I used Mom's broom with the worn, bent straw bristles and wooden handle for my first Gene Simmons bass guitar.
I would stand in the middle of the living room and run "KISS Alive!" from the top of "Deuce" to the bottom of "Let Me Go Rock-n-Roll" at total volume in one standing; all four sides, every fucking song. I knew all of Gene's lyrics and would pantomime all his songs. When Paul Stanley sang, I would stalk the "stage" with the tongue, the moves, the whole bit.
Paulie began to join me on drums made of pots, pans, and pillows, using wooden mixing spoons for sticks. He was Peter until the Ace Frehley guitar solo, then he would stand up and be Ace for that.
I was always Gene. Nobody else could ever be Gene, and that was made clear from the get-go. When David Wallace would come over to spend the night, he would be Ace sometimes. Dave and I were the same age... I may have been a year older; I can't remember. I do remember he loved KISS as much as we did. Dave's little brother Jeff was two years younger than him, so we all had that in common too. The whole KISS thing is sacred, Jeff, though.
One of my favorite things to do, after I got off the bus in the afternoon was rush home and paint my Gene eyes on quickly. I had to do it fast because I only had so much time before the elementary school bus would drop off the kids. On these occasions, I wouldn't mess with the clown white base and powder; I would just paint on the black kabuki lashes, the Eddie Munster widow's peak, and the black lipstick. I had graduated from Paulie's watercolor paint to actual black makeup bought from Spencer Gifts. I had the shit down.
I would grab my blood-spitting concoction and head up the street to my Aunt Jackie's house on the corner. The bus stopped close to her home after it came slowly around a corner approaching. Jackie's carport had a trellis on the side, making climbing easy. The top of the house was a perfect stage to perform my version of Gene Simmons' blood-spitting routine for a captive audience: a busload of Lakeview Elementary kids.
My buddy Mike Fischer, AKA "Fish," told me about the first time he ever saw me before we had ever met. He was riding the bus home from school, and he had befriended Paulie. Fish had just moved here from St. Louis, and this would be his welcome to the neighborhood. He said Paulie had already warned all the kids: "Y'all have gotta watch; my brother is gonna spit blood on the top of a house!"
Fish: "When we came towards the corner of Mossdale and Clearwater, Paulie pointed and shouted, 'There he is!' It was your aunt Jackie's house on the corner. I looked up, and there you were doing the Gene demon pose with your arms out, fingers curling, and face in a snarl. As the bus turned the corner, you followed and stalked the bus on the edge of her roof until you reached the end, where you bent over and spit blood everywhere! All the kids were like: 'Ewwwwww!' and 'Wowwwwww!' Some girls were like: 'Grossss!' It was totally awesome, dude!"
Our in-home pantomime concerts got more dangerous and complex. In the morning, we would tell all the neighborhood kids that there would be a KISS concert in our living room at two o'clock. We would start the show with "Detroit Rock City" and "King of the Nighttime World" and then do many songs off of "Alive!" I would babysit Paul and Jamie for Mom while she and Dad worked during the summers. This was the summer after "Destroyer" came out.
I scratched through the vinyl on the song "Beth" with a nail so it would skip right to the next song because I hated it.
The day before a particular show, we spent hours making a confetti bomb and testing our pyrotechnics. We created some cool costumes by raiding Mom's closet, cutting some cardboard, and creatively painting, taping, and applying aluminum foil. I had two or three big pans that would be set strategically around the living room so I could spit blood and not ruin the blue and green shag carpet. We also made some really cool fake guitars out of plywood, designed and cut by me with a jigsaw and painted up great by Paulie. We had our shit together, man.
This day we may have had eight or nine kids: Mikey, Davey, Jeffy, Jamie, and Jimmy. Beth, Beverly, and maybe Tina were there too. We had to pull out all the stops!
During the "show," David Wallace disappeared into the closet where we had a can of Lysol and a lighter stashed. At the end of "Firehouse," a huge flame suddenly shot from a crack in the closet door! It was badass! (We are lucky we didn't burn the house down.) The fire would reappear periodically during the show.
When Paulie threw that confetti bomb up, and it hit the ceiling, confetti went flying everywhere! Mom mentioned finding bits of confetti while she vacuumed years later, long after we had moved on to real instruments. I remember that day with the confetti falling all around the living room, kids clapping and screaming, Lysol flames shooting from the closet, and feeling like a rockstar.
One Sunday morning in June of 1976, I was leafing through the "Sunday Showcase" from the "Tennessean" newspaper. We used the Showcase to see what was on all four of our TV channels at the time.
I turned the page and saw a small black and white ad at the bottom; it was the picture on the cover of "Destroyer." The words that were underneath caused my pulse rate to increase immediately.
WEDNESDAY, JULY 21ST - NASHVILLE MUNICIPAL AUDITORIUM - KISS DESTROYER TOUR.
Holy. Fucking. Shit!
"PAUL! COME HERE! LOOK!"
There was never any question about whether we would be at this concert. I think Mom and Dad both, regardless of any reservations they may have had about their thirteen and eleven-year-olds going to their first concert, knew that to say no to this would result in so much weeping and gnashing of teeth that they just said: "Well, okay, I guess. We will work it out. You have been responsible for caring for your brothers, Michael, so we think you are mature enough to go to a concert now."
They didn't know about the Lysol.
David and I intensely negotiated with our parents on this most serious matter. Jeff, Dave's little brother, was out. We knew that going in, we were more concerned with being able to go by ourselves without parental guidance. Deal! We must have put up a damn good fight because all we had to do was promise not to let Paulie out of sight.
It was all set, Mom would drop us off, and Dave's mom would pick us up.
Between mid-June and late July, the Simmons and Wallace households got a good deal for those fucking tickets too. Yards were mowed and weeded, cars washed, rooms cleaned, garages cleaned, you name it. We did the chores gladly because our dream was soon to be realized, and we had no idea how awesome it would be.
We were excited, but I can't remember anything else about Wednesday night's ride to the Municipal Auditorium. I'm sure I wore my blue "Destroyer" T-shirt, and we already had our tickets. Both were bought at Port-O-Call a few weeks prior amid a whirlwind of awesomeness that was a KISS costume contest the first day tickets went on sale. We didn't dress up, but there were some good ones; I was impressed.
There were many fans dressed up when we arrived in front of the auditorium to be dropped off that night. Firecrackers were going off outside, people raising hell, a religious group protesting, and a few guys were drinking beer in the open.
Mom looked around and said: "Well, I'm just not sure about this." She had a worried look I had seen before when the plug was about to be pulled on one of our operations. I looked at her with my best serious face and said:
"Mom, don't worry! I swear I will not let anything happen. We can take care of ourselves, I promise!"
"Well, okay. Just make sure you guys are out front here for David's mom to pick you up as soon as it's over. I mean, as soon as it's over!"
She gave me the I mean business look as we piled out of the maroon Pontiac and made our way to the back of the line, which strung its way around the auditorium like a giant rock-n-roll electric eel.
KISS fans coming together for a concert in 1976 was a sight to behold. Regardless of age or background, we had this love for the band in common, transcending everything else. I don't remember feeling scared or anything like that; I felt safe with my people. From the crazy chicks dressed up as the band to the rednecks to the other teenagers like us, we celebrated our heroes at the peak of their realness. Some may say that the 'Love Gun' tour was the pinnacle, and they may have an argument, but I still maintain the 'Destroyer' tour as the time when KISS still wielded their magic power in a way that was never topped.
Our first rite of passage was being searched for contraband as we entered the venue. Cool! Second, the mad rush to the floor just to find out that, being at the back of the line, there was no fucking way we were getting upfront. I was tall, but Dave and Paulie couldn't see from the floor. We opted for some good seats on Gene's side about forty yards from stage right, halfway up the raised grandstands on the main floor. They were perfect! There was a guy next to us with his teenagers, and I remember feeling badass being there unsupervised and in charge. The inside of the place was alive with an electric energy of excitement and anticipation like I had never experienced. It wasn't sold out, but it was damn close, people rising to the top of the upper decks by showtime with only spotty areas of empty seats at the very edge of the cut-off due to sightlines side-stage and backstage.
The show was initially billed as UFO, Bob Seger, and KISS. I was not aware of the badassery of UFO at the time, so it was no disappointment when we found out they had canceled. In their place was Felix Pappalardi and Mountain, so he was my first ever real live rock concert experience. It was very fucking cool when the lights went low, and the crowd went wild as the roadies led the musicians on stage with little flashlights. My anticipation was high, and I didn't even have a clue who the fuck Felix Pappalardi was! It must have been osmosis; the energy in the space was amazing.
The adrenaline quickly calmed as they began playing their set. It sucked ass. The crowd was courteous enough, but we were all ready for them to get the hell off the stage. It was apparent this opinion was shared by the guy next to us when he yelled at the top of his lungs between songs: "GET THE HELL OFF THE STAGE!"
We joined him, and it felt fucking good. We were here to see KISS, goddamnit!
I looked at Paulie and Dave, and they beamed back at me with big smiles. We were at a fucking rock concert dogging the opening band, and it was sweet.
The lights rose, and many people dispersed to the restrooms and the concession stands, but we held our ground. There was no way we were taking a chance of losing our sweet spot.
The lights went down again to much applause. Bob Seger seemed to have some fans here, and although we didn't know anything about him, we were about to find out why.
Seger came out, rocking big time. His band was tight as hell, and he had great songs. Looking back on what I know now, it is evident that Bob was a seasoned pro with years of touring experience. He was also on the verge of breaking big time, but his mega-stardom was still a few years off.
He had the crowd from the get-go, and we all stood up the whole time. I remember looking over once during "Nutbush City Limits," Paulie was dancing in the aisle, clapping his hands. Wow, Bob was kicking ass. I started to worry he may give KISS a run for their money. How could this be?
Seger did two encores! I would catch myself rocking out and digging it, feeling a little guilty for liking it so much, but I would just rock out anyway, damn! I was worried that KISS was being shown up.
We were about to find out if KISS was everything I thought it was. As the lights came up, I looked at Paulie, who was all sweaty with a big grin. He said: "Wow! Bob Seger was good as hell!" Dave had to agree: "Yeah, man! That was a damn good show!"
I was worried; Bob Seger fucking killed.
The lights went black. The crowd literally went crazy! Some random firecrackers went off as the crowd got on their feet and climbed and stood on their seats!
There was a loud "KUNK" as Ace or Paul smacked a guitar. There was a movement in the dark at the top of two staircases that flanked the drum riser; my heart pounded, and I scanned the darkness.
Any thought I had of KISS being outshined by Bob Seger was obliterated with one reflection from Gene Simmons' bass in the darkness as the announcer screamed:
"YOU WANTED THE BEST, AND YOU GOT THE BEST, THE HOTTEST BAND IN THE WORLD; KISS!"
The KISS logo glowed as Ace and Paul began playing the opening riff to "Detroit Rock City" on their guitars. Peter hit the snare, and the stage lights burned white as four fucking loud bombs went off in unison with the chorus riff: BUH BUMMMM, and again BUH BUMMMM!
My thirteen-year-old ears lost their cherry.
There was Gene! Tongue flying, lizard boots, armor, a writhing mass of rock-n-roll menace descending the stairs that lit up with each step as he slithered down. Ace stayed at the top on the other side while Paul appeared out of nowhere.
"I FEEL UPTIGHT ON A SATURDAY NIGHT!"
It was deafening.
It was very bright.
It was very fucking awesome.
Gene stalked the stage, and it was hard for me to take my eyes off of him, mesmerized. The few times I did, I would look at Paulie and Dave; their knowing smiles and wide eyes said it all.
This was it ... Nothing could be better than this, Nothing!
It was even better than I imagined; believe me, I had a vivid imagination.
Ace came down the stairs and hit the stage just in time to nail the lead in "Detroit."
When the bombs went off like mini nuclear blasts, your ears would have rung had they not already been ringing from the sound system. When the huge pyro flames would blow, you could feel the heat on your face from where we were. This was FIRE, my friends, not some pussy ass sparklers.
Song after killer song was blasted out with sheer rock gusto. We, the crowd, were mowed down like the Polish army in the Blitzkrieg, and KISS was the Panzer tank division.
At the end of "Firehouse," Gene disappeared behind the amps while the band held the note. "He's gonna breath fire!" I shouted as he walked back out, holding the torch. BOOM... BOOM... BOOM!
Three times! So fucking awesome!
Before "God Of Thunder," Gene towered over his wasteland of a crumbling castle and an old, skeletal, dead tree. There were no big screens in those days, but my young twenty-twenty vision caught every facial expression and every drop of blood from twenty yards away.
Time sped up. The show seemed to flash by our eyes and ears at light speed.
We brought them back for three encores, the last in a massive cloud of confetti. We would have brought them back even more, but before we knew it, they were gone.
Holy fucking shit!
I've seen some badass concerts in my time, but Nothing could match the sheer awesomeness of my first concert: KISS Destroyer 1976.
As the lights came up and the fans began to file out, the best way to describe the three of us was: shock. We were in shock from the experience. We were walking around, dazed in front of the stage, among the confetti, blood, and trash, looking at the aftermath. A big cop approached us and said: "It's all over, boys; it's time to go home; they're gone. Move along now."
We made our way outside, sweaty and euphoric. We had just experienced our first concert, and it felt damn good. Dave's mom was there waiting with Jeff in the car. She looked relieved and said, "I wasn't sure if y'all would make it out alive! It sounded like a battle was going on in there!"
She was right. It was a battle for our souls...
KISS had won.
I became known as the major KISS freak at school. After spending seventh and eighth grade at Donelson Junior High, I was bussed into the projects to Cameron Junior High for ninth grade. It was a significant change of scenery and vibe, so my newfound rock-n-roll purpose was right on time.
I was alone, so to speak, no Paulie, Dave, Curtis, or Mike. I had some acquaintances there, but nobody I knew well until later that year. Making new friends then was a little weird and awkward. Everything is weird and awkward when you are fourteen. One of the ways I dealt with the multitude of feelings and emotions I had as a teenager coming of age was by seeking the attention, adulation, love, and acceptance of others. Looking back, I can see how this played out in the daredevil bicycle stunts, trying drugs at an early age, and doing fake concerts in the living room. There were other more subtle ways this trait manifested in my life then, but I'm not going down that rabbit hole yet.
One thing was becoming clear: the time of fake guitars and drums was ending. It was time to get real.
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