Face the Music: A Life Exposed (51 page)

And finally, I wanted to produce any new record. The idea of needing an intermediary between me and Gene or anyone else was ridiculous. I was too old for that nonsense. If there was going to be another KISS album, it was going to be done properly without politics or ulterior motives. It was going to be great material and great playing, all brought together with a vision.

I did believe that this team—Gene, Tommy, Eric, and me—could put together a really great KISS record. With the changes in the industry, we also had the chance to have total control—from the songs and recording process to the marketing and distribution. And I thought it would be a shame to let
Psycho Circus
be our final statement. I knew that times had changed, so I had no expectations of sales at past levels. Success in my eyes would be measured in quality and realizing my own standards and expectations.

The current band is so impressive and cohesive
.

We owe it to ourselves to step up to the plate
.

So in 2009 it was time to make a new KISS album. Everyone got together to start writing songs—another stipulation was that we do it all together as a team with no outside writers. When we finished
Sonic Boom,
we did a deal directly with Walmart to have not just our new album on sale there, but a store-within-a-store, with all sorts of merchandise and back catalogue items alongside
Sonic Boom
. And when it was released, we debuted at No. 2 on the charts.

Bill Aucoin flew in for our show at Madison Square Garden in October 2009, just after the release of
Sonic Boom
. He said he was going to beat the cancer, but he was clearly very sick. He planned to come to our show at Wembley Arena in London in May 2010, but he had to cancel. A few weeks later, Roman told me that Bill’s condition had taken a turn for the worse and he was in the hospital. I called Bill while we finished our European tour, and Gene and I made plans to fly to Miami to see him as soon as the tour was over.

When I checked back with Roman soon after, he said Bill was unconscious. He had developed sepsis. Roman put the phone to Bill’s ear for me, and I thanked him for everything he had done for KISS. Regardless of what had happened later, none of the good things that happened in the formative years would have happened without him, I told him.

“I love you, Bill” I said.

The last concert of the
Sonic Boom
tour was in Belgium in June, and Gene and I stayed up all night after the show to catch the first flight to the States in the morning. We phoned Roman to let him know we’d be at Bill’s bedside by that afternoon.

When our flight landed and I turned on my phone, I saw there was a missed call from Roman. I checked my voicemail. Bill had passed away while Gene and I were on the way to say good-bye to him.

Good-bye
.

M
y life was as full as I could ever have hoped for with Erin and my children. Evan and I shared a growing musical bond in addition to our bond as father and son. Colin, my little dynamo, was a perfect blend of rambunctiousness and cuddling who wrestled me with laughter and a determination to win. Sarah had grown disarmingly beautiful, a little drama queen who danced, sang, and had her mother’s daring and spunk. What more could I have wanted or needed?

Erin was very vocal about wanting to have one more child. I couldn’t imagine having yet another, but judging by how quickly she was again pregnant, God had other ideas. And once our daughter Emily Grace arrived, I couldn’t imagine life without her. She’s clearly part of a plan I didn’t understand. Although she strongly resembles me, she’s blessed to be another stunner like her sister. Stubborn, secure, and always laughing, Emmie is my angel. My four children have made me wealthy beyond anything I ever could have imagined. And it’s a gift to
know
that.

As I got older, my mother said on many occasions that I should call any time and at any hour if I needed to talk. I always found comfort in that, and when I felt the need, I did call her without hesitation. My parents’ desire to be there for me as an adult was unfortunately often sabotaged for all of us by a disconnect in their own lives decades past, but I never doubted their love for me. How much could I really have hoped for when their own experiences from a young age left them unable to help themselves or each other? My mom and dad were good people who over the course of their lives tried to make their way as best they could with the cards they had been dealt. Frustrating and unsuccessful as many attempts were, they—like me—never stopped trying, and that is what I keep with me.

Mom and Dad. Despite everything, together to the end. My mom passed away at eighty-nine on September 29, 2012. I will always miss her.

When KISS decided to start making another album,
Monster,
in 2011, the ground rules were the same as for
Sonic Boom
. Gene said in a few interviews that he didn’t have the time to do the production work because of all the other things he had going on, which I of course found undermining and designed to imply that I was producing by default. The truth is, neither of those albums would have been made if I hadn’t produced them. I wasn’t aiming to be a dictator, just demanding to be a director.

We went into the studio with a sense of pride, not with a sense of obligation. We wanted to challenge ourselves as well as build on what had come before. The long journey through different players, different lineups, different tours and albums had gotten us to the real KISS.

This is
the
band.

The four of us had a ball making the record. We collaborated as a band. A song like “Wall of Sound” began as an idea Gene brought to the table. Then Tommy found the riff, and I added the lyrics. Eric said, “Let’s make a song with a bit of the feel of the MC5” and came up with the drum part that became the foundation of “Back to the Stone Age.” The album came together from all of us working together, plain and simple.

Monster
isn’t just classic KISS, it’s classic rock. It reminds me of why I love rock and roll and of what made the bands that inspired me so great. Between Eric’s authority, Tommy’s fire, and Gene’s undeniable ferocity—both in his bass playing and his vocals—
Monster
has a rare vitality. It sounds like the work of a new band. In fact, the album probably would have had a bigger commercial impact if it had been released by an unknown band.

I get it.

There’s no getting around the fact that nothing KISS does in the future will have the impact of the things we did in the past. Those things took place in a different era: the world was different, the music business was different, the monolithic nature of pop culture was different. In addition, of course, the magnitude of something gets enhanced by the simple passage of time. As good as it is, “Hell or Hallelujah” can never be “Love Gun.” The classic songs have already been the soundtrack to people’s lives for forty years in some cases. There’s no way to compete with that. None of the newer material has time on its side. But then again, when we play “Lick It Up,” it goes over gangbusters—what was once considered one of our “new” songs has long since acquired classic status to people who came to the party a little later. The song “Psycho Circus” is now a show opener and goes over better now than when it came out. Time is the ultimate judge.

As we hit the road to celebrate
Monster,
one of my favorite parts of the tour quickly became the “meet-and-greet” before each show when we played an unplugged show, without makeup, in the afternoon for a small group of fans who had bought special VIP packages. We couldn’t possibly have done the meet-and-greets with Ace and Peter. For one thing, they wouldn’t have shown up. For another, they didn’t know enough songs to do what’s most fun about these gatherings—letting the fans make requests and then hashing out the songs on the spot, sometimes after not having played them for decades. It’s a thrill to see the reaction of the fans, and we have a blast jamming there with them as if we’re all in a living room. The band is so comfortable now. And capable. Admittedly, the VIP packages aren’t cheap, but people actually thank us after the meet-and-greets. That, to me, is the ultimate testament to what we’re doing—if someone pays you and then thanks you, you’ve done a good job.

The current lineup of KISS has built a broad sense of community that wouldn’t have been possible when we were burdened by all the inner turmoil of the old lineup. Doctors come up to me at shows and say, “You got me through med school.” Former convicts say, “You got me through prison.” People tell me KISS helped them deal with the deaths of loved ones or battles with cancer.

At a concert in St. Louis in 2012, I had arranged complimentary meet-and-greet tickets for a young man incapacitated by ALS, or Lou Gehrig’s disease. He couldn’t move or speak, but I thought I detected the hint of a smile in his eyes when we took photos with him. Also in the VIP tent that afternoon was a married couple who were buying an electric guitar I would play later that night onstage. Following our unplugged set, I talked to the man and woman for a while and determined how they wanted their guitar inscribed. After the wheelchair-bound man with ALS left the tent, the husband of the couple turned to me and said, “We bought a second guitar for that young man.”

That stopped me in my tracks. The guitars I sell are intended for collectors and cost thousands of dollars. This couple didn’t know the man in the wheelchair. They didn’t know what his ailment was or anything else about him. They had simply seen him across the room.

I told them I was moved by their gesture.

“We’re very lucky people,” explained the husband. “We like to pay it forward.”

Their reward was the act of giving. Mine was to reimburse them the cost of the guitar.

That same year I met a woman in San Antonio who came to the show to celebrate her cancer being in remission for a year. Another night, coming offstage in Las Vegas, a police officer came up to me with a huge smile on his face.
“Destroyer
was my first album,” he said. “The show was amazing . . . oh, my, God . . . I can die now.”

“Please don’t,” I said. And then we hugged.

I know I’m not Florence Nightingale. And obviously, KISS never was and still isn’t a philanthropic movement or a humanitarian effort. We’re four guys who play instruments. We’re a rock band. And yet, to realize our band can be an inspiration and raise awareness and contribute significant sums to worthy causes like the Wounded Warrior Project and various cancer charities is both humbling and deeply rewarding.

Early in KISS’s career I thought it was cool to see people at the shows having fun. Now I see the part I play in making them happy and find that very fulfilling. The time and consideration I can give to people—people who, for instance, are returning from military service or have gone through tough times of one kind or another—mean so much to me now. It was nice when I was young, but it didn’t go to the core of my being the way it does now. The more opportunity I have to treat people the way I wished I myself had been treated, the better I feel. It’s also amazing how little it takes to have a huge effect on someone’s life. It’s tempting to say it would be sinful not to take advantage of such opportunities, but then again, there’s a selfish element to it—I feel that I gain as much as the other person.

I’ve taken some big leaps in my life, and the biggest ones have been in the past fifteen years. Learning the value of kindness was a gift that came to me late, but it changed the game. Doing for others is now the most satisfying thing in my life, the gift I never knew. It’s fulfilling in a way I could never have imagined when I was young.

Back then, I thought I knew everything. It’s amazing some of the things I thought I knew. That was sheer audacity. Being judgmental was a defense mechanism and a way to avoid looking at myself. It was rooted in fear and self-doubt. I didn’t like myself.

I’m Jewish and I believe in God, but I don’t picture God as an old man with a beard and a robe sitting in heaven judging us. The thing I love about Judaism is that it’s not about being good because of the consequences of being bad; it’s about being good because it’s the way we are
supposed
to be. Being good is its own reward. I’ll buy that. When Evan was born, I read a book on interfaith marriages that said the problem in such families can be that children often don’t feel fully part of one religion or the other because of tensions between the parents. When children fear they might be angering or betraying a parent, they’re paralyzed. In our family, our kids aren’t 50 percent Catholic and 50 percent Jewish; they’re 100 percent both. I grew up around people who had numbers tattooed on their arms from being in concentration camps, and I feel a responsibility to them, and to the 6 million others who were killed, to keep their stories alive and make sure my kids know the history of Jews and Judaism. But ultimately, I’ll let my children come to their own conclusions as far as what they want to participate in and believe, and I’ll know they are deep, wonderful people regardless of their choices.

I gave a speech at a high school graduation ceremony in June 2012 that emphasized the need to show compassion. I talked about my ear deformity and deafness and the way I shut myself off from others as a result. And then I came to the most important part—the part about realizing how I can help myself by helping others; how I can free myself from harsh judgment by not judging others. When someone asks for a handout, I said, it’s easy to look down on that person or to say, “Get a job.” America is a land of opportunity, yes, but not everyone gets the same chances. You have no idea what got that person into his or her situation. You don’t necessarily solve anything by helping the person, but if you provide even a moment’s respite from difficulties and pain, it’s worthwhile. Plus, you’ll feel good about it. That lost soul is one of God’s children, and by being compassionate and kind, you open yourself to a feeling of peace and contentment.