Rock ‘n’ roll dreams really do come true
Kiss Hydro, Glasgow
While recent Hydro guests Iron Maiden could still claim to present a serious rock show with a handful of silly but entertaining theatrical embellishments, there were no such pretensions from American metal titans Kiss – this was a rock’n’roll pantomime from start to finish, from the hoary offstage holler of “you wanted the best, you got the best” to the anthemic strains of God Gave Rock’n’roll to You piped over the speakers to send the hordes home with an even bigger song in their hearts.
Their now 40-year-old schtick is still great participatory fun for all the family, with fans of all ages wearing Kiss frightwigs and painstakingly daubed in the band’s signature elaborate make-up. Kiss did go unmasked for a successful period in the 1980s, but where’s the fun in that? Since slapping those rocking kabuki masks back on, Kiss have been restored in all their ridiculous circus glory with frontman Paul Stanley in the role of ringmaster, wielding a bespoke saltire guitar and practically hoarse with camp enthusiasm at the “awesome” time to be had in their company. “Nobody forgets their first Kiss,” he leered at all the many Kiss virgins in the crowd.
Stanley, however, was a model of restraint next to Gene Simmons, their larger-than-life samurai warrior of the bass, whose freaky tongue-waggling on Lick It Up, doomy fuzz bass solo, fake blood regurgitation and bat-like wire work on God of Thunder injected a measure of comedy horror to the carnival. Guitarist Tommy Thayer and drummer Eric Singer were rock solid paragons of sobriety in comparison.
Collectively, Kiss trade in both straightforward elemental concepts – so Firehouse was literally incendiary and Shock Me, of course, a fiesta of high voltage riffola – and in big, dumb, universally appreciated sentiments such as I Love It Loud, for which a bemused young fan was hauled on stage, and the have-a-good-time-all-thetime pledge of Rock and Roll All Nite.
Somewhere in amongst all the heavy duty pyrotechnics, hydraulic stages and aerial antics, there was an appropriate time to observe a moment’s almost-silence for the victims of the Manchester bomb-
ing before the resumption of unapologetic shenanigans.
The soundtrack to these revels was consistently invigorating and infectious, from catchy power rocker Crazy Crazy Nights, via the ominous depth charge of War Machine to the daft disco delights of I Was Made For Lovin’ You and stadium boogie of Detroit Rock City. Why fix what ain’t broke?