Ron Jeremy, eat your heart out. There’s a new major wiener on the market. From the man who cares about nothing other than his 4,600 (and counting?) shag record over the past 30 years comes a tell-all book about debauchery, money, sex, drugs and…oh yeah: KISS. In his autobiography, KISS and Make Up, Gene Simmons (aka Chaim Witz, his Hebrew name) recounts his torrid and tumultuous stint as bassist and marketing God behind the most successful clown-garb wearing band in the world.
Kicking off with his childhood in Israel, KISS and Make Up boringly runs through great detail informing the KISS Army about Simmons’ pre-America days. Even more upsetting is his penchant for fawning over his mother throughout these umpteen chapters. Getting to the meat of it, Simmons whisks through the majority of his and KISS’ popularity without a shrug, preferring to detail his most profiled moments (dating Cher, Donna Summers etc.) which we all knew about anyway. Other than tearing people a new asshole here and there, one feels like they’re reading the KISS Coles Notes, instead of an epic document of a phenomenon that has plagued rock since 1976.
Rather poorly written, the book is mainly an account of Simmons’ own life anecdotes and opinions on everything from women (whom he professes will flock to a turd with a fat wallet over a hunk without) to rock n’ roll (nothing without the glitter). Over 200 pages he boasts of his relationships with countless beauties who lined up to test drive the God of Thunder and sporadically discusses pivotal moments in the KISS legacy, briefly mentioning that they sold out this or that arena, toured or what have you. Some of the book, however, is spent dispelling the myths that he and guitarist Paul Stanley fiendishly fought to create while dealing with the less-than-stellar talents and drug problems of cohorts Ace Frehley and Peter Criss, covering their non-committal attitudes and fuck-ups with acute accuracy. At this point the book winds up being a major bitch-fest, Simmons complaining about their (Frehley and Criss’) inability to work with others, their insecurities, ravenous appetites for drugs and fights to be the most popular member. He occasionally gets around to mentioning that this or that forgettable KISS album came out without the help of said problem children. In fact, upon recollection, it’s kind of amusing to see just how few albums actually featured all four members. Winding through their insane popularity in the late 70s, the struggle to survive the 80s and finishing off with their triumphant reunion tour, the book is rather entertaining in that sordid Enquirer kind of way. Still, it’s more of a frustration as we feel that Simmons is still holding back, be it through bad grammar or an attempt to hold on to some shred of mystique. You feel like you hardly know the guy, even if you know, like, 60 per cent of the chicks he’s banged. Once again KISS proves that the flash is bigger than the content, but anyone who REALLY knows the band expects nothing else anyway, right?
