Face the Music: A Life Exposed (48 page)

“You can never give a child too much love,” I said. “You can only give them too little love. Love doesn’t make a child weaker, it makes a child stronger.”

That was an odd one for my dad to hear.

If I ever heard someone telling Evan not to cry, not to be a baby, anything like that, I made a point of telling Evan the truth that I had discovered: people who hide their emotions are weak.

You find strength and peace by being open
.

A
fter my divorce, I might as well have worn a hat that said NO DRAMA on it. That became a mantra. I didn’t want actresses and models; I didn’t want anyone whose sense of self or mood was subject to whether or not she got a part or did well at an audition. I now knew that the drama I had earlier mistaken for fun, exciting, and normal—a basic component of a relationship—was actually tumultuous, counterproductive, and unnecessary. Emotions, yes; drama, no.

I wasn’t going to waste time, I wasn’t going to compromise myself or portray myself as something I wasn’t. I wasn’t going to second-guess people and try to be what I thought they wanted.

No drama
.

I knew now that I should expect someone to love me for who I was.

One night in late 2001, I met Michael James Jackson for dinner at Ago restaurant, on Melrose. A group of women sitting at the next table included Tracy Tweed, whom I had dated, the sister of Gene’s longtime girlfriend, Shannon. We said hello, and I went back to my conversation with Michael. Then another friend of theirs came bounding into the restaurant and over to Tracy’s table. I was absolutely captivated by her. I decided I had to talk to that woman. I was compelled as if by an unseen force.

If there was ever going to be a moment that proved to me the existence of God—and I do believe there is a God—then this was it. Sure, some people might choose to call it luck. To me, luck is taking advantage of a situation God puts in front of us. The woman’s name was Erin. She was as tall as me and had a great laugh. And she was a practicing attorney.

I called her the next day and asked her whether we could have dinner—either we could go out or I would cook for her on a night when Evan was with his mother. “If you like seafood, I could make swordfish with Dijon mustard and capers, maybe serve it with some pasta and, oh, I don’t know, maybe broccoli with garlic and lemon and olive oil?”

She agreed. Apparently, her friends had already given her the green light. They told her it was safe to hang out with me. She went for the swordfish and came over to my house, where we drank wine and ate—and talked for six hours straight. My newfound love of cooking was paying off.

From the moment Erin and I met, we were totally honest with each other. She knew what I was going through, and I was very clear about my parameters for a relationship. I let her see everything about me. But she was understanding and nurturing, and she wasn’t threatened by who I was or what I’d done. She was extremely bright and was confident in who she was. If anything bothered her, she told me about it; there was zero drama. We didn’t rush into a monogamous relationship, but on all levels, there was definitely a great attraction there.

Meanwhile, there was a little burst of activity on the KISS front. In February 2002 we were scheduled to play “Rock and Roll All Nite” for the closing ceremony of the Winter Olympics in Salt Lake City. The Sunday broadcast was supposed to attract something like a billion viewers, so even though it was a lip-sync job, we wanted to rehearse it beforehand on Friday and Saturday. Gene, Eric, and I all arrived as planned on Friday, rehearsed that day, and rehearsed twice again on Saturday. Ace was still a no-show on Saturday, so we had to call Tommy, who was on vacation with his family in Hawaii. Poor Tommy had to fly in and stand by to fill in, since there was no way to know whether Ace would turn up in time. In the end, Ace did appear at the last minute on Sunday and perform the song with us.

He was severely testing my low tolerance for drama.

We’d also been asked to do a private gig in Jamaica about two weeks after the Olympics debacle. A Russian oligarch offered us $1 million to play for about three hundred people at his thirtieth birthday party. Ace wouldn’t do it. He was so paranoid by that stage that he thought the whole thing was a dastardly plot to get him out of the country so Gene, Doc, and I could have him assassinated. That way, we could replace him and not have a problem.

Replacing him was easier than all that. If Ace didn’t want to go, Tommy could do it. End of story. Again, this was no mystery. Tommy had his own costume already, which was no secret to Ace; Tommy knew every song the band had ever recorded. I had no doubts about Tommy. We wouldn’t have had him suit up all those times if we weren’t confident in him.

Without demeaning the role of actually being in the band, Tommy just shifted from one position to another. He was already part of the family. And now he took a step to the right—from being next to the band to being in the band. He was more equipped for the task than Ace ever was.

The gig itself was strange. Everyone who wasn’t a guest had a gun.

Eric and Tommy opened the door to spontaneity. With them, we could play a song we hadn’t played in ten years. They both had the knowledge and ability to spit out a song from any era of the band.

After those gigs, on the heels of the Farewell Tour, I truly bought into the idea that this was the end of the band. It was a shame. Because even though it was a spur-of-the-moment thing, with Eric and Tommy the band was firing on all cylinders. In a lot of ways it was the band I had envisioned when we started the reunion—an idealized version of the band, with the iconic characters and the chops to match.

Damn
.

I had no idea what I was going to do next. I thought about making music on my own. I thought about doing more theater. Losing KISS was like losing a family member. It had been such a big part of my life. I felt a huge void.

One afternoon later in 2002 I took my car to the carwash and one of the workers said to me, “Paul, the Farewell Tour was great. When are you doing the thirtieth anniversary tour?”

What? That would be okay? You mean you still want us?

The guy at the carwash really opened my eyes. He still loved the band. He wanted to know what was next.

I’m the one closing the door. I’m the one throwing the baby out with the bathwater
.

But why?

All of a sudden, I wondered what we were really saying farewell to. Maybe the Farewell Tour was better envisioned as a farewell to those two guys? A farewell to compromising ourselves musically? A farewell to
drama
?

The idea of throwing it all away because of a pair of jerks who never valued the band suddenly seemed crazy. We had existed without them before. Now, because those two had come back into the fold, I was going to let them have their way by causing the demise of KISS?

Why stop now?

We had built the band back and people had embraced it. Hell, put on a good show and KISS could go on for another two hundred years. And without the weak links, this band could put on a
great
show.

I didn’t want to give up something I’d spent thirty years busting my ass for.

I’m not done
.

Forever

H
ow much could we alter the equation in KISS? That was the question the Aerosmith camp raised when the idea of a co-headlining tour was floated. Doc was sure he knew. Gene and I were sure, too.

Under other circumstances, both Ace and Peter would have been out for the 2003 tour. But for whatever reason, the Aerosmith camp wanted at least three original members involved. By this point, Ace had already made it clear he was done. Which left Peter as the third member.
Ugh
.

There were contracts to be signed by Peter, Gene, Tommy, and me. Of course the four of us discussed it, and the members of the band were spelled out. After the Jamaica gig, it was a given that Tommy would wind up in the band. It was a logical progression, so much so that we never even spoke about it. After Jamaica we knew we didn’t need to audition for a new guitar player. Tommy was the answer.

Tommy had been a great tour manager—not because he was destined to be a great tour manager, but because he gave himself totally to anything he did. And when he officially joined the band as the new lead guitarist, it wasn’t that we took our tour manager and dressed him up in a Spaceman outfit. Tommy wasn’t a doppelganger or a substitute; he was the next step and had proved that he deserved to be in the band and that he enhanced it musically.

As we started out on our co-headlining tour with Aerosmith, however, I have to say that Tommy and Peter didn’t feel like the secret formula to me. It still felt transitional. It felt like the wound was only partly healed. Certainly we had somebody who wanted to be there, who knew the songs, who could play them consistently night after night. And I didn’t wake up every morning wondering how the day would go and how the show would go. Fifty percent of the uncertainty and chaos had been eliminated.

Peter, on the other hand, was up to his same old tricks. He had Gigi pouring a little more poison down the well each day; he complained incessantly about being disrespected by hotel staff; he bitched about the smoke from the pyrotechnics. The hotel guidebook was back, too, along with complaints that his room was too dark or it was too far down the hall, the shows were too long, his hands hurt. On and on.

But the response from audiences was encouraging. There were cheers for Tommy, everybody on their feet, just as it had always been. If it sounded like KISS, looked like KISS, and commanded like KISS, it
was
KISS.

Meanwhile, Peter had his attorney trying to negotiate a contract extension during the tour. His demands, as usual, were absurd. I think they figured we would cave because Ace wasn’t around anymore. Who knows what they were thinking? I knew by then that KISS was bigger than any of the individuals. And I do not mean “except me.” I have a high regard for what I do, but I don’t fool myself by thinking I’m the only one who can do it. Strangely, the longer the negotiating went on, the more Peter and his attorney seemed to think they had us over a barrel. We went along with it.

When the tour was over and Peter’s contract expired, I told him we had decided not to renew his contract.

“You’re not happy. You say the shows are too long. Your hands hurt. You want to play other kinds of music. We want to continue. I think it’s best for everyone if we just call it quits, Peter. It’s time for us all to move on.”

I didn’t have much to say beyond that. It wasn’t that we were just going to become a different KISS or a new KISS; we were going to become a better KISS.

I couldn’t change Peter any more than I could have changed Ace or Bill Aucoin or Donna or Pam. What I could do, however, was stop battling someone whose agenda was resolutely negative, someone who seemed intent on sabotaging everyone and everything around him—and then blaming anyone but himself. Fuck that.

The idea that we would stop using any of the four iconic images was as ridiculous as the idea that we would stop playing any of the songs. Interestingly, years before, when we decided to try to buy the rights to the Catman and Spaceman images, Peter and Ace dealt their characters away as if they had no value. To them, they were mere bargaining chips. The fact that they so readily relinquished them showed me how little they cared about them. I was glad that those guys couldn’t start turning up at Halloween conventions signing autographs in tattered KISS outfits and makeup. I valued the images and wanted to protect them.

Eric Singer had been phenomenal when he filled in on the Farewell Tour, and again it was a case of not needing to look any further. We had our man for the future.

It was such a relief.

Touring was a part of my life that Erin knew nothing about. Back on the road I missed her and wanted her to be with me and experience it firsthand. It seemed strange to see her walk into this until-then-unknown realm of my life. She was a joy. When Erin came to her first KISS show, I remember seeing her in the audience dancing. She wasn’t showing off; she was reflecting the elation I felt onstage.

During a break from that tour I took Erin to a charity dinner as my guest. When the host of the dinner mentioned me by name, Erin was the first person standing and clapping. I had never experienced anything like that. She was so secure in herself that she could happily give like that without feeling she was compromising who she was.

The first trip we took together was to Las Vegas. We went to my favorite restaurant at the Bellagio, called Picasso, and I was thrilled that she loved the whole fine dining experience and meeting the executive chef there, Julian Serrano, who had become a friend of mine. As we were lying in bed later that night watching TV, I said I was thirsty. Erin said, “Oh, I’ll get you a drink.”

I thought it was just an empty gesture and said, “No, don’t be silly.” But she got up and looked for the mini-bar. There wasn’t one.

“I’ll go down to the lobby and get you something,” she said, pulling on some sweats.

“You’re going to go down to the lobby and get me a drink?”

I don’t mean to sound like a kicked dog, but nobody had ever done something like that for me before.

Erin would never do something that took away her pride, but she wasn’t tangled up in bullshit—being kind and giving wasn’t a negative to her and didn’t chip away at her sense of self. From time to time we talked about the state of our relationship—where she was, where I was, how my home situation was unfolding. We always remained on the same page.

A healthy relationship makes you healthier. I guess I realized only in retrospect that a dysfunctional relationship is a pretty good indicator of where you yourself are. Only someone in turmoil stays in a tumultuous relationship. Erin wasn’t like that at all. I had really never met anyone like her.

For the first year she and I dated, I never took her home when Evan was there. He had gone through a calamitous event in his life, and he needed to know he was safe rather than seeing me bring women around. Evan was in a situation he hadn’t asked for, and the idea of “getting on with my life” without paying attention to his needs seemed transparently self-serving.