“Why has Kiss endured in a city like Detroit? Because we connect with the real people, the true working-class fans of America,” the band said. Back in 2003, Kiss enthusiasts were willing to pay $1,000 for front-row tickets on their U.S. tour with Aerosmith—and we were right there among the crowd.
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Gene Simmons once said that, in both spirit and style, Kiss shares more in common with rappers than with grunge rock bands.
“Man, I’m sorry you’re missing this—the guys are having a blast swapping war stories!” That’s the greeting Classic Rock gets after learning that, along with 20 million other Americans, the country’s largest blackout ever has thrown a wrench into plans.
Thankfully, here in the U.S. capital, we still have electricity, hot water, and hotel doors that actually work with electronic key cards. Kiss and Aerosmith? Not so much. Instead, they’re gathered in the quiet hotel lobby, huddled around flickering candlelight like a band of mischievous conspirators, trading stories from more than three decades of rock ‘n’ roll mayhem.
In the background, you can hear Gene Simmons chuckling over the infamous tale of a naked nun performing a striptease down a flagpole outside his hotel room back in ’76. That schoolboy-like laughter belongs to none other than Steven Tyler. Who needs lights, warmth, or a TV when you’re in the middle of stories like these?
Fast-forward a day to Chicago, and Gene Simmons greets us in the early afternoon, focused behind his sleek, high-end laptop. He barely glances up as we approach—not out of rudeness, but in a competitive “hey, do you have one of these?” way. He’s showing off a torrent of emailed photos titled “ladies in waiting” being downloaded from his website, genesimmons.com.
“I keep the most interesting photos on here,” he says, tapping on his device. Some might call it risqué, but Simmons calls himself a “connoisseur of the flesh,” all delivered with a wink. Originally, Classic Rock had hoped to dig into Kiss’s deep ties to Detroit—the recording of Alive at Cobo Hall in 1975, and the legendary “Detroit Rock City” anthem—but the blackout threw a wrench into that plan.
“Oh, you want a serious angle? I can do serious,” Simmons laughs. “Kiss has always thrived in America’s working-class heartlands because our music speaks to them. It’s about escapism, living the dream—offering an outlet to people looking to break free from their daily grind and just have fun.”