Backstage Pass

by Paul Stanley

  Why not?

  Giving ourselves the license to do something is the start. Like everything else that I’ve accumulated and done in my life, I can’t imagine not having Soul Station any more than I can imagine not painting, any more than I can imagine not cooking. You just go down the list. All these things have become essential to who I am.

  That’s what everyone needs to find for themselves. We don’t know what all it could be unless we give ourselves the license to explore. If you’re considering exploring something new, do it! You have much more to gain than you do to lose.

  If we don’t do it, we live with regret. I’d rather live with failure. Because even failure can lead somewhere else. Doing nothing leads nowhere.

  One thing people seem to hear a lot at KISS shows of late is, “Gee, I’ve never seen Paul smile so much. I’ve never seen him have so much fun onstage.”

  It’s true. I bring that same joy to KISS.

  I’m dead serious about what I do in the band, and I give it 100 percent of what I have, which may not be the same as 100 percent forty years ago, but the joy of being up there, the joy of playing with those guys, the joy of every other aspect of my life means I get to bring all that onstage with KISS. It makes it better. It makes it deeper and gives people a much more well-rounded sense of the band. It’s less one-dimensional. There’s a human being who’s exhilarated and basking in that moment.

  Everything I do is a celebration of life. Everything I do is a validation of my potential. Painting is a celebration of life because it’s a validation of a creative outlet, of taking the intangible and making something tangible. Doing theater was a celebration of life because it affirmed the potential that we all have to explore different sides of ourselves. KISS is the same thing. I don’t really distinguish.

  How we live is a celebration of life—or should be. All that I’m involved in, and all the passion and energy I put into these things, affirms life in general.

  I’m in awe of life.

  When KISS started, it wasn’t a celebration of life as much as a celebration of the right to be yourself and to follow your dreams. It wasn’t about rebellion for rebellion’s sake, but about fighting the status quo, fighting the system. But we could only do that for so long. Once we succeeded on a big scale, then it became a celebration of life. We became the living proof that you can believe in yourself, work against the system, and win. That’s what KISS celebrates at this point. And if we can do it, you can do it.

  Earlier in life, many of us might be more robotic, more like automatons. But eventually we become more human. Maybe one of the reasons I feel younger than I am is because I feel like I was born later than I was actually born. My childhood was lived at an older age. Yeah, I don’t feel sixty-seven. Perhaps because so many of the things that I find most rewarding started late.

  It’s almost not fair to say that I feel young, because when I was young I didn’t have these positive sensations. I live more now. Back then, I was young in age, but my spirit was old or broken.

  As corny as it sounds, my life is filled with wonder. That’s the reality of it. The excitement is never-ending. I never know where it will go next. And living this way is a conscious decision—and that’s the important takeaway from this book.

  I always like when people are surprised by something I do and say to me, “What’s next?” I have no idea. But those new challenges are the things that define each of us. Maybe today we aren’t aware of where we’re going to go or what we’re going to do. But that’s how we get to know who we are—by the unanticipated challenges we take on, by the things we embrace, and by how we deal with them.

  How do we define ourselves? The more things we do, the more goes into that definition. I’m very, very grateful and feel incredibly fulfilled by creative outlets I had never even considered, which makes me think I have no idea what’s next.

  Can I see the end? Sure. As I’ve said, life is like a conveyor belt, and I can remember having everyone in front of me. Now I can see that most people are behind me. That’s coming to grips with our own mortality and the fact that when we’re younger, life seems infinite. We can’t conceive of it ending.

  When it starts to seem finite, people sometimes find God. It’s inconceivable for many people to think of the world continuing without them, so they have to believe—rightly or wrongly—that they’re going somewhere else after they die. I certainly can’t say whether or not that’s true, but it’s very much human nature for people to believe that the world revolves around them.

  I believe in God, but not because I have any notion of going anywhere after I’m done here. The concept of God—whatever that is to each person—simply makes the world more beautiful. I don’t know what God is, I don’t know where we are, but believing in God gives me some sense of grounding and wonder.

  One of the things that’s been staggering to me is that fans who are in the final stages of their lives often want to connect with me. It’s humbling, though grasping the magnitude of it is also difficult. About eighteen months ago I got a call from a woman whose friend was married to a gentleman who was in his last days of life. He was a huge KISS fan. He’d been a chef at a restaurant out here. I went to their house to sit with him. It was tough to face the reality that this amazing life and this man’s plans, which, I’m sure, were as long-range and as far-reaching as mine, were in their final stages. I sat with him and told him that no one could tell him what he needed to do, that I was there with him and that I believed we’d meet again.

  Whenever I’ve met people who are dying, I always feel the need to tell them that it’s up to them to decide what happens next and that, for whatever it’s worth, I support them in that. The idea that someone would get joy or hope or strength from me is such a gift. I certainly never got that. It’s hard to articulate how stirring it is to be able to give someone that just by being.

  A few years ago someone called me and told me that a young man in a hospital wanted to speak to me. I called him and told him that he was in my prayers and I supported him. This isn’t anyone else’s fight but yours, I told him, and you have to decide where you are in this battle. If you feel it’s time to let go, no one knows but you, and nobody can tell you but you. If it means anything to you, I support your decision.

  I called back a few days later, and his mother said he had just waited to hear from me and then he passed away.

  There’s no endgame. There’s no point of arrival. There’s no finish line.

  I always picture death as going through swinging doors on a stretcher. You go in, and you never come out. That’s when, as far as I know, it ends. I’m going to live every moment up until then. That’s the only finish line that doesn’t lead to another. Other than making wise decisions about health or safety, that’s the one I have no say in. But up until then, I do have a say in what goes on. And I’m going to make sure that I’m smiling right up until the end.

  Outro

  Some KISS fans may be doctors and some may need doctors, but they’re all united in their common love of KISS. The lengths to which members of the KISS Army and KISS Navy go to show their allegiance are legendary. And when they tattoo my Starchild face on their bodies, it’s humbling. It points to my responsibility—my commitment must be worthy of theirs.

  That might sound cheesy, but it’s what got me this far: a belief in myself, a standard I owe to the people who put me where I am as well as to myself, and a joy in doing what I do.

  KISS has always been the underdog, and the band champions those like us. We hope to inspire people through our accomplishments; we have always been relentless in pursuing our goals, and the audience can sense the genuine nature of our passion. It’s at the core of everything I do, over the course of more than 2,500 concerts. I’ve thrown myself into every show. There is no substitute for a performer’s commitment, no way to fake it.

  And the same is true in life.

  We have to do things properly—never lowering the bar. I suppose we can find ways to fool other
people, but ultimately this undermines our own view of ourselves. If we don’t do a job as well as we can, it’s hard to look in the mirror. I owe myself better. You owe yourself better. We all owe ourselves better. And there is a reward in doing things properly: we build up a sense of self and take home a great feeling when we’ve given our best.

  As I’ve said, nothing of any value comes without work, and we find out how important something is to us by how hard we are willing to work to achieve it. But I had to figure out how to work toward goals—and I’ve found that everything is accomplished incrementally. A clean room starts with one thing being picked up. And that’s the most effective way to deal with life: look at what needs to be done, and then start with doing one thing.

  What’s great about starting to work on something and doing one thing at a time—whether it’s getting in shape or launching a business—is that the task becomes much less overwhelming. If I had known how long it was going to take me to become a good guitar player, I never would have picked up the instrument in the first place. Or when I look at a tour itinerary and see one hundred shows: I break out in a sweat. How am I ever going to do this? Well, I do it one show at a time—one single show, one hundred times. The same was true for me with therapy: I went to therapy to get some answers. That was forty years ago. If I had realized that I was going to have to figure out the answers myself and that there was no quick fix, I probably would have just gotten high instead.

  Or take surgery. I don’t fear it, because I can’t start working toward my goal of recovery until I get past the surgery. I see injuries as minor setbacks to living my life to the fullest. As long as we keep going forward, at some point we will turn around and see where we started. The first day sucked. The first week sucked. But here I am with two weeks behind me! Whether it’s surgery or anything else, I look forward to having it happen because then it’s one day behind me. I’m one day closer to the goal. We can’t do anything that we’re not willing to start.

  KISS is a tribe at this point, and unlike most bands that are very age and demographic specific, we don’t have a stigma. If a fan’s younger brother or sister shows up, if the fan’s father or mother shows up, if the fan’s grandmother or grandfather shows up, it’s all good. It’s about being a member of the biggest cult in the world, of a secret society that is life changing, life affirming, and something you ultimately want to share. We are multigenerational and proud of it. KISS has long been heralded as “the people’s band” because of the community we have created and the spirit of celebration that infuses all that we do.

  We don’t preach, we inspire.

  Which is a long way of saying I’ve been successful by being an everyman. I think people look to me for inspiration because they see their attributes and their flaws in me, just as they see them in themselves. Meaning, if I can do it, perhaps everyone can—with a little guidance and support. That also explains why this book is a total package. Because what I’ve found is that it’s not about what we can accomplish; it’s more about how we can accomplish it.

  In my case, I don’t attribute my success to a certain way of working out or eating any more than I attribute it to positive thinking. Those things are part of it, of course, but what it’s really about is a point of view—a way of facing the day, a way of taking control of my life.

  I try to apply the same determination and passion even in areas some might dismiss as trivial. Some people might not think it helps us professionally to cook up a nice meal at home, for instance. But it does: everything is connected, and when we affect one thing, we affect everything—we raise the level of everything we do.

  The KISS rider—the list of things promoters are contractually obligated to have for us backstage—has changed a lot over the years. Early on we used to order champagne by the case. Then we switched to Dr. Pepper. Our rider these days is surprisingly dull. The only drug anyone wants backstage is Advil. But part of the reward of success should be hard-earned knowledge, lessons learned, realizations and epiphanies across many aspects of life, not just in music and business. It’s not that I want to limit myself to what might be called “age-appropriate” behavior, but I’m glad to have different priorities—to be a little wiser.

  This is probably why people come up to me all the time and say things like “You inspired me to become a doctor” or “You got me through a troubled time in my life.” I met a man recently who told me he was a two-time cancer survivor. What got him through the days when he couldn’t get off the sofa, he told me, was listening to KISS. I would like to think that we all can inspire one another to become the best we can be, to fully realize who we are, by seeing how others have done it. We can emulate the passion and determination and apply it to anything in life.

  Part of what’s so difficult for most of us is feeling that we’re alone in our struggles. But if we open up to the right people, we find out there’s actually a lot of support around us, because we’re all dealing with the same stuff. When we idolize someone, we tend to see that person as perfect, and I’d rather people look at me and realize that where I am today didn’t come without a lot of hard work, pain, and defeats.

  Do I have it all? Yeah, I really do. I have the satisfaction of a great job and a great family, and they enhance each other. But anyone can have it all. People compromise; too often they surrender and settle in relationships, in jobs—in life. But the truth is: we can have it all. And we owe it to ourselves to at least try.

  I want everybody to succeed.

  The top of the mountain is really big. There’s room for everyone.

  Just remember that our stories never end—your story never ends. At some point it simply gets added to someone else’s and passed forward to be told again. It’s up to you to make sure you love yours.

  Addendum

  Life can and should be an adventure of discovery, and for me what makes that possible and what it all comes down to is family. And by that I mean both actual family members and those people we embrace as such. My growth and self-awareness over the years continue to be reflections of my interactions with and support from those people I am fortunate to have placed around me. I would be remiss and perhaps undeserving if I weren’t to understand how deeply rooted together Gene and I are. True love and true friendship are built over years of action and reaction. There is no substitute for time, and time does tell all. When I had my first operation to rebuild my ear from rib cartilage, Gene flew up to see me in the hospital—despite an intense fear of flying at the time. When I was separated from my first wife and didn’t know where to go, Gene opened his home to me without hesitation, and I lived there for months. He paid for a big surprise birthday party when I turned sixty-one but didn’t want me to know. The list is endless. The depth of our relationship, too, is endless.

  When Evan, my first child, was born, the very first person I admitted into the delivery room almost immediately was Gene. He was that important to me. In 1994, during a very strained time between us when we were barely speaking, Los Angeles was rocked by a large, damaging earthquake. Regardless of our personal situation at the time, once I recovered from the initial shocks, the first person I called to see whether he was alright was Gene.

  We continue forty-nine years later to enjoy each other and annoy each other. He is now a happily married man with a family that years ago wasn’t remotely on the horizon for him, nor did it hold any attraction. But isn’t that what makes life so rich and exciting? We never know what the future holds, but we are transformed by being open to possibilities that allow us the opportunity to rise to them.

  Do Gene and I bicker? Sure. Do we disagree? Of course. It’s all small and vastly inconsequential given what we have, what we share, and what we have built.

  I don’t understand some of what Gene does. I don’t agree with some of what Gene says, but time tells all, and I am blessed that he has been such a pivotal person in my life—and that I was smart enough to realize it.

  I know many people. Those I consider my true friends I c
an count on my ten fingers—which brings me to those I love. I can count them on those same ten fingers and still have some to spare. Thankfully, for me, Gene is right there with my family.

  I believe that if we don’t know that we are blessed, then we don’t deserve to be.

  Life’s potential becomes so much richer and more meaningful when we embrace the blessings we have been given and come to discover the endless ones that are in fact there for our taking and others for our making.

  Onward.

  Acknowledgments

  First and most importantly I want to acknowledge my never ending thanks to my incredible wife, Erin, and the four most amazing children I could ever have been blessed with . . . Evan, Colin, Sarah, and Emily. You are all my soul and the center of my life and without you, all else crumbles.

  There are far too many people to acknowledge without my inadvertently leaving some out, so I will make this very brief.

  My collaborator, friend, and partner in both Backstage Pass and Face the Music: Tim Mohr.

  My literary agent and sounding board for both of my books: Roger Freet.

  My editor at HarperOne: Hilary Swanson.

  My publicity team: Suzanne Wickham at Harper and Kristen Foster at PMK.

  Last and certainly not least, those of you who have bonded with me on this adventure through my music, my art, my work in the theater, and my writings. My deepest thanks to you for your encouragement and support. I have that same faith in you and believe we can all be more tomorrow than we are today. Find your true power by freeing yourself of secrets and only look behind you to see how far you’ve come.

  We will meet again.

  Photo Section

  MY YOUNG DAD AND A CHUBBY LITTLE STARCHILD.

  MY PARENTS ON THEIR WEDDING DAY, SEPTEMBER 24, 1948.

  TWELVE YEARS OLD. I WISH I COULD GO BACK AND GIVE HIM A HUG.