Kiss 'Alive' Turns 40: A Second Grader's Odyssey

It's so easy to shit on KISS these days. There are haters abound what with Gene Simmons' widespread douchebaggery, scabs occupying spots in the group with makeup and costumes which aren't theirs, ridiculously out-of-context merchandising schemes and mostly useless new tunes. However, for fans of the OG four: Gene, Paul, Ace and Peter, it's practically impossible to forget what KISS once meant, and in many cases, still means. As far as the punters are concerned, for six years, from 1973 until 1979, KISS were simply gods. The classic rock crowd up until that point, obsessed with Led Zeppelin, The Doors, Deep Purple and the like had been underwhelmed by the first three KISS studio LPs; the band's self-titled debut, Hotter Than Hell and Dressed to Kill respectively. There were some strong songs on those albums, but the presentation rather lackluster and flat- not a lot to hang your hat on. Most of my friends' older brothers and sisters smoked their weed to "serious" rock, and dismissed KISS merely as kid's stuff due to the makeup and otherworldly gear. I said fuck 'em then and the same now.

Everyone has a story about how and where they first heard KISS' classic of all classics; the double live album Alive. That story is usually followed by years of unconditional hero-worship and thoroughly dedicated idolatry. My version goes like this: I was seven years old in 1975 and would regularly accompany my father on his quest to procure the Sunday New York Times, sometimes on Saturday evening and others on Sunday morning. That trip usually resulted in a new wrestling mag for me. On one such journey, right next to my beloved faux battle-sport rag, I discovered a handful of rock 'zines, each adorned with the grease-painted mugs of four individuals who would forever change my music path. The mags were Circus and Creem and the guys were KISS. Inside both magazines were full page advertisements for a new KISS live album called Alive. In Casablanca Records' hasty effort to bridge the gap between the quartet's third and fourth studio efforts, the label recorded a few KISS gigs to release as a live package in order to keep the slowly but gradually growing KISS Army satisfied. I doubt very highly that Casablanca head Neil Bogart, nor the members of KISS, were prepared for the impact that Alive was soon to have on millions.

From those magazine ads alone, my head swirled in WTF-land unlike ever before. A few folks might have experienced something sort of similar with Alice Cooper, but I had not. This was a pre-teen mind-fuck of epic proportions. Mind you, I hadn't heard a friggin' note yet, but I needed what these freaks were peddling…desperately. I somehow knew there was a record store in King's Plaza Shopping Center in Brooklyn, and asked my parents and my grandparents - whoever might listen - to take me there and get me that album. KISS Alive was my crack before crack was even a thing, and I NEEDED that crack! My grandfather agreed to buy me my fix. On the way home from King's Plaza, I was almost too afraid to look at the album, but I couldn't wait to tear apart the shrink wrap and dig in. I took my copy of Alive back to my grandparents' place in Flatbush. They had some crappy old hi-fi (everyone called it a "hi-fi" back then in Brooklyn) and I threw that bad boy on the turntable with the quickness. "You wanted the best and you got it. The hottest band in the land… KIIIIISSSSS!" The entire time I listened to all four sides of the two LPs, my eyes scanned every inch of the outside as well as the in of the spectacular gatefold. I took it all in as if I were sightseeing a grandiose locale in a foreign land half a world away. Every sense was being gloriously assaulted. Once the last note of "Let Me Go Rock and Roll" rang out and the din of the crowd faded, I was locked and loaded, ready to do it all over again.

The album cover was sick, complete with the "other Fab Four" rocking the fuck out, plus some smoke and a little fire thrown in for good measure. The back cover shot of the crowd in the arena was jammed with people you only wish you could meet and hang out with. The inner gatefold contained handwritten notes from the band that I was certain were unique in each individual album, and specifically directed at me. The insert booklet was chock full of over-the-top live shots I gazed at for hours on end, trying to ascertain which KISS member I wanted to be. I thought being a cat was dumb; somehow realized that Paul was feminine and sort of uncool and believed breathing fire was too dangerous at age seven. For the record, I wanted to be Ace Frehley, mostly because he was effortlessly cool. The songs on Alive were nothing like the rock 'n' roll I'd heard on the radio, sounds that I was already growing to loathe at age seven. They were dark and powerful and anthemic; completely unlike the Rolling Stones, or any other 70's rock icons for that matter. I gave no fucks as to how well they could or couldn't play. I gave even fewer fucks years later upon learning that it might be one of the most UN-live live albums ever recorded. And by "recorded," I mean overdubbed to death. It's hard to come to grips with the fact that I'm describing something that occurred (gulp) FORTY years ago. It has been an inspiration, and also an escape for me for as long as I can remember. It made me love music. It made me appreciate that which is larger than life. It made me understand that escape is necessary to survive. The greatest and most important live album of all time gave me something that I needed to pay forward. A little over a decade after my Alive experience, I landed my first A&R gig via the creation of In-Effect Records (followed by stints at Roadrunner Records, Jive/Zomba and Warner Music). It was the start of a two and a half decade bid in the music business, signing artists; each of whom have provided their version of that fantastic voyage for countless fans, and for that, I am both fortunate and honored. Who'd a thunk KISS Alive could have provided such valuable life-lessons which would last over four decades (so far)? Not me, I assure you. Happy Birthday KISS Alive, and thank you. Howie Abrams wanted the best and got the best. Find him on #MERCILESS Radio and on Twitter.