My First Musical Love Was for the Men in Makeup

Also known as the Gene and Paul show

My feet were in constant motion.

I was part dancing, part jogging on the spot in time to the beat. It was 1979, and I was seven. I’d used all of my pocket money to purchase my very first music cassette, and the music had been pumping since I’d returned home.

Was it the beat? The makeup? I honestly can’t recall what the first attraction was. It was clearly different from my mother’s musical tastes. She liked Racey and other popular tunes from the top 40. But, whatever the initial attraction had been, dancing to I Was Made for Lovin’ You with my best friend, Lana, is fixed clearly in my mind as my first musical memory.

I have scattered memories of the rest of that year, including tucking my Gene Simmons doll under my arm and marching about with it. My family didn't go to the Royal Show that year. Instead, someone from my extended family purchased the KISS show bag for me.

The show bag was full of all sorts of KISS goodies. Including some KISS hairclips, they hurt to slide into my hair, but I wore them anyway. There was also an iron-on transfer with the KISS logo. I couldn't decide if I wanted it on a bag or a t-shirt. Eventually, I choose a plain white t-shirt which I could never manage to keep clean. White isn't my color.

When KISS announced an Australian tour in 1980, I was desperate to go. One of the local radio stations held a competition, with the winner receiving tickets to the sold-out show. My mother painted my face to look like Gene, and we used a black jumper to cover my hair.

Sadly I didn’t win. I’m sure some dressed int he full regalia took out the prize.

As the eighties progressed, I played my Dynasty cassette often, but now two more new musical loves, Cyndi Lauper and Weird Al Yankovic, competed for attention. KISS took the backseat. But in the early nineties, KISS called shotgun and jumped in the musical front seat.

Living with Cystic Fibrosis (CF) meant attending friends' funerals was a regular occurrence. At one, Heaven’s On Fire was one of two songs played. It reignited my passion for the men in makeup. To my delight, I discovered a whole back catalog of music other than Dynasty waiting for me.

Julie, my best friend and housemate, shared my passion. Between us, we quickly amassed an impressive CD and VHS live show collection. In 1992 I wanted to get Julie something special for Christmas. So I wrote to an Australian KISS fan club and, using CF as an excuse for my boldness, I asked for a signed photo of Gene. Three months later, a signed photo dutifully arrived in the mail from the US.

I rang Harlan, the fan club administrator, to say thank you, and it sparked a friendship. Harlan lived on the other side of the country, so we mostly communicated via mail with the occasional phone call. The calls were never personal; it was mostly stuff about the band.

In 1995 Harlan rang with some exciting news. “Guess what! I’m so excited to tell you, you’ve won the Perth ‘Meet and Greet’ competition.” The fact that I hadn’t entered the competition was a minor detail that everyone, including me, overlooked.

The room felt small, and the band seemed larger than life. Perhaps my height (I’m a tad over five ft) didn't help. As I gazed up at Paul, I couldn’t help noticing how much makeup he had on. It was certainly way more than I was wearing. Much better applied — his cheekbones contoured with precision. Given most of Paul’s career has been spent behind thick stage makeup, that sounds a little strange. But 1995 was part of the sans makeup era.

As luck would have it, my dodgy camera failed me at a critical time. I have a photo with both Eric Singer and Bruce Kulick, but the flash failed to go off during my photos with Gene and Paul.

Harlan flew to Perth for the 1997 concert, and it was time for us to finally met. Although I’d never seen a photo, a man matching Harlan’s description, tall with a mass of curly hair, was standing in our prearranged spot. I walked up and asked, “Harlan?”

Harlan nodded, a smile beaming.

We exchanged a quick hello, and nice to meet you. “Would you like to grab a drink after the show?” Harlan asked. I motioned to my husband waiting in the corner and said, “We’ve got to get back to collect my son from the babysitter.” Harlan’s smile faded, his interest instantly dissipated. The friendship we’d experienced over the last few years, gone in a second.

Perhaps it had never been a friendship, just a pickup line I’d been blissfully unaware of. That’s okay, I told myself, I've got great tickets — I’ll just enjoy the show.

My fan club membership entitled me to early bird tickets, and I did indeed have great tickets. I sat dead center to the stage, in the third row. Gene and Paul were great, their performance everything I’d expected from a KISS show, yet I was sitting so close that the illusion was not quite complete.

Gene and Paul gave everything to their performance while Peter and Ace went through the motions. Peter and Ace were out of condition and off their game, the years had not been kind to them, and it showed. Ace looked like he would fall over if there was a stiff breeze and the beat was ever so slightly off. I witnessed Gene and Paul desperately trying to captain a sinking ship.

So once again, KISS faded to the backseat. A relic of my teenage years. Once I’d been able to Rock ’n’ Roll All Nite and party every day. Now I was a mum who was happy to rock and roll so long as I was home, in my PJs, and on my couch by 9 pm.

In 2010 I had a lot of time to listen to music. CF was winning the war it had waged within my body, and I was placed on the transplant waitlist. Listening to KISS was a reminder of my youth. Of the firecracker, I’d once been. The nights I’d danced away. There were some great times and memories to be explored — of a girl who used to be fearless and went after everything she wanted with reckless abandon. They were Crazy, Crazy Nights indeed.

Post-transplant, as I exercised my way through recovery, I discovered KISS tunes to be a great motivator. An easy beat to follow as I pedaled along on my exercise bike. KISS became a staple of my go-to exercise tunes. Despite this, I avoided the 2013 concert tour. I’d learned my lesson, to maintain the illusion, to continue to love the music, I needed to keep my distance.

Today KISS is my music of choice after a bad day. The music as flamboyant as their makeup. There is only one way to play KISS — loud with the drums shaking, the bass and guitar playing in a frenzy while singing along with the lyrics, fist in the air.

I gave the End of the Road tour a lot of thought before deciding to buy tickets. When Paul came down with severe influenza, and the Australia segment of the tour was canceled, it seemed like a sign from the musical gods. But when COVID-19 canceled the rest of the tour, a second chance was offered.

I deliberately purchased nose bleed tickets to the concert scheduled in November 2021. I want to hear the music pounding through me, as I raise my fist in the air and sing at the top of my voice. But I don’t want to be close enough to ruin the illusion of the performance.

The eye candy is not what it once was.