Just a quick one.
As it turns out, today — September 10, 2015 — is the fortieth anniversary of the release of KISS’ breakout opus, Alive.
Nine tenths of you are probably doing the “whoop-de-doo” face right now. That’s fine. In that instance, why don’t you take your Joni Mitchell albums and your satin Michael Jackson jacket and go into a closet and suck a carton of rotten eggs?
Sorry, maybe I’m overstating my defensiveness. It’s just that — regardless of how many quadrillions of times they’ve gone on to betray, let down, tarnish and/or flat-out decimate their once proud legacy — KISS will always be my first love.
In terms of Alive, while I was all of only 7 years old when it was released, it still defined a moment. I vividly recall first spying the now-iconic album cover shortly after its release at some podunk department store during a trip to visit family in the Berkshires (of all places). Even then, I knew I needed it.
Some time later, I remember being over at my friend Spencer’s house, and his older sister Jennifer had cut up the inner booklet and taped some of the pics from same to her wall (alongside a giant poster of Robert Plant holding a dove).
Certain skeptical friends of mine looked at the way Ace is brandishing his signature Gibson Les Paul on the sleeve and balked "He's not even holding it the right way!!!'
The first KISS album I would ever own would turn out to be the mighty Dressed to Kill (purchased with my own dubiously-earned allowance from a tiny record shop on Main Street in Westhampton Beach called Sam’s Record Shack — which, today, is a shoe store), but once I finally got hold of my own copy of Alive sometime thereafter, it felt almost too powerful to possess. If memory serves, I actually started saving up for a better record player JUST TO DO THE ALBUM JUSTICE.
Anyway, play it loud.
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