Most of us will face situations in relationships or in our professional lives that have the potential to immobilize us. We have to fight that with all we have. There’s nothing wrong with licking our wounds, but once we’ve done that, we have to get up. Because—as we’ve all seen—when we stop moving our bodies, they become less cooperative. So get out of bed. Put on some clothes. And if at all possible, get moving. It may feel like we’re carrying the world on our shoulders, but ultimately the only way to lighten that load is to move forward. Otherwise, we’re crushed by it.
Among the lowest moments for me professionally were during the tour for Creatures of the Night, when we played to half-empty and sometimes nearly empty arenas. It was a horrible time. It’s mind-boggling to think now that I could fall asleep backstage in the dressing room—but I was so depressed that I just could not stay awake.
It seemed there was only one possible outcome: the band was going to go down, and it was over.
But if I’d had a hopeful approach, I could’ve thought of all kinds of other outcomes—and things we could do instead of accepting that one outcome. Sure, I was miserable. But it didn’t mean the band was over. It meant I had to fight to bring it back. Even if I didn’t know what I was going to do, I realized I could and would do something. I had to fight to leave that feeling and situation behind.
I simply told myself: This is not the end. This is not the final outcome.
I was determined not to allow the ship to sink. One reason to keep going was to avoid giving the people who didn’t like us the satisfaction of watching our demise; another was my refusal to let anybody except me determine the outcome of the situation. Funny how in situations like that, some bands will go onstage and give a half-assed show. Which makes no sense to me, because then you’re penalizing the people who showed up. Don’t be angry at the people who actually came. Give them something that they can go home and tell other people about.
If the band wanted to continue, the solution obviously wasn’t to have fewer people next time. We needed to attract more people instead. So lashing out at the people who were there would have been crazy. What we needed to do was blow them away.
I spent a lot of time wondering what else we could do to change the outcome.
Taking the makeup off was one thing. Creatures was a terrific album and a great declaration of our resolve to come back even stronger. But it fell on deaf ears because people were tired of seeing us the way we had always looked. Maybe they were unable to embrace other personalities or other faces in makeup. And it was clear to me that people were listening with their eyes. I had wanted to take the makeup off for Creatures, but we didn’t. So for Lick It Up it was a no-brainer.
After all, they say insanity is doing the same thing and expecting a different result. Well, if we had put out another great album with makeup on, we’d have been idiots. How could we take this to the next level? By making another good album and changing how we looked. You know, retaining the part that people still embraced and accepted and getting rid of the part that wasn’t working.
When Lick It Up came out, it did well immediately, and we suddenly found ourselves being embraced, even by some of the critics, which was so strange to me—because I consider Lick It Up a good album, but Creatures of the Night is a great album. Others apparently saw it differently—and I would say that reaction is not coincidental to the fact that one of the album covers had us in makeup and the other didn’t.
There was also an underlying motivation for me to want the band to take off the makeup. There’s really no denying that with makeup, Gene is the face of KISS. But I’ve always been in essence the voice of KISS. Well, another way for me to get my due, or to get more of what I thought I deserved, was to take off the makeup. Because I was basically the same person I was with the makeup, whereas Gene relied on the makeup. In a sense, we changed the face of the band. And in doing so, I got to be recognized not only creatively and musically but on the street, which I also craved and enjoyed. I wanted that acknowledgment, which had been missing.
It had always seemed odd to me that when I read something in the media about KISS, it described Gene as the “front man of the band.” It was always about Gene. But I thought, What do you mean by front man? The guy who talks the most offstage? What about the guy who does all the talking onstage? So now I was the lead singer. Indisputably the face of the band.
It served the band’s purpose, and it also served my purpose.
Whether it was “Lick It Up” or “Heaven’s on Fire” or any of the songs from that era, the band had a new dynamic—and a new focus. And if you look at the Smashes, Thrashes & Hits album, one person is in the center and bigger than the others. Which was appropriate. And, yeah, I enjoyed that. Plus, there was a feeling that went back to the code of the original band: as far as I was concerned, we didn’t have to do the same amount of work, but we each had to give 100 percent. And when someone wasn’t giving 100 percent, then I didn’t expect them to get equal exposure or equal billing. If you want to be in the front, then you’ve got to hold up your end of the bargain.
Even at the most frustrating times, I never contemplated KISS breaking up. Too much worth, sacrifice, and commitment had gone into it. I’d worked too hard to get KISS where it was to throw it away. As far as I was concerned, everybody and anybody could leave; I was staying. I never pondered even taking a break. When a band takes a break, there’s always a risk of never being able to get going again. I’d rather keep moving, even if the pace was slower or I took a few wrong turns. We risked losing all our momentum if we stopped.
I also had seen enough people who had left bands or dissolved them, thinking they could continue on their own. That’s a tough awakening. For me to suddenly take off the makeup and go solo back then? I could’ve done it, I guess, but I don’t know what the outcome would’ve been. KISS was an anomaly, so I don’t know if the rules that apply to other bands also apply to us.
Then there was the name KISS—talk about brand recognition. Companies spend decades and millions of dollars to build that kind of respect and awareness. Other companies buy names that have been established. We established KISS as a band, but it became as recognizable as a brand, and to give that up would have been stupid. Even if I couldn’t match the success we’d already had, it was a huge advantage to have that name.
But mostly, I liked the support of a band. I liked the security. I liked having other people to lean on rather than going it alone. That’s why I got together with Gene in the first place—because I didn’t feel I could do what I wanted to do on my own. I’d always wanted a band. I wanted team members. And that was as true ten years later as it was when I started out.
Often the best way to achieve goals is to assemble a great team; sometimes we just don’t have that luxury. By the 1980s, the team around me was a frequently shifting cast of characters, and Gene was mostly absent. But there was one constant: me. That was okay, because it meant I was steering the ship. There’s a sense of security in having faith in the captain, and I had faith and always have had faith in myself. As people came and went during those years, as other members’ commitment waxed and waned, it boiled down to this: How do I maximize what I have, and how do I make the most of the people who are here?
Certain things I could control, and others I couldn’t. Certainly, with the non-makeup period that balance shifted. I couldn’t make guitar players do what I necessarily wanted them to do, so they either were asked to leave or they quit. I couldn’t stop Gene from wanting to build a movie career, so I took up the slack. Ultimately, I learned not to depend on anyone else. And that has not changed since then, despite the later periods of stability within the band. It’s safer and it’s more effective. It’s always risky to empower somebody else. We have to have trust in somebody, and that trust has to come through experience. It’s not about a gut feeling. I don’t give that trust to anyone except over time, after I see how they deal with issues, how consistent they are, how they deal with crises.
As far as dealing with the band in the 1980s, I basically took on sole leadership of it, I made the most of what I had, and I didn’t dwell on what I didn’t have. I wanted to do what I was capable of doing rather than get hung up in thinking about things beyond my control.
When I look back at those years, I see it was a pivotal time for the band, but there have been many—and it’s always been about problem-solving. It’s all about maintaining the freedom to keep pursuing our dreams, in whatever form those dreams have taken at a given point in the trajectory of our lives.
The band will always be my baby, and for many people—as well as for me, for much of the history of the band—that means not giving it up. Of course, my view on that, too, has evolved over time—not necessarily the baby part, but my willingness to give up my role in it.
I sent out a tweet last year with a picture of the Eagles in their current incarnation, without cofounder Glenn Frey. I wrote, “The Eagles tour has already added more shows due to demand. Seeing a photo of the band now with one original member is a testament to the timeless power and endurance of great songs, created over decades by musicians united in pursuing a musical vision and standard.”
Then I started getting all these bitter responses along the lines of: “They’re not the Eagles. These guys should hang it up. They’re a cover band.”
I was reading all this stuff, and then came another line of thinking: “Oh, Paul, you’re saying that because of KISS. You’re a cover band too.”
I rarely respond to stuff like that, but this time I did.
To the whiners,
The hundreds of thousands who will love seeing the Eagles on this tour don’t care about you, and will have a great time while you whine about which and what band isn’t meeting your criteria. In a world where someone else is happy, your unhappiness doesn’t matter.
And if you don’t think I’m laying the groundwork for leaving the band, I have a bridge to sell you. I love the idea that the Eagles now is being led by a son of one of the founders (Deacon Frey), a founder (Don Henley), and a bunch of other guys. Or take the band Yes. There’s not an original member in Yes. Yet do I consider them a cover band? No, because a band that exists over decades evolves through personnel changes and health crises. So do I consider this to be Yes? Absolutely. It didn’t change overnight. Members have come and gone. The Eagles are the same way: Timothy Schmit is great, but he certainly wasn’t in the original band, nor was Joe Walsh. And Deacon Frey was baby batter. Do I like the idea that the endurance of a band isn’t limited to a particular set of members? You bet.
It’s all about seeing your role, and I know mine: to give people the support and license to serve as their own advocate. Self-empowerment is the key to everything that I won by fighting against those who told me how things had to be or what they expected.
Understandably, someone may want you to fight. All I want to do is take that off someone’s shoulders. You choose your fight. We all choose our fight. When we’re at the biggest moment of our life, at its end, we need to make that decision with a clear conscience, knowing the decision is ours and ours alone. It puts so much in perspective for me; I’ve seen people leave this Earth who wanted to connect with somebody they clearly do not regard as a stranger.
My life is on my terms. At times when KISS looked like it was going to implode, and critics or the people who didn’t like us were salivating, I would revive and resuscitate it in its death throes if for no other reason than the fact that nobody is going to tell me when it’s over. That’s not acceptable. I believe the band must continue, even if someone else might say the opposite.
I certainly know people who have said, “My band had to end because I’m not going to be in it anymore.” Well, I disagree. Our band should continue because what we’ve created and what I’ve worked so hard for is still valid, and as corny as it might seem, KISS may function as a beacon of light for some people—it’s so much more than the best goddamn show out there. It’s the rising up of the underdog to win. Success has never taken that away from us. For that reason alone, I’d like to think it should endure. If all it means is If I can do it, you can do it, that is a message that will never grow old. I want to champion every person out there facing adversity.
The power and meaning of KISS can also transcend the individuals in it.
Some friends and people I’m close to have said to me that I must continue. They make it very clear that they don’t want to lose their emotional connection to the band, its stabilizing effect on their lives. And I say, “I understand, but I did this in the first place to write my own rules—and that includes being able to say when it ends for me.”
It’s interesting, though, because the other side of the coin is people saying that some star athlete or other should hang it up because they’re not as good as they were in their heyday. To that, I say, “It’s your right to stop seeing them, but they owe you nothing. They’ve given you everything.”
Nobody has to apologize for doing what they love. They get to decide if and when it’s over for them.
And if it’s over for you, you have the right to stop going to the games or listening to the music—whatever it is. You have the right to stop buying tickets. It’s an odd idea that the people who have made you happy now need to go away because they’re not living up to your expectations.
This has never been about anybody else’s expectations but mine.