Read Online Kiss and Make-Up by Gene Simmons - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Gene Simmons
Tags: nonfiction, Biography & Autobiography, Retail, music, Musicians, Composers & Musicians, rock stars
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220 pounds. My average day went something like this: wake up, eat some cake for breakfast, go next door to work, make some money, come home for lunch, repeat until satisfied. During the weekends I would play with my band, Bullfrog Beer. It was a great time. Around us things were in turmoil—the country was being torn apart at the seams. But I have to say that it didn’t affect me too much. Vietnam wasn’t a factor. I saw more of it on TV than I ever encountered in life. Every once in a while, the school would be closed, and people would be marching up and down the street. I never marched with them. I always wanted to go to school, because I had taken out a bank loan. I thought they were preventing me from going. Besides, I didn’t feel that most of the marchers had it in their hearts politically. Protest was more of a social event, and most of the hippies were just rich white kids who didn’t want to work for a living.
College was a great experience. My musical career was coming along. My experience with women was proceeding to my liking. But when I got my associate bachelor’s degree and my time at Sullivan County ended, I moved back down to New York City, back in with my mother, and then went to school at Richmond College in Staten Island, which was part of the New York City university system. I was finishing up my education, getting my degree, which was part of my deal with my mother. But in my heart, I was planning how to make it in a rock band.
When I first started to play in bands, we were following in the footsteps of a class of bands slightly older than us that had already made names for themselves. Billy Joel’s first band, the Hassles, were already local heroes, and I was aware of them. I was aware of the Pigeons, who later became Vanilla Fudge. I was aware of Aesop’s Fables and the Vagrants. In general, these bands were Guido mods, Italian versions of English bands. They had shag haircuts and thick New York accents and emulated the prevailing fashion, which was dictated by bands like the Who and the Kinks and the Faces. Imagine a guy named Tony trying to be Rod Stewart, and you’ll understandthat scene pretty well. For the most part, having a band was simply a tool for getting access to other things, mainly girls. Still, I was lucky in that I was in bands with friends who were obsessive record collectors. Stephen, for example, bought records like crazy, and he listened to everything from the Ventures, to obscure British invasion bands, to Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels.
Around that time, in the middle of 1970, I met Paul Stanley. He wasn’t Paul Stanley yet, but Stanley Eisen, and he was circulating around the New York rock scene at the same time I was, trying to make a name for himself as a guitarist and a songwriter. He had even played in a band with Stephen Coronel. We were on parallel tracks, and for a long time we operated independently of each other: I was playing in bands as a bassist. I had picked up the bass when playing for the Long Island Sounds in high school. Everyone else wanted to play guitar, so I thought it would be a good idea to play something different, set myself off from the rest. I was trying to get gigs and write songs, and he was trying to do the same. Our parallel tracks even intersected, although we didn’t learn about it until much later. For example, at one point I came down from upstate because I needed to replace a guitarist for a band I had there, and I went to see Stephen Coronel in Washington Heights. There was another guy there named Stanley Eisen, and Steve told me that the two of them were putting together a band called Uncle Joe, with two guitar players and a drummer. At another point, after Wicked Lester was up and running, I placed an ad for a guitarist to play on some demo recordings. This same guy, Stanley Eisen, who would later become Paul Stanley, was one of the guitarists who answered that ad. I didn’t make the connection, though.
Finally, the
College was a great experience. My musical career was coming along. My experience with women was proceeding to my liking. But when I got my associate bachelor’s degree and my time at Sullivan County ended, I moved back down to New York City, back in with my mother, and then went to school at Richmond College in Staten Island, which was part of the New York City university system. I was finishing up my education, getting my degree, which was part of my deal with my mother. But in my heart, I was planning how to make it in a rock band.
When I first started to play in bands, we were following in the footsteps of a class of bands slightly older than us that had already made names for themselves. Billy Joel’s first band, the Hassles, were already local heroes, and I was aware of them. I was aware of the Pigeons, who later became Vanilla Fudge. I was aware of Aesop’s Fables and the Vagrants. In general, these bands were Guido mods, Italian versions of English bands. They had shag haircuts and thick New York accents and emulated the prevailing fashion, which was dictated by bands like the Who and the Kinks and the Faces. Imagine a guy named Tony trying to be Rod Stewart, and you’ll understandthat scene pretty well. For the most part, having a band was simply a tool for getting access to other things, mainly girls. Still, I was lucky in that I was in bands with friends who were obsessive record collectors. Stephen, for example, bought records like crazy, and he listened to everything from the Ventures, to obscure British invasion bands, to Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels.
Around that time, in the middle of 1970, I met Paul Stanley. He wasn’t Paul Stanley yet, but Stanley Eisen, and he was circulating around the New York rock scene at the same time I was, trying to make a name for himself as a guitarist and a songwriter. He had even played in a band with Stephen Coronel. We were on parallel tracks, and for a long time we operated independently of each other: I was playing in bands as a bassist. I had picked up the bass when playing for the Long Island Sounds in high school. Everyone else wanted to play guitar, so I thought it would be a good idea to play something different, set myself off from the rest. I was trying to get gigs and write songs, and he was trying to do the same. Our parallel tracks even intersected, although we didn’t learn about it until much later. For example, at one point I came down from upstate because I needed to replace a guitarist for a band I had there, and I went to see Stephen Coronel in Washington Heights. There was another guy there named Stanley Eisen, and Steve told me that the two of them were putting together a band called Uncle Joe, with two guitar players and a drummer. At another point, after Wicked Lester was up and running, I placed an ad for a guitarist to play on some demo recordings. This same guy, Stanley Eisen, who would later become Paul Stanley, was one of the guitarists who answered that ad. I didn’t make the connection, though.
Finally, the
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