Gig Review: KISS, Rock’s Up & Comers!
Chort and Chernoglav your favourite innkeepers from THE HEAVY METAL CITADEL, recently went to see rock ’n’ roll’s latest up and comers, KISS, at the O2 in London. Read what happened in the words of Chort’s confused cerebral cortex, and check out the hi-res photos from the gig.
So there I was, lost amidst a sea of black-clad, face-painted warriors at the O2 in London on that fateful Wednesday, July 5th, 2023. Little did I know what awaited me as I stepped foot into this mythical arena of Metal. I had heard rumblings of a band called KISS, but my knowledge was as limited as a one-string guitar. And boy, was I in for a wild ride. Apparently, they started in the 70s and have been touring here and there on occasion, although I never saw them at The Underworld or The Black Heart, where all the darkest and most epic of bands play. Apparently this was their End of the Road Tour - the final tour EVER.
As I entered the venue of the O2, it was hard to breathe, and so the name of the venue began making sense. The sheer magnitude of the crowd overwhelmed me. Thousands of fans, bedecked in outrageous costumes and painted faces, exuded an energy I had never witnessed before by 50-year-olds. I found myself questioning if I had somehow stumbled into a parallel universe where gnarly geriatrics reigned supreme. Granted, there were some younger folks and even kids who were clearly crammed into KISS apparel their parents forced them to wear. I passed a young girl and her father as he was saying to her, "See isn't this better than Aria Grande?". And fellow Citadelians, it was!
I took my seat as suddenly, the lights dimmed, and the stage came alive with an explosion of pyrotechnics as a massive current covering the stage was dropped. A chorus of screams erupted, making me question whether I had unknowingly stepped into an alternate reality populated solely by die-hard KISS fans. The four figures emerged from the darkness, their faces adorned with elaborate makeup that seemed to defy logic and gravity as they were brought down from the top of the stage on platforms like so many vending machine doughnuts. Confusion settled in my bones as I desperately searched for any semblance of understanding.
The first riff thundered through the speakers, shaking the very foundation of the O2. Flames shot up from the stage, giving birth to an inferno that rivalled Mount Doom. At that moment, I realised that KISS wasn't just a band; they were a force of nature, hell-bent on blowing minds and eardrums. Where have these guys been before? How have I never seen them live?! Who was the dude with the cool demonic corpse paint, and WHAT was up with the codpiece and platform shoes? It was like a drag queen, metalhead, and sex shop owner had a mutant baby together, and it was epic!
I later discovered the guy's name was Gene Simmons - the bassist. With his menacing stare and a tongue that seemed to stretch for miles, Gene commanded the stage like a demented conductor of chaos. His bass growled with a ferocity that made me question the laws of physics - not that I knew any of them. I couldn't decide if I should be terrified, fascinated or aroused…maybe I was all three.
Paul Stanley - the singer that basically sounds like Rockzo the Rock'n'Roll Clown from Metalocaplyse, on the other hand, pranced around like a leather-clad peacock, oozing charisma and shredding guitar solos with the finesse of a madman. I wondered if his elaborate stage presence was actually a mating dance meant to hypnotise the 50+ audience members (who are still ten years younger than KISS).
Tommy Thayer and Eric Singer, the unsung heroes of the KISS universe, wore the mantles of Ace Frehley and Peter Criss with surprising prowess. Apparently, the original members Ace Frehley and Peter Criss had a row with Gene and Paul before the tour about pizza toppings and refused to make up, so they quit the tour - sad but understandable. They skillfully navigated through the labyrinth of riffs and beats, seamlessly blending into the tapestry of the chaos that surrounded them.
Amidst the whirlwind of confusion, the crowd erupted into a synchronised symphony of lyrics. I found myself involuntarily headbanging and singing along to songs I didn't even know I knew, like Love Gun, Rock 'n' Roll All Night, God of Thunder, Detroit Rock City and many more. Perhaps KISS's music had wormed its way into the collective consciousness of humanity, transcending generations and boundaries.
The stage antics escalated to bewildering heights as Gene Simmons spat fire and breathed new life into the term "tongue-twister." Paul Stanley soared above the audience on a zip line, defying gravity with a flair that would put Cirque du Soleil to shame. My mind struggled to grasp the sheer audacity of it all, and I got so worked up that a little puke came out.
During one of their lesser-known songs, I and Chernoglav, my co-host on the wildly popular The Heavy Metal Citadel podcast, went to get beer and merch. After paying £20 for watered-down half pints, we headed over to the merch booth, which was surprisingly empty. I soon found out why, £45 for a Gildan t-shirt and £20 for a KISS keychain. We began to flirt with the girl behind the merch tabling, hoping for a discount, but before our chat-game could go anywhere, she said, "No discounts, and don't try to trade me anything. I've already heard it all.". Having my confidence and masculinity safely questioned, I said, "Ah!…ok…one t-shirt, please ma'am". Chernoglav couldn't believe I paid £45 for a t-shirt I'll be able to buy on Amazon for a tenner, but I was drunk enough not to care.
After spending my weekly allowance, I galloped to the loo for a quick piss where the man next to me had such a strong stream of urine that it ricocheted off the urinal trough and onto my arm. I just sighed and looked at him as he said “sorry”…whatever… So I washed up and headed back to my seat.
As the show came to a close, I found myself standing amongst a sea of exhilarated fans, drenched in sweat and adrenaline - and some of us in piss. The end of the show saw a release of billions of bits of confetti and balloons, I couldn’t make them out as I was in the nosebleeds, but it looked epic. A newfound appreciation for the spectacle that is KISS had ignited within me. I may not have understood all the nuances or intricacies of their music, but what I experienced was undeniably unforgettable.
So, here I am, a confused metalhead emerging from the smoky haze of my first live KISS show. I may not have known what hit me, but one thing is certain: I have been initiated into a world where rock 'n' roll meets madness. Thank you, KISS, for shattering my expectations and leaving me with more questions than answers. Long live the confusion!
Written by: Chort the Crop Investor
“Hi, I’m Chort I infest crops and listen to Black Metal. I’ve currently invested most of my life savings into tracking down the REAL Nattramn and telling him how much I love his voice.”
