, KISS.  Not that there's anything wrong with KISS, mind you, but after awhile their music just becomes a mish-mash of three-chord sex songs.  By any standard, Led Zeppelin will always rank among the top three or four rock bands in history.  You don't do that with a mediocre singer (unless you're AC/DC, which we'll be discussing in just a few minutes).  Plant's voice is distinctive, and for my money, the definitive sound of rock and roll.  

3. Sting (The Police)

Before he decided to shun bandmates Stewart Copeland and Andy Summers and embark on an iffy solo career, Gordon Sumner (aka "Sting") and the Police were probably the most easily-identifiable band of the early 1980's.  Their music was a unique blend of new-wave and reggae, and hits like "Every Breath You Take" and "Every Little Thing She Does is Magic" provided a ubiquitous soundtrack for high school proms across the country (and also in England, if they have proms there).  Personally, I'm a fan of early Police -- I'll take "Roxanne" and "Can't Stand Losing You" over "King of Pain" any day -- but there really isn't a "bad" Police album (though in fairness, they only made five).  All in all they were an outstanding band, a unique talent in an era that brought us dreck like Culture Club and A Flock of Seagulls. 

4. Roger Daltrey (The Who)
Although I wouldn't necessarily call myself a Who fan, there's no denying the band's place in rock and roll history.  They're one of the few bands who had incredibly skillful musicians on guitar, bass, and drums along with an exceptional singer.  As I hinted at earlier, Rush is probably the best band musically, but I can't listen to more than a couple of their songs back to back before Geddy Lee's voice starts to grate on my nerves.  On the other hand, the chick singer for Paramore whose name I'm far to lazy to look up right now has a great voice, but the band is just so-so and all their songs tend to sound alike.  When you're talking about bands that combine instrumental virtuosity and outstanding vocals, you're pretty much down to The Who, Led Zeppelin, and depending on personal taste, Metallica.  So, Roger Daltry clocks in at number four on my list, mainly because I really like the song "Baba O'Riley". 

5. Brandon Boyd (Incubus)
 What the hell, I may as well include someone who's actually made an album this century.  For those of you from my generation (catch the Who reference?), Incubus may very well be the best band you've never heard of.  My younger readers, assuming there are any, will certainly agree with me when I tell you that Brandon Boyd is probably the most versatile singer on the modern rock scene today.  Songs like "Megalomaniac" and "Anna Molly" require him to stretch the limits of his range, yet he never goes over the top into the realm of screaming.  Mellower tunes like "Drive" show off his softer side, and prove that he's not just a rock star, he's a very talented singer by any standard.  So all you old farts out there, go ahead and download some Incubus, you won't regret it. 

THE WORST

1. Brian Johnson (AC/DC)

This is not singing.  Brian Johnson sounds like a Chipmunks version of James Brown, and that is in no way a compliment to either the Godfather of Soul or Theodore.  That being said, though, Johnson's voice is absolutely perfect for what AC/DC is trying to get across, which is gut-clenching, wall-shaking rock and roll.  That doesn't mean the guy's a good singer, though.  I mean, really, imagine what it would sound like if he tried to cover a song like the Beatles' "Strawberry Fields Forever" or the Kansas hit "Dust in the Wind".  It would be hilarious, sure, but you would never play in Peoria.  I don't know what that means, exactly, it's just something I heard somewhere once. 

2. Billie Joe Armstrong (Green Day)

I'm starting to realize how weird it is that some of my favorite bands have mediocre singers.  I mean, I'm actually a big fan of Green Day, but there's no denying the fact that Billie Joe Armstrong sings like he's battling a nasty cold.  Here's my written transcription of the first verse to "Boulevard of Broken Dreams": 

I wog a lode-ly road, the oad-ly wud thad I hab ebber dode.
Dode doe where id goes, bud id's hobe to be and I wog alode.
I wog dis eb-dee streed, on the boulevard ub brogen dreebs.
Where duh city sleebs, and Ibe the oad-ly one and I wog alode.

Who knows, maybe the band's name has something to do with Billie Joe's coughing up loogies all the time.  Makes sense, doesn't it?

3. Kurt Cobain (Nirvana)
I'm not going to say that this guy shot himself because he realized he was a lousy singer, but it wouldn't be the worst explanation in the world.  Call me a purist, but I always thought the whole point of singing words to a song was for people to actually be able to understand them.  I challenge ANYONE to recite the lyrics to the chorus of "Smells Like Teen Spirit" without looking them up.  Yeah, I know that Nirvana is generally considered to be a ground-breaking, genre-defining rock band, but I'm sorry, I just don't get it.  Hell, their drummer Dave Grohl is a thousand times better a singer than Cobain, and he never sang a single word for Nirvana.  Judge for yourself.  Listen to "Smells Like Teen Spirit," and then go listen to Grohl's vocal on the Foo Fighters' "Everlong".  You'll hear exactly what I'm talking about. 

4. The Guy From Nickelback (Nickelback)

Giant douchebag, party of one, your table is now ready.  In an industry where originality is always hard to find and wanna-bes are everywhere, Nickelback sets the all-time standard for rip-offsmanship.  There is not one single thing about this band that hasn't been done by someone else, a thousand times better.  Let's face it, you know your band's in a world of trouble when you're trying to sound just like Pearl Jam but if we're going to be completely honest, Nickelback would need five years of practice and a better guitarist just to receive a back-handed compliment like "hey, you guys kinda sound like Creed."  And aside from that, Nickelback's singer just seems like kind of an ass.  I recently heard that he walked off stage in Europe after a "fan" threw a bottle at him, after the singer asked, "Do we have any Nickelback fans out there?"

I guess actions really DO speak louder than words. 

5. Anthony Kiedis (Red Hot Chili Peppers) 

Here's all you need to know about Anthony Kiedis.  When he was a teenager, his three best friends (a bassist, guitarist and a drummer) had a cute little garage band.  Anthony hung around with them a lot, but since he didn't play an instrument and couldn't sing, there really was no place for him in the group.  But young Anthony apparently had a bit of Lucy Ricardo in him, so after months of hounding his friends (and probably supplying them with just the right amount of narcotics), they agreed to let him join the band as their lead vocalist.  Unfortunately, though, his official membership in the Red Hot Chili Peppers didn't change the fact that the guy still couldn't sing a note.  This is why early Chilis' albums sound like really bad rap music which is of course redundant, but it's really the only way to describe it.  In fairness, Kiedis's vocal skills gradually evolved into something listenable, but it's still not good singing.

Their bass player kicks ass, though.


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Okay, So It's Not a Pulitzer

 Before I get into today's post, we have a quick order of business to take care of.  Lest any of you dare to question my scientific genius, let me direct you to this post from a couple months ago:

Predicting This Year's American Idol

Suffice it to say, "neener, neener, neener."

Moving on.

After years of slogging away in literary obscurity, I've finally been given the recognition and accolades that I so richly deserve.  That's right, I've been named one of seven recipients of the coveted Lesa's Creative Writer Blogger Award as presented by the one and only Nonamedufus (that's "No Name Dufus" to those of you who prefer spaces between words).  The Dufus is a talented writer himself, as evidenced by the fact that he is a recent recipient of, well, the Lesa's Creative Writer Blogger Award as presented by somebody else.

You know how those things go.

Anyway, in the storied tradition of acoustic guitars and feminine hygiene products, this award comes with strings attached.  I'm supposed to write seven things about myself, one of which is true, the remaining six shall be outrageous lies.  I don't know if I'm supposed to tell you which is which, but since that wouldn't be any fun anyway, I'll leave it to you to figure out.  Feel free to make your guess in the comment section as to which of my seven tales is truthful.

1. When I was five years old I was addicted to Pixy Stix, those paper straws filled with flavored sugar.  This stuff was much closer to being a narcotic than it was candy, and I went through them like a ravenous wolf through a chicken ranch.  And when I discovered that they were also available in three-foot long plastic tubes ("Junkie-Sized" I think they were called), there was no stopping me.  I spent the second half of kindergarten in a self-induced sugar coma.

2. In the late 80's, I worked for Ringling Brothers Barnum and Bailey Circus as a stunt double for the guy that got shot out of a cannon.  The guy, Boomer McSplosion, billed himself as a human cannonball, but due to a fear of heights and loud noises, he didn't want to do his own stunts.  Each night during the show, right after they loaded him into the cannon, the lights went down, Boomer crawled out through a secret door, and I replaced him.  The pyro crew then lit the fuse and I was blasted fifty yards into a net. 

After a few months, Mr. Ringling (or maybe it was his brother) discovered that I'd been diddling the female contortionist and decided to fire me, making me the only person to ever get fired from being fired.

3. I once owned a pet porcupine named Prick, and his name had nothing to do with his physical characteristics.  When I was fourteen I was a bit of a loner.  I spent almost all my free time sitting by myself in my bedroom eating Reese's Peanut Butter Cups (I'd moved on from Pixy Stix) and listening to the KISS solo albums.  In an effort to get me to come out of my shell (or more likely, because he got tired of hearing Peter Criss blaring from my speakers), my father decided to get me a pet.  Why he decided on a porcupine, I'll never know, but from the minute Dad turned Prick loose in my room, it was bad news.  First of all, the little bastard ate all the peanut butter cups.  Then, his chocolate binge complete, he plopped his spiky ass on my bed and refused to move.  And it's not like I could just pick him up, either.  I was forced to sleep on the floor for the next six months until Prick eventually died of natural causes (or maybe from listening to Peter Criss blaring from my speakers).

4. Bette Midler thinks I'm an asshole.  When I was in my early 20's, I worked as a movie theater manager in Pasadena, California.  Every so often, we would host a private screening of an upcoming film, where a test audience would fill out a survey to help the producers make changes before the film's eventual release.  Anyway, one evening we were screening Beaches and after it was over, some of the film's stars and production team came into my office to discuss the surveys.  I was sitting at my desk working on payroll, completely minding my own business, when all of a sudden Bette Midler says, "Are we just going to discuss this in front of the asshole over there?"  I looked up, and wouldn't you know it, the bitch was talking about ME!  Stunned, I walked out of the office.  A while later, though, the producer came up to me and apologized for "Miss Midler's rudeness."  Whatever.  When the film was released, I went through it frame by frame, drawing mustaches on her friggin' face.

5. I am the only living person who knows who shot JFK.  I was barely a year old in November of 1963, and my family was visiting relatives in the Dallas area.  On the morning of the 22nd, we all went to Dealey Plaza to wave to President Kennedy, who was my father's hero.  I was seated in my stroller, near the Grassy Knoll, and I overheard the following conversation between two Cuban thugs:

Carlos: Say, Jose, I think we should go over behind that fence and take a few shots at that Kennedy guy.

Jose: Great idea, Carlos.  After that whole Bay of Pigs thing, I'd say he has it coming.

Carlos: You got any guns?

Jose: Of course.  I have two rifles in my car.  Let's do it!

As the motorcade passed by in front of me, I heard two shots ring out from behind me, from the very spot Jose and Carlos were talking about earlier.  So there you have it, mystery solved.  Oswald was a patsy, Jose and Carlos from Havana were the real killers.

6. I once tried out for the Cleveland Browns as a placekicker.  It was 1988 and the Browns starting kicker, a diminutive Scandinavian guy by the name of Grlz Rbnkskn, was mired in a horrific slump.  He'd missed twelve field goals in a row, including one embarrassing attempt where he missed the ball entirely and buried his kicking cleat in the ribcage of holder Bernie Kosar.  The Browns scouting department went to great lengths to find a suitable replacement for Rbnkskn, and their search naturally led them to the Jazz Studies Department at Riverside Community College where they found me, an up-and-coming trumpet player.  The Browns paid my expenses to Cleveland for a tryout where I managed one field goal in ten tries, which was of course pathetic, but then again, it was better than ol' Grlz had been doing.  Coach Marty Schottenheimer bought me dinner, and broke the news to me that they'd decided to go with Matt Bahr instead.

7. Sometimes, when the mood strikes me, I dress up in an evening gown and perform My Fair Lady in front of the bathroom mirror.  It's really quite relaxing.  I take a hot shower, spray on some cologne, slip into one of Theresa's finest sequined dresses and burst into a rousing rendition of "Wouldn't it Be Loverly".

Don't judge me, the Bible says not to.

Again, take your guess in the comment section as to which of these seven tales is true.


Okay, next I'm supposed to list seven blogs for you to visit.  I've done this before, and I always end up pissing someone off for not mentioning them.  Last time, for example, I carelessly neglected the blog Mental Poo, and ever since then I've been getting boxes of bull testicles, incoherent hand-written letters from semi-literate parents of kindergartners, and piles of dog crap delivered to my house by the UPS guy.  At least, I'm assuming it's dog crap.  It's crap, anyway.  So, as not to incur the wrath of anyone else, I'm going to limit this to blogs I've selected completely at random.  Visit them anyway, you might be pleasantly surprised.

1. The first blog I randomly selected was an obscure yet very diverse and informative site called Google.  When you first go to the site it doesn't look like much, but if you type something into the box on this guy's home page, it takes you to thousands of related links.  It's kind of like a search engine.  Why other bloggers haven't jumped all over this concept is beyond me.

2. For those of you who are into wiggly dessert treats, you'll want to pop on over to Jello.  As one would guess, this is a blog devoted entirely to Kraft Foods' most famous gelatin-based snack food.  Here you'll find recipes, distributors, and detailed instructions on how to use this product to create a titillating wrestling venue.  "Bikinis, rasslin', and lots of hos, J-E-L-L-O!"

3. When it comes to really cold, mostly English-speaking countries that invent exciting and sometimes incredibly stupid sports (I'm looking at YOU, curling), Canada is right at the top of my list.  From the gritty shores of Prince Edward Island to the majestic beauty of B.C., our goofy-sounding northern neighbors provide a constant example of what the good life is all "aboot."  To get just a slice of what it's like to be Canadian, check out the great blog from the Medicine Hat (Alberta) School District.  Medicine Hat.  What a great name for a town.  It's right up there with Moose Jaw.

4. Does your Uncle Jim believe that he's Napoleon Bonaparte?  Do the voices inside your head argue with one another?  Have you ever wondered where Agoraphobics Anonymous holds its meetings?  If you answered yes to any of these, or if you're just an everyday, non-specific sort of nut job, Psych Central is just the blog for you.  Why pay an expensive pseudo-scientific bozo to figure out what's wrong with you when all your answers are right there online?  Go check it out today, and merge back on to the highway to normal.

5. If you sleep all night and work all day, if you cut down trees and eat your lunch and go to the lavat'ry, well then, take a visit to the great blog Lumberjacks.  Not only will they help you with all your woodworking needs, they can also set you up with high heels, suspenders and a bra.  Enjoy!

6. If your company or organization is looking for a great fundraising opportunity, why not set up a basketball game against a team of midgets?  Over at Tiny Trotters, pint-sized ballers like Micro Jordan, Minute Bol and Scotty Pipsqueak would love to go head-to-thigh with you and your co-workers.  Pay them a visit!

7.  Suldog.  Just because I know he hates awards.

So there you have it.  Thanks once again to Nonamedufus for honoring me with the whatever-it-was-called blogger award.  I'll cherish it always.



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The Fine Line Between Stupid and Clever: KISS vs. Spinal Tap

Okay, here's a quick test for you.  Which of the following rock lyrics is from a "real" rock band, and which is from a fictitious "parody" band?

A) "Let's put the X in sex.  Love's like a muscle and you make me want to flex."

B) "Big bottom, big bottom, talk about mud flaps, my girl's got 'em."

The correct answer of course is A.

Wait, that really doesn't answer the question.  What I meant was, choice A is from the somewhat obscure KISS song "Let's Put the X in Sex" and choice B is from the fictitious band Spinal Tap, stars of the hilarious Rockumentary This is Spinal Tap.

But, while KISS is real and Spinal Tap is fake, the similarities between the two groups are astounding.  We'll start with personnel.  Throughout their history, Spinal Tap has had an inordinate number of drummers.  Though either karma or coincidence, most of these drummers met an untimely (and usually very strange) death.  John "Stumpy" Pepys, for example, died in a bizarre gardening accident that police said was best left unsolved.  Eric "Stumpy Joe" Childs died choking on vomit.  According to guitarist Nigel Tufnel, it was someone else's vomit but police couldn't find the culprit because, and I quote, "you can't dust for vomit."  Two drummers, Peter "James" Bond and Mick Shrimpton, spontaneously combusted onstage.


While only one of their drummers (Eric Carr) died, KISS has employed five different lead guitarists -- Ace Frehley, Vinnie Vincent, Mark St. John, Bruce Kulick and Tommy Thayer.  Also, in the late 70's, the band used studio guitarists on their albums on the occasions (and there were many) that Ace was unable to fulfill his musical responsibilities (often due to being drunk, wrecking his car on the way to the studio, or both).  Mark St. John (or as he's known by KISS fans, "The Pope John Paul I of KISS") held the job of lead guitarist for a mere six months before contracting Reiter's Syndrome.  This disease caused his hands and arms to swell which, while a mere annoyance for you and me, becomes somewhat problematic if you're, say, a professional guitar player.

Speaking of guitarists, let's take a look at the so-called "wisdom" of Ace Frehley and Nigel Tufnel.  Between the two of them, their intellectual wattage would be insufficient to power the lightbulb in your refrigerator.  The difference, though, is that Nigel's inane blathering was created by a team of brilliant comedy writers while Ace was just talking.  Here are some quotes:

"In ancient times, hundreds of years before the dawn of history, an ancient race of people.  The Druids.  No one knew who they were or what they were doing." - Nigel Tufnel 

"When you take a shower in space, you have to press the water onto your body to clean yourself and then you vacuum it off." - Ace Frehley

"You know, just simple lines intertwining, you know, very much like - I'm really influenced by Mozart and Bach, and it's sort of in between those, really. It's like a Mach piece, really. It's sort of, well, I call this one 'Lick My Love Pump'." - Nigel Tufnel

"I can't even read music.  But I can teach someone how to make a guitar smoke." - Ace Frehley

And finally, both bands have had their share of onstage humiliation.

One night, Tap is onstage, ready to start their show.  Three of their members, David St. Hubbins (guitar), Nigel Tufnel (guitar) and Derek Smalls (bass) are encased in plexiglass pods, and as they start their opening number, the pods open and they emerge to tumultuous applause.  That is, St. Hubbins and Tufnel emerge but Smalls's pod fails to open and he's thereby trapped inside.  As the song proceeds, stagehands try to pry, burn, and smash open the malfunctioning pod while Smalls looks on helplessly.  They finally get the pod open, just in time for the song to end.

It's March of 2000.  I'm at a KISS concert at the Arrowhead Pond of Anaheim (now Honda Center).  The band launches into the opening riff of their classic song "Love Gun".  Lead singer Paul Stanley is hooked up to a contraption designed to lift him twenty-five feet in the air and "fly" him to a smaller stage set up in the middle of the crowd.  Halfway through the journey, though, something goes awry and instead of landing on the stage Paul gets stuck and is left swinging back and forth over the audience.[1]  Not wanting to abort the song, Gene Simmons takes over the lead vocals but even after twenty years, Gene has somehow never memorized the lyrics to "Love Gun."  So now we have Paul swinging around helplessly, Gene butchering the vocal, and Peter Criss nearly falling off his drum stool he's laughing so hard.  Ace Frehley, as usual, is completely oblivious. 

In some ways, the mishaps suffered by KISS (Paul Stanley would probably call them "KISShaps") have been even more comical than those endured by Spinal Tap.  Gene Simmons has set his hair on fire more than once, and Ace electrocuted himself one night when his guitar wasn't properly grounded.  Even Peter Criss got into the act, losing his hearing temporarily when a "fan" threw a cherry bomb on stage.  Okay, maybe "comical" wasn't the right word.

At least none of them have ever choked someone else's vomit.


[1] I was particularly upset by the malfunction because my seat was about ten feet from the small stage where Paul was supposed to land.  But even so, it was hilarious.
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Gene Simmons is Not a Satanist

"Paul Stanley is sick of KISS." - Paul Rudd, Role Models

I was in fifth grade when the the rock supergroup KISS exploded upon the American music scene in 1975, amid smashing guitars and blistering pyrotechnics. KISS actually formed in '73, but it wasn't until the release of the album Alive! that they became the pop culture/glam rock Gods that they remain to this very day.

Because of the timing, I went directly from being a fan of the Brady Bunch to a Love Gun-wielding soldier in the KISS Army. One would think that I could've transitioned through some sort of pop culture halfway house, say, the Partridge Family or the Bay City Rollers, but no. It was "Sunshine day, everybody's smilin'" one day, "It's cold gin time again" the next. It's probably a good thing the Bradys and KISS never overlapped in the public consciousness, because the Brady Bunch episode featuring Davy Jones would've had a whole different dynamic if the ex-Monkee had been replaced by circa 1975 Gene Simmons. I doubt Mrs. Brady would've been so enthusiastic about her daughter's "prom date".

After much begging and cajoling, my parents bought me the Alive! album for Christmas. I don't think my father had ever heard KISS's music at this point, he was more the Roger Miller "King of the Road" type, but KISS's Kabuki-makeup and blood-spitting, fire-breathing antics caused him to make some grossly unfair assumptions about the band's potential negative influence on his 10 year-old son. . .

.

The first sign of trouble came when he walked into my room with "Nothin' to Lose" blaring through the speakers . . .

.

Before I had a baby, didn't care anyway

Thought about the back door, didn't know what to say . . .

.

He entered my room, hands covering his ears. "What's that crap you're listening to?"

.

"Uh, the KISS album. Why?"

.

"Thought about the back door?" he quoted. "What do you think that means?"

.

"Um, he's trying to get her attention and she's not answering the front door?"

.

Believe it or not, I was serious. I was a pretty naive kid, and it's not like I was analyzing the lyrical underpinnings of the Simmons-Stanley songbook anyway. That would come later, and boy, was I surprised when I found out what "Plaster Caster" was all about. But that one was still three albums away.

.

"Yes, exactly right, he's ringing her front doorbell. Enjoy the music," Dad muttered as he walked out, shutting the door behind him.

.

This was also about the time my dad heard the ridiculous rumor that the name KISS was actually an acronym for "Knights in Satan's Service", and that the band members were devil-worshipers. Come on, how could anyone believe such nonsense?

I patiently explained to Dad that, according to the February 1976 edition of the KISS Army Newsletter, Paul Stanley came up with the name "KISS" because it was a simple, one word moniker that everyone could identify with. Gene, Paul, Ace, and Peter were definitely not Satanists.

.

But damn, Gene, you're really tough to defend sometimes.

.

By the time Alive II came out three years later, I was a full-fledged KISSmaniac. I dressed as Peter Criss for Halloween, owned the entire KISS-cography, and faithfully scooped up any issue of Circus, Rolling Stone, or People (yep, People) magazine that the boys appeared in. I dreamed of the day that my Dad would let me attend my first KISS concert. It was a tough sell. Love Gun tour, 1978? Not a chance. Dynasty tour, 1980? No way.

.

Eventually, however, I wore him down and he gave me the go-ahead.

.

In 1996. The Reunion Tour. I was 31.

.

By today's standards, KISS music is pretty tame. Double entendres abound, and no one's going to call Paul Stanley subtle ("You make me rock hard, baby all night. My love's a glove and you fit just right" is but one example), but compared to say, Eminem, even the most raunchy of KISS lyrics come off as fairly tepid.

.

And I'm still a fan, the entire KISS catalogue downloaded on my iPod (even Music from the Elder, which sold about eight copies when it came out in '81). When my son was about ten, I recruited him into the KISS Army as well. Took him to a concert and everything.

.

The boys are still touring, too. Sure, Peter and Ace have been given the boot (again), but Gene, Paul, and a couple other guys are still rockin' and rollin' all night and partyin' every day.

.

Dad's still convinced they're the minions of Satan.