No Regrets

by Ostrosky, John, Frehley, Ace, Layden, Joe

  I remember feeling an incredible rush of pride and adrenaline when we took the stage at the Beacon, with the crowd outside chanting our name. This was what we had been working so hard to achieve, and the satisfaction was immeasurable. I had a ton of friends in the audience that night. Jeanette was there. So were my parents. I remember the look on my mother’s face when I saw her after the show. It was almost as though she couldn’t imagine that her son was the same person she’d been watching. It was a mixture of pride and disbelief. Same thing with my father. Dad didn’t say much, but I could tell he was proud. Or maybe just relieved that I hadn’t turned out to be the complete fuckup he suspected I’d be.

  I’m not one to worry about what journalists have to say about my music. Critics can be a snotty and self-important bunch of assholes. I discovered early in KISS that they’re completely out of touch with the general public. We made music for the masses; it was popular entertainment, and we were damn good at it. The very things fans loved about KISS—the simplicity, volume, energy, and especially the theatricality—were the things that made so many journalists hate us. And the more highfalutin the publication, the more likely they were to take a crap on our records and performances.

  So imagine our surprise the morning after we appeared at the Beacon Theatre, when a review published in the New York Times was not only fair, but downright flattering.

  “The whole audience was standing on the seats for the last 45 minutes, an event even in these days of rock emotionalism.… It may be overly simple and unpretentious rock, not so much sung as shouted, but Kiss [sic] communicates a sense of fun and commitment to the music.”

  Yeah, I could live with that.

  The months that followed the release of Dressed to Kill were in some ways among the weirdest of my time in KISS. Not in terms of bad behavior or disputes within the band or anything like that, but simply because we found ourselves treading water, commercially speaking. It made no sense. Here we were, playing bigger venues and drawing bigger crowds. Fans were starting to show up in KISS costumes and makeup. They sang along throughout the show. We had moved something like 200,000 copies of Dressed to Kill (again, without the benefit of a Top 10 single). Our live show was so popular that suddenly we were viewed as a threat to many of the bands we had once supported.

  At the same time, we kept hearing horror stories from management about our dire financial situation. After splitting with Warner Bros., Casablanca was in big trouble. Neil was financing projects out of his own pocket. KISS was selling a decent number of records, but apparently still not enough to cover the cost of touring. I kept wondering where the money was, only to be told by Bill Aucoin that everything was a bit of a mystery, since Casablanca had been withholding our royalty statements. Bill began running up his credit cards to help keep the band afloat.

  I tried to ignore most of this and stay focused on the things I found important: playing and performing. But I couldn’t help but wonder what we had to do in order to make KISS a financial success. How could we tap into the enthusiasm (which was rapidly becoming fanaticism) that we saw every night from the stage?

  The answer, in retrospect, seems obvious: do a live album. But you have to remember that in 1975 live albums weren’t exactly cash cows. A number of bands had tried and failed, so record labels were understandably reluctant to support them. Live albums generally were reserved for supergroups—bands with fan bases so large that you could expect to sell at least a moderate number of albums and therefore not lose money. The prevailing wisdom within the record industry at this time was that live albums were basically a waste of time and effort, especially if the band in question hadn’t already accumulated a bunch of hit singles. Live albums for the most part were really nothing more than “greatest hits” packages rearranged and served warm to a ready audience. KISS had no hit singles, no gold records.

  Why in the hell would anyone want to buy a live KISS album? More importantly, why would any record label support the idea?

  For some reason, though, we thought we could buck the trend. I don’t remember who came up with the idea, and I don’t think anyone has ever taken credit for it. Everyone involved with KISS understood that we were primarily a live band—a two-hour thrill ride for concert-goers. Our first three records were all solid, but none of them had captured the KISS experience. Maybe the only way to do that was to put out a live album.

  The idea was kicked around for months. One night somebody pulled out a copy of Uriah Heep Live, a two-record set released in 1973, and that gave us some ideas about concept and packaging. The idea simmered for a while, until Bill got involved and took it to Neil. For the longest time I couldn’t believe that Casablanca gave a green light to the project, but I now realize it was basically a decision born of desperation. Part of Bill’s argument centered on the fact that a live album would be cheaper to produce than a fourth studio album; even if it failed, there would be less of an investment to recoup. Neil was already floundering. I guess he just figured, What have we got to lose?

  When I heard that Casablanca had opted to go forward with the live project I was intrigued, and when they told me Eddie Kramer would be in charge, I got really excited. We hadn’t worked with Eddie since the demo days, and we all had a ton of respect for him. Even with three albums on our résumé I knew we’d yet to record anything that sounded as strong as the demo we’d put together with Eddie. The guy was a fucking genius. If anyone could do justice to KISS—if anyone could produce a live album by a road-weary theatrical hard rock band and turn it into something unique—it was Eddie. I knew in my gut that he was the right man for the job.

  There were a number of different approaches you could take when assembling a live record. The simplest, and probably most cost-effective, was to set up equipment at a single show and try to capture the songs and experience of one night on the road. Eddie had different ideas. Since it’s almost impossible to be perfect on any given night, he decided to record five different concerts and cull the best material. When Alive! was released in September 1975, hardly anyone knew that this was the strategy we’d employed. Most people presumed the album was an exact re-creation of a single KISS concert performed on May 16, at Cobo Hall in Detroit. This was not the case at all. The recording and remixing of Alive! has been the subject of endless speculation and gossip over the years, so I’ll try to set the record straight here.

  Eddie came out on the road with us and made it clear from the start that he would do whatever he had to do in order to capture the KISS experience on vinyl. No way that was gonna happen in one day. He set up mobile equipment in Detroit, as well as Davenport, Iowa; Cleveland; and Wildwood, New Jersey. Eddie was totally into the whole process, probably more committed to it than we were. It was actually kind of strange. We’d forget that he was there, or what sort of impact his presence might have on the show. I don’t think any of us had a clue that a live record would prove to be the turning point in our careers. I sure as hell didn’t. Before each of those shows I’d be hanging out in the dressing room, going through the usual routine—applying makeup, warming up, throwing back a few beers—when Eddie would walk in and give us a little pep talk, as well as specific instructions.

  “Remember, we’re recording tonight, boys. Maybe you could do me a favor and try to move around a little less. Not jump quite so high.”

  I’d just laugh. KISS was KISS. Asking us to hold back onstage was like asking a dog not to bark. It was in our DNA.

  You had to feel a little bit for Eddie. He had his work cut out for him. The things that mattered most to him as a producer—precise playing, clear, pitch-perfect singing—were secondary to us. Not that we didn’t want to hit the right notes. I took great pride in my solos and always felt a bit of frustration or sadness after a show if I fucked something up. But the reality of playing live in a theatrical rock band is that mistakes are not uncommon. A live concert is a different animal than a studio performance. When the audience is screaming and you’re running all over the stage, sweating
and exhausted, your heart racing, things go by in a moment that would be unforgivable in a studio setting. The audience rarely even recognizes the clunkers—they’re too caught up in the show. If we were onstage and somebody made a mistake, we’d just plow through it. There was no other option. In the end, all that mattered was that the audience went home happy.

  With a KISS concert, the mission was accomplished on a nightly basis. That’s what we wanted to project with Alive!—the sense of fun and excitement and energy that was such a big part of the KISS experience. Eddie wanted that, too; he also wanted to make a record that sounded great. In order for that to happen, he explained, some minor adjustments would have to be made.

  “What do you mean?” I asked him.

  “Well, it might be easier if you just listened.”

  Eddie proceeded to play some of the tracks off the tapes he’d recorded from our concerts, and I have to admit—they were problematic. Oh, sure, they were loud and spirited and generally well played, and the crowd was into it. But there were many mistakes. Not just by the band, either. A lot can go wrong when you’re recording a concert, technically speaking. The mix can be off, recording equipment can fail, instruments can be out of tune. Getting it right on the first try, to a degree that would please people who’ve paid ten bucks for the album—mostly hard-core fans who already know how the songs are supposed to sound—is no small task.

  “Don’t worry,” Eddie assured us. “We’ll fix everything in the studio.”

  The studio?

  So that’s what we did. We all went into Electric Lady, and for the better part of three weeks we tinkered and tweaked… and sometimes completely overdubbed songs. None of us got off the hook completely. There were times when Eddie was unhappy with Paul’s singing or Gene’s singing. While he was generally pleased with my solos, I didn’t nail every note as well as I might have. Sometimes Peter’s tempo was off just a bit on the drums. As the studio sessions went on we became increasingly flexible in terms of what we considered to be acceptable doctoring. We all agreed that Eddie had a strong ear and a great production sense. We trusted that he could bring Alive! to life in a way that would please our fans without compromising our integrity.

  Eddie wanted a record that seemed like a live album, that reminded people of how it felt to be at a KISS concert… without having to indulge the imperfections of a live performance. Does that mean it was a fake? I don’t think so. The end justifies the means in this case. And anyway, Eddie didn’t do anything that producers of live records hadn’t been doing for years, in one form or another. He just did it better. I remember the first time I walked into the studio and saw these long loops set up, running between mike stands and tape machines, to add canned applause in the mixing process. This is done all the time with live records, although most people don’t realize it. You add applause at the end of a song or the beginning of a new track not simply to heighten excitement or to give the record a more concertlike feel, but also for the sake of continuity. It sweetens the sound.

  Same thing with the vocals. We rerecorded a bunch of tracks not with the idea of replacing whole songs but rather so that Eddie could grab bits and pieces and make it seem like we nailed the harmonies in concert. This all seems pretty harmless today, in the age of prefab, cookie-cutter pop stars with shitty voices made listenable only through the magic of Auto-Tune. To be perfectly candid, I didn’t even think much of it back then. We were just trying to make the record a better product. And let’s be clear about something: it wasn’t just Eddie’s idea; it was a collaborative effort. KISS was never known as one of the greatest live musical bands. We were a show. In fact, that’s what started to bother me after a while—the inescapable notion that with KISS, the music was secondary. Even by this point the majority of reviews focused less on our songs than on the special effects and makeup. That’s just the way it was and we all accepted it (me less than the others, as it turned out). But Eddie was absolutely right. There was no escaping the fact that the original concert recordings needed… enhancement. I suppose if we had been a major platinum-selling band prior to the recording of Alive! we might have been slightly more cautious about screwing around with the actual live tracks. At this point, however, we were all starving for a breakthrough.

  I looked at the live album as a roll of the dice. What was the worst that could happen? People would ignore it? Or our fans would buy it and we’d have another modestly successful record? The one thing I couldn’t envision was that Alive! would become one of the biggest-selling live albums in history, or that it would utterly change my life. But that’s exactly what happened.

  Alive! was released on September 10, 1975. Our fourth album in eighteen months. Christ, that’s amazing. I remember feeling overworked and tired, but when I look back on it now, the pace seems almost suicidal. Four albums, including a double-live album—in a year and a half. That’s a ridiculous amount of KISS music out in the public realm in a very short span of time. No one would do that today. No one would even consider it. Even the most devoted fans of the best bands would overdose.

  Not KISS fans. They devoured Alive! in numbers we couldn’t have imagined. It went gold, then it went platinum (one million copies sold)… double platinum. “Rock and Roll All Nite” (with a new guitar solo) became our first Top 20 single. The album hit the Billboard charts quickly and stayed there for two years.

  Two fucking years!

  Last time I checked, Alive! had sold more than four million copies worldwide; it continues to sell well even today. The album’s impact was apparent not just to us, but to the whole record industry. A year later Peter Frampton became a superstar with the double-live record Frampton Comes Alive! And with the release of the live album At Budokan Cheap Trick became one of the biggest-selling bands in the world.

  I’d like to think we had something to do with their success.

  No one questioned whether the album was really live or whether we sounded that good in person. People simply ate it up. Nearly a decade would pass (and I’d be on a prolonged hiatus from the band) before Eddie started talking about the making of Alive! and the amount of studio work that went into it. Some fans were angry; many didn’t care. If someone asks me today whether Alive! truly is a “live album,” I’ll usually answer with a question and a shrug:

  “Does it really matter?”

  It’s a terrific album, true to the KISS spirit in every way. Nothing gives me greater pride than to hear some young guitarist say he learned how to play by listening to Alive! or a veteran guitarist (like my buddies Mike McCready of Pearl Jam and Slash of Velvet Revolver and Guns N’ Roses) tell me how inspired he was by the solos on Alive! In many ways that’s more rewarding than all the gold records in the world. Alive! is an iconic album, one that reflects as clearly as possible what it was like to be at a KISS concert in 1975.

  Isn’t that what counts?

  THE KISS HITS THE FAN

  Is it possible to circle a date on the calendar—a specific day or time—when you realize everything has changed? I’m not sure. In the year following the release of Alive! my life was turned inside out, to the point where I barely recognized myself or the life I was living. It happened gradually, and then all at once. I don’t know how else to explain it. You wake up one morning and find that you’ve traded a bedroom in your parents’ house for an apartment in Manhattan or a mansion in the Connecticut woods. You’re no longer taking cabs or relying on your girlfriend for transportation. Instead you’re driving a Porsche (and three other cars are sitting in the driveway,). No more Ramadas or Holiday Inns. Five-star hotels all the way. No more Denny’s (not that there’s anything wrong with Denny’s, by the way), no more IHOP.

  But the biggest change, for me—the most glaring reminder that KISS was no longer just four guys from New York with big dreams and weird ideas about how to make them come true—was when we actually went out to play at night. Not only were we headlining almost every show, but we were playing some of the biggest arenas in the country, and soon
we were touring in Europe and Asia. More often than not, the venue was sold out. The money is nice, of course, especially when you haven’t had a lot before. The money buys freedom, if not necessarily happiness, and it is a barometer of success. But if you’re a serious musician there’s nothing like playing in a packed arena, in front of twenty thousand screaming fans. That was my fantasy when I was a kid, and suddenly it wasn’t a fantasy anymore.

  In the mid- to late 1970s KISS was as hot a ticket as there was in rock ’n’ roll. I remember playing three nights at Madison Square Garden, with my family in the audience, and thinking, How the fuck did this happen? Here I am, the black sheep of the family, and by the time I’m in my mid-twenties, I’m the golden kid. I can do no wrong. It really warmed my heart to see the reaction of my parents and in-laws and other family members when they would come to a KISS concert in New York. I’d call them up, give them the full treatment: limo ride, backstage VIP passes, meet-and-greet with celebrities. The whole nine yards. And it was wonderful to be able to do that for them. To be honest, though, I’m not sure how much everyone really understood the whole rock scene. The only thing they knew was that I was famous and there was a lot of money being made, which must have meant that I was successful. Everyone seemed proud of that, but it probably baffled them a bit. I mean, shit… it baffled me, too.

  How do you prepare for something like that? You don’t. You can’t. Eighteen months earlier I’d been happily pocketing seventy dollars a week from Bill Aucoin. And making it last! Now we were breaking attendance records everywhere we went. We’d gone from freak show to household name seemingly overnight. All hell broke loose. Everywhere we went, it was KISS mania. We’d built a fan base prior to Alive!, but now everything was amplified tenfold.