I’m not very far into @CKlosterman’s new KISS article but I’ve already found a paragraph everyone has to read:
Throughout the last half of the ’70s, Kiss operated as the biggest band in the world — although not because of record sales (groups like Fleetwood Mac and the Eagles sold way, way more). Kiss simply declared that their enormity was reality, and reality elected to agree. They were popular enough for every member of the band to release a solo album on the same day and to have their actual blood mixed into the ink of Marvel comic books; they were popular enough to star in one of the most structurally irrational movies ever made and to sleep with the likes of Diana Ross. They were popular the way Pepsi is popular. But somewhere around 1979, a lot of odd and foreseeable things started happening in persistent succession: They made a disco album, Peter was fired, they made a concept album, Ace quit, they took off the makeup, they fired the guy hired to replace Ace, the guy who replaced the guy who replaced Ace got a bone disease, they sued a record label, they temporarily rediscovered popularity, the drummer who replaced Peter died from heart cancer, the original quartet reunited for $144 million, they created a 3-D concert experience (even though life is already three-dimensional), Peter quit twice, Ace quit again (and was replaced by a guy who once painted Paul Stanley’s house), Gene blamed the Internet for ruining music, Paul played the lead inPhantom of the Opera, and every original member wrote an autobiography. And now it’s today, and Kiss are still my favorite band, for reasons I incessantly attempt to articulate to varying degrees of imaginary success.