BOOK REVIEW: “Encyclopedia Of Kiss” by Brett Weiss

Encyclopedia Of Kiss photo KissEncyclo_cover_zpszp3ci03m.jpg Published this past pay, Brett Weiss’ Encyclopedia of KISS: Music, Personnel, Events and Related Subjects (McFarland) is one of the most in-depth and interesting books to cover the world of one of the hottest bands in the land, and of course I speak of Kiss. Like most encyclopedia, it gets into the origins of what helped to form Kiss, where each member came from and pretty much everything that has been part of their path, from the hoopla over the mania that happened in the second half of the 1970’s, the die-down of the hype, the Music From The Elder era and when they decided to remove their make-up in the early 80’s, all of this is mentioned somewhere in the Kiss encyclopedia.

The book is done in alphabetical order by subject and name so if you wish to know a bit more about Paul “Ace” Frehley, you’ll also know about his former wife that he married in 1976 to the daughter they had together. Magazines, tours, endorsements, documentaries, events of interest, they’re pretty much here. Not being a deep Kiss fan as I once was, I couldn’t tell you if this book has anything and everything you could want. You’ll find out about the tour they went on for their Crazy Nights album but you will not see the complete tour itinerary or set-lists to find out if they stayed the same for the entire tour or when there were changes. You are able to find all of that “extra” stuff online and perhaps if you’re a much deeper Kiss fan, you already have links on where to go.

Nonetheless, if you have been looking for everything you could ever want about Paul, Gene, Ace, Peter, Eric, Vinnie, Bruce, and everyone else that has been part of the Kiss empire since the beginning, Encyclopedia Of Kiss is the perfect starting place.

(NOTE: The book now has a new cover in its second edition that was released in August. The new version has a silhouette of Gene Simmons playing bass.)

BOOK REVIEW: Scott Ian’s “I’m The Man: The Story Of That Guy From Anthrax”

 photo ScottIan_cover_zps99038eb0.jpg One of my favorite guitarists since high school now has an autobiography to call his own, and if he has been someone who had felt like he could’ve been your buddy at high school (or the cool guy at the record store who would always know not about the cool stuff, but the “next” stuff), you will definitely enjoy reading I’m The Man: The Story Of That Guy From Anthrax (Da Capo). If you became familiar with Ian in the 1980’s through Anthrax or maybe with the Stormtroopers Of Death, you’ll know that Ian is a fan of New York City for life, and he talks about his upbringing in Queens. He talks about his childhood, his relationship with his parents, his interests as a kid and what lead to some of his first musical influences. One thing lead to another and he knew he was hooked, but he didn’t realize how hooked he would become to the point where it would become a major part of his life, even though that’s what he wanted. Making music discoveries came a number of ways, with one of the biggest being that of his Uncle Mitch. If there is a moment where the seeds were planted, Ian describes it as being introduced to Black Sabbath’s first album in his uncle’s collection. On this album that he described as acid rock (a term he had not heard of before), he looked at the cover, heard the music, and knew he had to have more. Along with an uncle who appreciated comic books, that also started his fascination with superheroes, which would develop not only into Ian’s own interests in comic book collecting, but also songwriting.

The book continues about getting involved in sports a bit, dealing with friends at school and also discovering the wonder of girls. He touches on problems his parents had but knowing that his music could allow him to get his mind off of the domestic issues and carry him to a new places. In time he’d have his own guitar, an acoustic one at that, before having his own electric, and it was as if you could visualize the transformation from Scott Rosenfeld, Queens rocking kid to Scott Ian, rock’n’roll guitarist. These things lead to him going to clubs, finding new music and bands at record stores, and getting involved with hardcore and punk rock during a time when headbangers and punks would never mix together, especially in New York. These gatherings would eventually head to him gathering his bands together to form a band and in time would help form Anthrax. Even though we know Anthrax as being one of the sources of thrash and speed metal, Ian talks about it as an eventual development, not just through hard rock, heavy metal, and NWOBHM influences but whatever he had felt like bringing into his playing style. The sound was rough yet abrasive and with a level of confidence that didn’t involve him in saying no to anything or anyone, he went out to get his music throughout the city, not being aware that his music would travel much further.

Interesting moments in this include meeting up with the members of Metallica for the first time, getting to know bassist Cliff Burton and becoming a deep friend with Kirk Hammett; meeting up with Johnny Zazula; flying to Europe for the first time to do shows; and meeting with some of his musical heroes during the 1980’s, which included everyone from Lemmy of Motorhead to the guys in Iron Maiden. Outside of the personal friendships, Ian reveals the inside information about the recording industry, how things began as a band releasing their first record on an independent label to being a group-in-demand by a major label to getting advances that were beyond what they were expecting. The thrill was exciting and when Ian brought in his love of rap music into Anthrax’s world for a few minutes, that only helped open the world for them a bit more.

While the 1980’s were very much a peak for the band, the 1990’s began as a world of fantastic adventures for the group but in time, Ian found that not everything turns to gold and that if one thing can get worse, it might lead to what feels like an endless thing of other bad things to happen. He touches on how Anthrax were signed with the same label as Metallica (Elektra Records) with a new singer, had faith with the label only to realize his decisions were disapproved by the label heads, only to lose faith when the label’s decisions lead to less-than-impressive results in terms of sales. One thing leads to another, and it becomes a blame game, trying to maintain the integrity of yourself and the band while trying to let the label know you are the band worthy of the contract. Then for the label to let you know they’re letting you go. While Ian didn’t come from a wealthy background, he admits he had never been rich when Anthrax were at their highest point but to hear him talk about how he was literally scrounging to make ends meet is devastating, especially when I had assumed they were getting attention and selling fairly well. They were selling decently but to be caught within the period when the almighty grunge and alternative music was the biggest thing around, anything metal-related wasn’t doing good for everyone within the community, unless you were Metallica and Pantera. Dealing with the personalities within Anthrax are brought up a number of times, and as someone who was the face of the band and the main lyricists of most of their songs, he was putting his life on the line every day, only to find things around him were falling apart.

There is very much a positive side to I’m The Man, for despite the downside to being part of a rock band and dealing with the business of the industry, he talks about some of the parties and celebrating he did with different bands, finding sexual lust with ladies while trying to balance it with wive #1 or wive #2, and discovering that doing certain drugs is not good for him. There was a time when Anthrax always came off as a very clean band, not exactly Straight Edge or anything like that but unlike Metallica who were the Alcoholica boys, Anthrax seemed to be like their younger fans: comic book readers, movie buffs and nerds, and headbangers who may have done stupid shit at high school. It seems Ian’s primary vice was drinking beer, and it was never heavy. However, the person that changed him as a drinker was Pantera’s Dimebag Darrell, and that chapter in a book is worth reading from paragraph to paragraph. In time, he met up with the woman who would become the love of his life, which also happened to coincide with Anthrax’s new level of success.

Throughout I’m The Man, Ian talks about changing perspective not only of his music and career, but his own life, changing priorities and understanding that age and maturity can lead to good and better things. His work regimen was always strong, but it’s balancing it with everything else around him is also what keeps him going, even when there were low points along the way. You might read the book thinking it will be nothing but inside stuff about the band and the recording industry, and it does touch on all of this quite well. It also has Ian looking at the world from a personal perspective, to show how he loves his music but is also someone with a mind and a sense of humor. He isn’t afraid to tell everyone he is still a man-in-the-works, someone whom he will continue to work on throughout his life, and now will pass on his experiences in his life to his son.

As the lyric said, “now we’re Anthrax and we take no shit/and we don’t care for writing hits” and in I’m The Man, we learn how Ian didn’t take shit from anyone, be it his life or his career. It’s a wonderful book that has its share of wonderful peaks and depressing valleys, but it does lead to something positive and eventual good morals to the stories shared. To the man who made me want to find NOT shorts and actually lead me to shaving a rectangle in my stomach so I could have a half-assed version of the NOT shaving on his chest, thank you for your music and efforts behind Anthrax and S.O.D., your efforts will always be honored.

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DUST IT OFF: Kiss’ solo albums, 35 years later

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If you were not a Kiss fan in the days before they removed their make-up, you may not fully understand the phenomenon that was Kissmania. Growing up in the mid to late 70’s lead to having respect for a group who made lots of music and was heard on the radio a lot. Of course with Kiss, there were extras, specifically, their make-up, costumes, and on-stage personas. The way they were promoted, at least at my level, was constant magazine coverage. I was a regular reader of 16 magazine, which was a magazine for teens but this was the only magazine with Kiss in it that I could read, perhaps Circus or Hit Parader was too much (or maybe it was a magazine my mom was familiar when she was a teen, so if 16 was good enough for her, it may be good enough for her son). Along with Kiss was a fair share of known groups like the Bay City Rollers, unknown groups like WOWII, and much promotion for Scott Baio, Rex Smith, and John Schneider of The Dukes Of Hazard. Looking back, perhaps 16 was not a magazine meant for me, I wasn’t ripping posters of Henry Winkler or Mark Hamill and pinning them next to my bed but again, it was about Kiss. The output of Kiss merchandise was amazing, and I had the baseball cards and a belt buckle. For a brief moment I thought I may have had their lunch can, but that was limited to Fat Albert and another involving some Marvel comics characters.

I believe my first Kiss album was the 1978 2-record set for Double Platinum and to obtain it, I had to beg. I would normally get records as gifts, usually 7″ 45’s but for having good grades, I would get a free album and that meant “single LP”. When I would hang out in the record section in department stores or go to record stores, I’d find myself looking over records by Miles Davis, Keith Jarrett, Chicago At Carnegie Hall, or The Concert For Bangla Desh and wanting the 3- and 4-record sets. Single LP’s were cool, but to be able to have a box with more records? I wanted that, but that also meant spending $10+ for those, and my family generally had a budget of spending $7.99 or less, which was roughly the “suggested retail price” for albums in the late 70’s. $5.99 meant they were on sale. I remember walking into Woolworth’s in downtown Honolulu with my Austrian grandmother, whom I called my Omama. She knew I loved music and asked me to pick out an album. I saw Double Platinum, I selected it for her and she said “oh, that’s too much”. I acted like I was looking for others but I didn’t want anything else but Double Platinum. I probably made a mock weepy face, I remember her looking at the cashier in frustration, then grabbing the album out of my hands and saying “c’mon”. It was mine. When I brought it home, my mom was pissed. I now had a double album to call my own, just like my uncle did with Miles Davis’ Live Evil. I played the record like crazy.

A few weeks after starting my 3rd grade year, my family went to Ala Moana Shopping Center, as per the norm for their shopping. The record store was my safe haven, so they knew if they dropped me off there, I would be safe. You probably wouldn’t leave a seven year old kid alone in any store these days, but it was a different time. I loved DJ’s Sound City because as a kid whose lifelong goal was to become a radio disc jockey, I felt that this was my mom away from home, my city for a wanna-be DJ like myself. Since we normally would go to Ala Moana on a weekend because of me going to school on the weekends, I would say that I entered that DJ’s Sound City on a Saturday morning. It was the usual scene: record store with cassettes and 8-tracks to the right, new releases, buttons, and accessories on the left, plus the turntable that played the music which was heard in the store. The jazz section, which I often looked through because of my dad’s love of jazz, usually rotated in the store. Walking towards the back, one could also see the storage where there were posters and boxes, both opened and unopened. I had looked forward to growing up so I could work there. On the left and right walls were usually where all of the new releases were on display, so you’d walk to it, glance at the front and back covers, and consider making a purchase. My walk towards the back would eventually feel as if my world was moving in slow motion, for I saw the greatest site I had ever seen in my entire, close-to-eight year old life. I remember turning my head to the left, not believing the vision in front of me, and I was completely blown away. I know for a fact that I stopped and stared for what felt like an hour or two, even though it may have been only two minutes. I found myself in front of a display involving not one, not two, but four records, each one featuring a member of Kiss. Holy crap, FOUR KISS SOLO ALBUMS?!?!? I didn’t know if I should approach, as if moving closer to paper and cellophane was going to zap the life out of me. It was mysical, it was freaky, it was weird, but it was so damn awesome. FOUR KISS SOLO ALBUMS? Ace Frehley was my hero because he was the Spaceman, and I also thought silver make-up looked cool. The covers were black, and I looked to see if they were photos or paintings. They were indeed paintings. Gene Simmons was the demon, and while I wasn’t exactly scared, holding something that involved the devil was a bit spooky only because my parents taught me that being evil or doing bad things would lure me to hell. But I grabbed his album and loved the fact that he had blood dripping out of his mouth. I then looked at Paul Stanley’s record and he was Mr. Suave, looking perfect for a 16 magazine poster. While I loved the drums, I didn’t grab Peter Criss’ album at all, but it looked cool. My mom walked into the store and in complete excitement, I told her that Kiss had four solo albums. She could care less, but she probably noted how happy I was. Then I made the request for something I had dreamed about, or at least dreamed for two hours (a/k/a two minutes): I wanted all four Kiss solo albums, right there. She said no, grabbed my hand, and walked me out. I’m sure I jumped, stumbled, and pulled my way demanding the records, but I knew it wasn’t going to happen so I accepted it. However, I knew someday I would have all four.

I did, but not all at once.

I would get the albums within a two or three month period, in this order: Ace, Gene, Paul, and Peter. Oddly enough, that was in the order I picked them up at DJ’s Sound City. Mock divine luck, or just coincidence? Most likely the latter. I found myself enjoying the albums in that order as well, although I found myself fascinated with Gene’s album for how different it was and even today, I still go back and forth on who had the better album of the four: Ace or Gene?


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Ace Frehley’s album was the best of the four. Outside of the coolness factor, I liked his guitar work and voice, and his album rocked from start to finish. Kiss were a rock band, a hard rock band, and to me that’s what an album from a member of Kiss should sound like. “Rip It Out” started the album and it was great to hear him play without the band. Liberating? I wasn’t using that word at the age of 7 or 8, but it was awesome and I wanted to hear more, and I did. “Speedin’ Back To My Baby” was co-written with his wife Jeanette, whose name was similar to my sister’s, so I’m sure I thought “wow, Ace has a Jeanette, just like me.” Then the album gets into “Snow Blind”, which most likely lead me to wonder how snow could make someone blind before I learned years later that it may have been a reference to cocaine. “Ozone”, with its slightly meditative drones and vocal harmonies, moved me even though I didn’t know how. “New York Groove” was the poppiest song of the bunch, and it definitely grooved a long to where you didn’t mind singing this along in front of everyone, a friendly song. I loved “Wiped Out” because its title reminded me of the popular surf song by The Surfaris, “Wipe Out”, and maybe, just maybe, Frehley was, I don’t know, surfing? Most likely not. My favorite song on the album would be the one that closes it, “Fractured Mirror”. It begins with the sound of a church bell before the guitar is faded in, and I liked how there were different guitar melodies and riffs in this, done through multi-track recording. Most of the song is played with a limited amount of chords, with Frehley playing in between them, with a brief passage that served as the song’s bridge, before it fades out as it began, but with the guitar now double tracked so that it would echo with itself. It’s an instrumental piece, but I liked how it closed the album and when I play the album in full, everything builds up to that grand moment.

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If Frehley’s album felt liberating in some fashion, Gene Simmons’ album was a different type of liberation. I remember the first time I dropped the needle on the record and heard the laughter that welcomes the listener in. Again, as kids we believed in their characters, so this was the sound of a demon laughing, it was Lord Satana smiling and giggling, followed by an orchestra and what sounded like a choir (in truth, multi-layered vocals from Janis Ian), pulling in everyone who dared listen. Then the guitars and bass came in, and he started to sing:
You’re my food, you’re my water
you’ve got to be the devil’s daughter
can’t get near, can’t get far
you’ve got the power, but know who you are

He then revealed that the woman in question was “Radioactive”, complimented by nice background vocals. The devil’s daughter, I thought, so he’s talking to *his* daughter? All I knew back then was that Gene portrayed the demon, I knew he was a character but wasn’t fully aware just yet on what it meant to be devilish. Then the next song comes on, and what I liked about “Burning Up With Fever” was the count-in, the off-notes of the guitar leading Simmons to say with a smirk “lovely”, before he talks about a feeling that he just can’t hide. As I was someone who read liner notes and album credits, it was a trip to learn it was Donna Summer who did the background vocals. Also, as someone whose record collection seemed to be filled with many releases on Casablanca Records, it seemed to make sense that Summer and Simmons would join, but wasn’t aware of any other unions that may or may not have had. Each song on Side 1 had explored different themes, moods, and emotions, and it felt weird realizing Simmons was…nice? I would say today that it showed a more emotional, perhaps human side to the man behind the mask, which he’d touch on with “Man of 1,000 Faces”, but tracks like “Tunnel Of Love”, “See You Tonite”, and “True Confessions”, the latter featuring singer Helen Reddy, just didn’t seem like it was the music from the devil. Yet this devil seemed cool, approachable, but with caution. Flipping the record over to Side 2, I loved “Living In Sin” from the opening drums to the heavy breathing Simmons was making. Again, a dark soul from hell was saying “I know you write me sexy letter”, but the next line, I had initially interpreted as “and you send your pictures for my war”. For years, I wondered why anyone would send photographs for war, until I learned he actually said “and you send your pictures for my wall”. Looking at the back cover again, I learned it was Cher who was the recipient of the phone call in the song, which again made sense, since Cher had just been signed to Casablanca. Again, I was not aware of any other unions that the two may or may not have yet. I also really liked “”See You in Your Dreams” because it reminded me of the type of pop/soul that one could hear on the radio or on TV, and while I was not aware of who she was, it was Katey Sagal who handled the background vocals on it and a number of other tracks on the record. I wouldn’t know until much later that Sagal was in a group who were also signed to Casablanca, and as the story goes, unions, not happening, etc. The weirdest song was the one that wrapped things up, his rendition of Jimini Cricket’s “When You Wish Upon A Star”. Is this guy, the demon of the band, going Disney? It was tacky, corny, cheesy, and I’ll throw in kitschy as well, complete with an orchestra and lush background vocals, and the fact that it seemed so much unlike him made the whole thing work, eventually reaching the high note at the album where it sounds like he actually unleashed a tear from his evil eye. A tear equal to the drip of the blood that poured from his mouth. Awesome.

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Even though Paul Stanley was my third favorite member of Kiss, he was the vocalist of some of my favorite Kiss songs: “Detroit Rock City”, “Do You Love Me”, “Strutter”, “Love Gun”, “100,000 Years” and the intro to “Black Diamond”, so there was always respect for him. His album began with a ballad, or at least that’s how “Tonight You Belong to Me” before it rocked out afterwards. Stanley’s record would show a love for pop craftiness and ballad, which some might have been taken aback by but again, he was the Starchild, the man who pucked lovingly for the ladies, so maybe this was his romantic side. “It’s Alright” was a solid rocker from him, while “Hold Me, Touch Me (Think of Me When We’re Apart)” sounded much like a lot of the songs on the radio at the time, what is now known as yacht rock, but it fit his character. I’m certain that this was and remains a personal favorite for some Kiss fans, but no one expected it to be pure pop, even though Kiss were having an overwhelming amount of pop success. Maybe people expected for Peter Criss to dish out the pop, since he had hits with “Beth” and “Hard Luck Woman”, which maybe lead some to feel that it would be he to dish out the true pop album.

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Criss’ solo album was one that received the worst reviews and partly because of them, sold the less. In fact, as this was the last of the four I received from my parents, by the time I obtained my copy, it already had a cut-out mark on it, which to me meant it wasn’t good enough so they had to sell it cheap. I would later learn that with some releases on Casablanca, they would often ship an overwhelming amount of records for release day, only to learn not everyone could afford to buy all four in one crack, which would leave a lot of unwanted copies at stores, thus were given a cut-out hole or notch in the hopes of clearing them out.

In truth, Criss’ album was not bad at all and was probably the most human of the four, in that it sounded more like an album that would’ve been made by George Peter Criscuola of Brooklyn, not the mysterious CatMan. It sounded like songs one could easily hear on the radio or at the jukebox from the corner bar, especially his cover of “Tossin’ And Turnin'”, which was the first song I really liked because it was familiar to me. Other tracks like “Rock Me, Baby”, “I Can’t Stop The Rain”, and “Hooked On Rock’N’Roll” showed the rock’n’roll spirit that swept him and the other members of Kiss in their youth, but Criss wasn’t afraid to reveal it. It had an old feel, and with a group such as Kiss, you wanted to feel as if you were listening to music of the now or the future, not what happened before. Maybe surprisingly, Criss’ album was the only one of the four that spawned two singles, even though the other three had a wealth of songs that were potential hits. Hit singles, they weren’t, but people still loved Criss because he remained and will always be Kiss’ Catman.


A month after Kiss released these solo albums, they would release their made-for-TV movie, Kiss Meets The Phantom Of The Park. For those of us who loved the idea of having four new releases by the members of the band, perhaps it was this movie that made some feel that this was the beginning of that high rise to the top. Some wondered if anyone in the band could act, or maybe it was that Simmons seemed believable and that the others should not act. For many, it was the first time fans got a chance to see Paul, Gene, Ace & Peter move, but it seemed a bit too out-of-place. Kiss may have been for the youth even though their lyrics were often very adult themed, so to see them being involved in things that were child-like, along the lines of the Banana Splits, was something not many wanted to see. It would be another seven months before the band was heard from again, when they released Dynasty. At this point, Kiss had a completely new look and now had a song that was considered their entry way into disco, “I Was Made For Loving You”, and that broke a lot of people’s hearts. It didn’t break mine, it sounded different but the song had always been cool to me, even though I was more of a “2000 Man” and “X-Ray Eyes” fan. While this was billed as the return for the band, it also started the next level of their downfall. While Criss was considered a failure with his pop solo album, the band were eventually turning into the pop band they didn’t originally set out to be. Dynasty would be the last album Criss played on and when the 80’s began, no one was sure if Kiss would continue on or fade away. We now know that they not only continued, but would reveal themselves without make-up, perhaps losing the magic we all felt the group had, but still rocking out strong.

Nothing will take away the power of glancing at those four solo albums in September 1978, as if their glares transmitted some kind of power to listen and “buy me. No wait, buy us all.” We wanted Kiss stuff like we wanted Hot Wheels and Tyco cars, and we got them in abundance. As Kiss, we didn’t know or care about some of the stories they were singing about, and yet the group seem to make a shift at the moment we wanted them to continue rocking our worlds. Maybe they knew, maybe their fans were getting older, I’m sure there is a college course that has looked into the phenomenon far deeper than I could. While I was aware of who Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young were, I only knew about Young’s solo work, so to me, Kiss were the kings of the solo album and I thought that all groups should have their members release their own work. When I’d get into The Beatles, I had been aware of who John, Paul, George, and Ringo were but didn’t piece things together that they do released solo albums, primarily after their split. In hip-hop, groups like Digital Underground and the Wu-Tang Clan would spawn solo and group contracts, and the more music there was, the merrier I was. But in 1978, my music loving self was realizing that music could be so much more than the few 45’s and albums my parents bought me, and the songs I heard on the radio in Honolulu. The Kiss solo albums made me understand that the possibilities were endless, and I wanted to explore those possibilities, hoping all of my favorite groups would do more music with their own separate releases. It didn’t happen with most of them, but it felt like a revival when Digital Underground and the Wu-Tang brought back that mentality to the industry in the early to mid 1990’s. These days, anyone and everyone can release their own projects for purchase and for free, and maybe that magic no longer exists, but I’d still like to think that if a group surfaces with that kind of fan devotion, it could happen again.

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THE LISTENING EXPERIENCE: Headbanger: Movement I

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Being a fan of hard rock and heavy metal has its benefits. I was very much a certified headbanger, and for me, to be a headbanger means you have embraced heavy metal as your savior and you look the part. By looking the part, you feel that you are one with the spirit of metal, and I was very much that, and while the keyword here is “was”, my love of heavy metal still remains.

  • As a kid born and initially raised in California, my Uncle Wayne also lived next door to us with his then-girlfriend, Pam. Even though he was always there, I don’t remember doing much at my uncle’s house except listen to music. That’s not to say I didn’t play with toys at home or with my friends at the daycare/pre-school thingy, but my uncle was never a “play with toys” kinda guy. Yet when it came to kicking back and playing music… maybe that’s why I enjoyed going over.

    In this case, I don’t remember anything but the fact that he had two albums that I liked listening to. As part of the listening ritual, it also meant looking at the album cover. One album my uncle loved was Black Sabbath‘s third album, Master Of Reality, released in 1971. It was on the army green Warner Bros. label so it was one of the first pressings before Warner Bros. moved to their Burbank tree painting label of the mid-70’s. While I was able to enjoy the music of Santana and War at home, the music I heard on Master Of Reality was just brutal. Okay, I’m sure at 3 years old I didn’t know what brutal was, but the guitars were cool sounding and loud. I loved “Sweet Leaf” because it was someone coughing before the song, but I also liked “Embryo”, “Children Of The Grave”, and “Into The Void”. A few years later, when we moved to Honolulu, my Uncle David (brother of Uncle Wayne) had the album too and I would listen to it when I went to his apartment. I sat there, and at one point the cover freaked me out. Those of you who know the cover are going “um… why?” Here’s the cover.
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    For those who have never held the original vinyl pressing, the cover consists of Black Sabbath in purple lettering, with the title of the album, Master Of Reality, embossed in black lettering on black. This creeped me out because it was “dark”, and when you’re a kid, “dark” (as in “without the lights on”) meant spooky. Will a ghost get me? When the end of “Children Of The Grave” came to its close and the song had the sounds of Tony Iommi playing the guitar in a manner that sounded ghostly, along with a few voices going “oooh” and a faint “children of the grave” whispered every now and then, this was just creepy. In time, kinda cool. As a kid who would eventually learn about spiritual and religious things, I wanted to know who this “master of reality” was, and if it’s a person, how come his picture isn’t anywhere on the cover. The back cover had the lyrics for the entire album, so as I sat there not knowing what was going on in the front, I could read along and initially not know what a “sweet leaf” was (until I realized it was what my dad was smoking). As for “Children Of The Grave”, I was a child and I wondered if a grave was in my near future. Who are these children, and are they the ones going “oooooh” at the end of the song? It would be awhile before I learned “Into The Void” was an environmental song.

    What I loved about the music was that it was my initial exposure to something one would call “heavy”: lots of guitar, lots of distortion, booming drums, deep bass, with an incredible groove that I’d love. I also liked it because there are parts of their songs where they’d break out of these heavy grooves and play fast (as they did in “Sweet Leaf” and “Into The Void”) but then return to creating these cool grinding sounds. This love of low-end heaviness would refresh itself in high school with a bunch of goofy kids from Montesano, Washington, and when it did, it would remain there from that point on.

  • My Uncle Wayne also had another cool looking-yet-scary album: Led Zeppelin‘s Houses Of The Holy. I remember sitting down, holding the “big” album cover in my hands, not knowing who these naked girls on the cover were (not realizing that one of them was a boy, and that the full cover was just a collage of the nude brother and sister team). Open the cover, and there was a man (a father?) holding up a little girl (his daughter?) I know I saw this and thought “what is the dad going to do with his little girl? Is he going to throw her off of the mountain? What was cool about the cover? The orange and yellow tones of the outside photo, and the green and blue tones of the gatefold.

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    But what I loved the most about the cover was the idea that all of these kids (again, just a brother and sister) were living in holes. Why were these kids living in holes that are in rocks? Where are these rocks? How do they live? It looked like some of the rock formations and reefs that are around Honolulu. When I was able to swim far enough to reach reef formations, I’d try to see if I could find my own Houses Of The Holy. I came close when one of the blockages at Magic Island had a hole where you could go inside and hide. But these were man made holes, but it was enough to where you could sit inside and just chill (or if you were someone who smoked or did a few drinks, get polluted until your heart was content or you coudn’t feel your legs.)

    My uncle also had Houses Of The Holy on 8-track for his car, while an auntie had the album on cassette. Both the 8-track and cassette were in pink plastic shells, which was the coolest to me because I had never seen any cassettes, other than Disneyland read-along stories, that had a color other than white, black, or grey.

    What I loved about the music was old bold and victorious “The Song Remains The Same”, as if it was coming in from the mountain that the father and his daughter was on, down to find the kids. Those jangling guitars sounded like power and strength, the drums would kick in, and then you’d have the power trio just playing. In the mid-section you have guitarist Jimmy Page just digging into the guitar with some wicked riffs, and then doing it again once more in the song’s last minutes. My Uncle Wayne would always sing one part of the song, and before I knew the lyrics I had no idea, other than “he likes this song”. Then one day when I found a lyric sheet, I knew:

    California sunlight
    Sweet Calcutta rain
    Honolulu star bright
    The song remains the same

    These were things of delight, but it was a part of the song that referred to Honolulu. It was a reference to home for my uncle, and it’s something I would eventually single out in my life too, it may have originated from here. It’s the idea that even though you are miles away from home, you tend to want to find and single out any and all references to where you were from. Then again, the end verse was kinda cool too:

    Sing out hari hari
    Dance the hoochie-coo
    City lights, oh so bright
    As we go sliding, sliding
    Sliding, Sliding, Sliding, Sliding…
    …down

    It sounded cool, but eventually when puberty hit and you realize about the wonders of those you are attracted to, and how, “you know, sometimes words have two meanings” and that a lot of the songs you knew and love could be re-interpreted into many different, perhaps more exciting things. What was Robert Plant sliding down, or was someone sliding down on him, or were he and a lady sliding down together? I wanted to find a lady I could slide down with too, experience all of this “sliding, sliding, sliding, sliding”.

    What I also loved about Led Zeppelin was those drums. It was just a lot of “boom”, “bam”, “chsssshhhh’ and “pop”, but once I understood what he was doing, there was so much to learn and love about this John Henry Bonham. I didn’t want to be a drummer then, but his drumming would never leave my consciousness.

  • When we were living in Honolulu, we lived for awhile at my grandma’s house in Honolulu. My grandma had one of those wooden cabinet phonographs that looked and felt sturdy, if I could fit inside (and no I did not try), it could be a cozy place to stay. It had a radio, the plastic seemed durable, the metal on it looked as if it could never break or melt. Those wooden cabinet stereos had a distinct smell, a mixture of the wood and the components of the electronics inside. I honestly never remember my grandpa ever playing any music on this stereo, and since we arrived in Hawai’i when my grandfather was sick, I have no idea if the stereo was something they both enjoyed or if it was something one of them preferred more. This was in the mid-1970’s, and yet this thing looked like it came from the 1950’s or early 1960’s. Was this the stereo that my dad discovered some of his first records? It wasn’t an issue again so the question never came up.

    As with anything to do with grandparents and their things, you never meddled in their business, or in this case my grandma’s business. She always seemed a bit quiet and reserved, but her husband had died and was still dealing with the loss. Yet even as I got older and would visit her often, she kept to herself. I do remember her scolding me a few times, for what I don’t know, but I do remember her being in the kitchen. Sometimes she would make a dish that was my dad’s favorite, and sometimes it would have ingredients that I would try and go “what is this?” Actually, I probably said something like “yuck!”, I honestly don’t remember a dish from hers that I liked. When we had our own place, my mom would still make some of my dad’s favorite dishes, but tweaked with some of my mom’s preferences. One of them was curry stew, a Hawaiian style concoction that involved ground beef, carrots, chopped potatoes, and curry powder, then poured over white sticky rice. This would become one of my favorite dishes among many. Yet when it came to music, I don’t associate anything with my grandma.

  • There was a day when I had two records to myself, and what felt like an empty house. I don’t remember where my parents where, my guess is my dad was maybe in the garage fixing his car. I don’t know if my mom was there. The weird thing about this story is that somehow I obtained these two records. At this point I wasn’t actively going to stores and saying “mom, I want this” or “dad, this is cool, can you get me this?”, I would simply play what may have been near me. I have no idea where these records came from, but now that I had them, I wanted to hear them. At the age of 6, I wanted to play these records on the big grandma stereo, which was in the dining room. I looked around, and I walked towards it.

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    The two albums in my hands were the Taiwan pressing of Led Zeppelin III, and a U.S. pressing of Alice Cooper‘s Easy Action. I remember it being the Taiwan pressing because the cover was the cheap paper and plastic version, with no wheel to spin. The label was also blue, with a circle instead of the Atlantic logo. I pulled the record out, put it on the turntable, turned on the phonograph, lifted the tone arm, and put it on the first Side 1. “Two… three… four…” All of a sudden, “Aaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Aaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” I loved what I was hearing, this was cool. I knew who Led Zeppelin were from Houses Of The Holy, and I felt I was having a good time until my grandpa came out from nowhere and said “turn that off! Turn that off! That is the devil’s music!” Devil’s music? What is the devil’s music? I just remember her looking at me as if I did the naughtiest thing a 6 year old could ever do, and I was unhappy. My mom and dad let me play this music, my uncles and aunties loved this music, why is this “devil’s music”? As for Alice Cooper, I remember playing the record another time but don’t remember any of the songs. I wouldn’t hear it again until high school. Yet I loved the cover photo of the band, whose faces you could not see because they were not facing the camera. COOL! If my grandma thought Led Zeppelin was evil, one wondered what he thought of the cover where all of them had long hair and were shirtless. The devil, indeed.

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    (SIDENOTE: I believe this was also the first Taiwan pressing of the album I had ever seen, which were plentiful in Honolulu in the mid-70’s. I had never seen them in stores, but always when my parents would go to a swap meet. My guess is that this album was bought at the Kam Super Swap Meet, which was held at the Kamehameha Drive-In Theater, where you could get a lot of things for dirt cheap. It was not the first swap meet I had been to, as I remember one visit to the Rose Bowl Swap Meet in Pasadena, California. I don’t remember what was purchased, but I remember walking to see the big Rose Bowl sing and thinking “wow, this place is big”. My dad may have been looking for car parts.

    Years later, I became aware that Taiwan pressings had not only cheap and flimsy covers, but the quality of the records were piss poor too. However, when one could not buy, find, or afford a proper U.S. pressings, and you just wanted to hear the music, a Taiwan pressing was acceptable, albeit barely. In my early teens, I would obtain the Taiwan pressings of Blind Faith‘s first and only album, and Black Sabbath‘s Master Of Reality, with a photo of the band on the cover that I later discovered was found in the poster of original pressings of the record. If there’s any benefit of Taiwan pressings, it was to see the different look of the front or back cover, especially if an alternate photo was used.

    Also, any and all Taiwan pressings are counterfeits, along with any pressings from any part of Southeast Asia. There were no major label affiliates in Taiwan, it seems whoever had a recording would press it up. At least with Led Zeppelin III, the album was released three different times on three different labels, each showing the name on the label on the cover. No idea if these were three different counterfeit copies or just one entrepreneur pressing it in three different ways.)


  • I believe the first hard rock band I got into on my own terms was Kiss. I know for a fact that my Uncle David saw them when they played at the Neal S. Blaisdell (NBC) Arena in 1976 (after doing a search, a Wikipedia entry shows they played in Honolulu on February 29, 1976 for the Alive tour. Amazing: Kiss did live shows in support of a live album that for the most part was not live.) I think what I liked about Kiss is what everyone else liked about them: they were four distinct characters, hidden in costume and make-up, and they rocked. They did songs that sounded good, or at least they felt good. I know over the years, people said that Kiss played nothing more than dumb rock’n’roll, but it was a style of rock’n’roll people loved because they put on an awesome spectacle. Fans were consumed by the show and the myth and mystery. My parents bought me the Alive album on cassette, and I would play it like crazy. Loved Paul Stanley when he spoke about drinking tequila, vodka & orange juice, and then at the end of one of the songs where the crowd noise flanged.

    Eventually I would get Destroyer and Love Gun but in 1978, I went to DJ’s Sound City, a record store in Ala Moana. This was like the playroom I wanted to live in, where everyone wanted music, everyone was buying records and tapes, and earlier in 1978 I had went in and heard Van Halen for the first time. A few months later, with a regular visit to Ala Moana, I would go to the record store. In Ala Moana, you also had House Of Music, which I also liked because they had record booths where one could listen to records before you’d buy them. I also liked House Of Music because back then, each record store was distinct and this felt like a true house of music, with items I would never see anywhere. DJ’s Sound City sounded like the kind of city I’d want to live in when I grew up, because they had a great name. My goal in life back then was to be a radio DJ, so a disc jockey where he could go to a sound city and just rock on? RIGHT ON, and my dad would make regular visits there to browse or buy.

    One day, I entered the store on my own. The plan was, as my parents would do their shopping and or browsing, usually at a store nearby, I would go to the record store. This was my safe haven, my Toys-R-Us, and employees did not make an issue of a 7-year old kid on his own, in a record store. I knew how to navigate myself through. Pop and rock was always in the front, those were the big sellers. Soul/funk records were mixed in with pop and rock because they were popular, and it was the 1970’s, soul and funk were huge. The uncle who had a good amount of hard rock and heavy metal also loved jazz, but that was due to the guitarists who were on some of those albums. One jazz album I remember was Live Evil by Miles Davis. The cover looked very similar to a record I was familiar with, Santana‘s Abraxas, but the artwork was creepier. Miles Davis looked cool inside, just simple black & white photos where it looked as if he was talking behind the counter or in a recording studio. When I was at my uncle’s place, he would put on the records for me, but sometimes I’d listen to them with the stereo speakers. Most of the time, I would have to wear headphones, adult-sized headphones that were way too big for my young head. But this meant the music was doing “direct” to my head, and it was warm and cozy like a good couch. Now imagine a 7-year old kid listening to a bit of fanatical jazz fusion where I had no idea what was being played or why it sounded like this. When I pulled out the record and looked at it, there was maybe one or two tracks on each side. These songs are long, but that meant more time listening and concentrating to the music. Again, imagine a 7-year old kid listening to Live Evil and looking at artwork like this:
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    Now, I was used to the two nude women on the cover of Abraxas, an illustration of a lady with tattoos, another of a woman sitting there for all to see with a strategically placed bird. But Live Evil: what the hell was going on? Here was a nude black woman, pregnant, with another woman kissing her stomach. Fair enough, but what are those ripples on her stomach? Then I see people in the background: who are these people, and where are they going? Then I flip the cover over and I see a blonde gorilla, sitting with webbed feet or whatever with peas all over the place. I now realize that the gorilla-type beast is meant to be J. Edgar Hoover, but as a 7-year old, those peas freaked me out.

    I bring this up because when I went into DJ’s Sound City in September 1978, I knew to go to the jazz section in the back, because I could see other Miles Davis albums with equally weird covers. I remember seeing a Keith Jarrett box set on ECM (Solo Concerts: Bremen/Lausanne and back when 2-record sets were “special events”, and I could only have them if I was a good boy (read “good grades”), I always wanted more. Then I look at the wall, where new releases for the week and month were sold. I looked and saw something I had never seemed nor dreamed. This was too good to be true. What did I see? FOUR SOLO ALBUMS FROM EACH MEMBER OF KISS!!! Forget the Keith Jarrett box, I want to hear all of these. I stood there for what felt like hours, just staring, but most likely it was a few minutes. When my mom or dad came to pick me up, I most likely pointed and said “look, everyone from Kiss has a record, I want them all.” Pffff, forget that. Getting one album meant I had to be good and exceptional, but a kid getting four records, four “big records” (albums) at once? I was following the habits of a music loving household, but most of the time my collection would be primarily 45’s, with albums for being “good”. No way would I get all of those four Kiss albums.

    Not all at once, at least.

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    I don’t remember if I got Gene Simmons‘ or Ace Frehley‘s album first, but I know that I liked them both. I liked both of them because Gene was the devil guy with the blood and cool hair, while Ace Frehley was far out and from outer space, as he would sing in “Snowblind”. I liked Paul but he was the “Starchild”, which at the time I felt he stole from Parliament. These two were on the same label, how come there are two Starchild’s? Plus, Paul always puckered and seemed “girly” but his album was quite good too. Peter Criss‘ album was okay, but I played that one the least, although I remember his cover of “Tossin’ And Turnin'”. Eventually, all four of those Kiss solo albums would be released as 12″ picture discs, but they were more expensive and while I don’t remember asking for them, if I did, I would’ve been told “go get a job”.

    I used to think that being able to get all four Kiss solo albums must’ve meant I was really good, or that my dad was feeling extra happy about something. However, I remember reading in And Party Every Day: The Inside Story Of Casablanca Records by Larry Harris that, while Kiss were being pushed and promoted as the hottest band in the land, they had created massive attention towards these four albums. It was a chance to not just buy one Kiss album, but four. However, more albums were pressed than were sold, which lead to record stores turning the album into a budget-priced cut-out. Eventually you could find each of these albums at supermarkets that would have a small devoted section to records that were essentially failures (the RSO soundtrack to Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band was always there, along with the Pickwick Records knockoff. At the time, as a growing Beatles fan, I wanted the soundtrack but instead my mom bought me the damn Pickwick knockoff. The music sounded like shit.) My guess is that some, if not all, of the Kiss solo albums were bought as cut-outs, so they were cheaper than they were when I first saw them at DJ’s Sound City. I would know this too, because of part of the cover was clipped off, I knew it was most likely bought at a supermarket.

  • My Uncle David also loved Aerosmith, especially the albums Get Your Wings and Toys In The Attic. I would enjoy them too, but the album I found myself really enjoying their 1976 album Rocks. My uncle was still living with his dad at their apartment in Waikiki (my uncle was still 15), and one day I remember him wanting to play me a new record. It was a 45 on Columbia, and he asks me “guess the name of this song.” I enjoyed how the sound started out slow, before it changed 20 seconds in to the groove that would become the main part of the song. I really liked it, and wanted a “little record” as well. I heard the singer sing “home… sweet… home” and I told my uncle “is this called “Home Sweet Home”?” He said no. I couldn’t understand the singer’s screams at the end, could’ve been “I found a lass chao, a just a boogin da bee”. After the song faded and the record player stopped, I picked up the record and saw that it was Aerosmith’s “Last Child”. I had to have it. I didn’t get it then, but I would get that 45, most likely bought by my Uncle David or an auntie.

    One day, my parents dropped me off at my grandfather’s apartment so he could watch me, and he would take me to Records Hawai’i, one of his favorite record stores since it had a lot of Hawaiian music. It may have been on Friday, perhaps a pay day, and I know he bought some records so he could listen to it during the weekend, a ritual for him. He then asked me to pick an album that I wanted to get. I don’t remember if I looked at anything else, but if “Last Child” was on my mind, then this is why I immediately went for the Rocks album. When I got home, I played it, looked at the inner sleeve and wondered why Steven Tyler was eating oatmeal or Cream Of Wheat with the food all over his mouth? I didn’t get it, nor would I, but it didn’t matter. I had an Aerosmith album, and loved Side 1. I’d play it over and over. When I would go to my uncle’s place, I would be able to hear other Aerosmith albums and since they were on the radio too, there was never a true need to get more. My uncle would have the record, I can go listen to it there but if I wanted to hear Rocks over and over, I could do so at home.

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  • I’d listen to other hard rock and heavy metal groups, and many of my discoveries would be through my Uncle David, a guitarist who seemed to buy a wide range of albums to perfect his craft.Scorpions‘s Tokyo Tapes and Animal Magnetism; AC/DC‘s Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap and If You Want Blood You Got It; UFO‘s Lights Out, Pat Travers Band‘s Force It; Judas Priest‘s Sad Wings Of Destiny and Unleashed In The East; and the almighty Live album by Frank Marino & Mahogany Rush. I loved the volume of it all, the power and majesty of it, the ability to rock out, and at times hearing some incredibly weird sounds played in the form of guitar solos that were not a major part of my listening at home. My parents weren’t against heavy metal at all, but going to hear what my uncle had? I wanted to hear more. I know there were times when my parents would come to pick me up, I didn’t want to go home. I was not done listening to music with my uncle. I’d probably get into a fit and acted like a fool. What did I want to do with my life, after being exposed to the music that my uncle loved? “I wanna rock!”
  • As the 1980’s started, I could never have imagined all of the changes that would happen, not only in my own life, but with how I was able to listen to and find out about music. If my days as a single digit boy felt exciting, especially as this new thing called video games was becoming another means of great entertainment, it was only a mere climb of the metaphorical roller-coaster before I’d reach the top, only to grip the edges before speeding down into the great unknown from all angles. It’s a ride that continues to this day.

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  • BOOK REVIEW: “And Party Every Day: The Inside Story Of Casablanca Records” by Larry Harris

     photo AndPartyEveryDay.jpg If you were around in the 1970’s, there was a record label that you either loved or couldn’t escape, no matter how you tried. And Party Every Day: The Inside Story Of Casablanca Records (Backbeat) by Larry Harris is a first hand account of how a record label started out of the ashes from another, only to fade into an unfortunate dust, but not without releasing an amount of output that influences people to this day.

    Harris is the cousin of Casablanca’s late founder, Neil Bogart, and was there for most of the label’s highs and unfortunate lows. What Harris reveals in the book is how the label started in a very humble manner, and through hard work, determination, and at times luck, they were able to sign artists who would help to define music of the 1970’s. These artists include Kiss, The Village People, Donna Summer and Parliament, and while the book doesn’t get in-depth with their individual histories, it does get into how the label worked with them to insure they would become and remain popular, even though the public was not aware of the mountain of hassles everyone was going through in order for the label to maintain its own public persona.

    If you know about any aspect of Kiss’ history, you’ll know how they were a major part of Casablanca’s success, but so was Donna Summer, whose output from 1975-1979 made her the Queen of Disco. The Village People helped to create the power and elegance of a genre that had existed in the early 70’s, but was heavily pushed as a force to be reckon with through their label. Oddly enough, even with all of the tales of sex, cocaine, quaaludes, and payola, the person that is seen as the most sane is George Clinton, at least from Harris’ perspective. All of the artists on the label were hard working and determined to be active in order to have a career and maintain an income. The book touches on how no matter how lavish the request, Bogart would insure that all of them would be fulfilled, including creating a mothership for Parliament/Funkadelic and thousands of worshipping P-Funk fans. Harris admits that when Clinton had ideas and concepts to lay down, he was often as incoherent as anything. Weed, cocaine, potent wine, his substances were not described in detailed but for Clinton and friends, they were more than willing to tour and present an incredible show as long as they were paid. Perhaps this is what moved Clinton to be signed by multiple labels at the same time, so that he would have multiple sources of income. While I would have loved to have read more in-depth facts about Clinton and everyone within the P-Funk power, it seemed funny that for an artist who has always been perceived as being out there with his musical and social vision, he is viewed as the sanest of the bunch. Kiss, on the other hands, were always about the money and Donna Summer is viewed as someone who either loved drama or was surrounded by it, definitely fulfilling the diva persona many have placed on her in the last 35 years.

    Harris touches on all of the meetings, promotional tactics, publicity moves, department growth, and everything that has to do with making one of the best record labels around remain to be the best, but the truth was that the lavish lifestyles people at the label were living was much greater than the reality of what was going on. The philosophy was very much based on “perception over reality”, in that as long as people felt you were going good, then you were good. The book also reveals a number of the label’s failures and shortcomings, and generally pops the bubble on the mystique Casablanca has had for so many years. Maybe the logos for the label and one of their subsidiary labels should have offered clues for some. A Casablanca design involved an illustration of the Casablanca in question, a white house in the desert that was actually depicting a scene out of a movie being shot, complete with cameras, microphones, and lights. It was portraying a scene. Casablanca would also distribute a label called Oasis, and while it was not their intention, maybe the oasis in Casablanca’s desert was also an oasis that they wanted everyone to believe.

    One of the more interesting aspects is reading what Bogart wanted to do with various off-shoot divisions. Casablanca would eventually become known as Casablanca Records & FilmWorks, where they would dabble in making/distributing movies. But there were also moves to have divisions for artwork/paintings, cell phones, and home video, at a time when home video wasn’t seen as something worthy for public consumption. The one reason why there are so many Casablanca-related promotional film clips/music videos was that they were always creating documentaries and television shows to not only promote the artists, but their music and themselves. They were multimedia before multimedia was a buzzword, and as Harris reveals, a series of albums they pushed to be released by McDonald’s (yes, the fast food chain) were interactive, at a time when interactive meant wishing you had a remote control so you could turn channels from your sofa.

    The story is told very well, with all of the excitement and delight any record company biography is expected to have. If you are a fan of the truth behind how the machine works, And Party Every Day will make you wonder how anything like this could ever happen again. People were willing to take more chances back then, and from afar it seemed like it was one hell of a ride. For the love of music, as well as the love of music, fame, success, women, and good ludes, Casablanca was a monster that ate itself foolishly. In retrospect, it reads like an oasis that vanished far too soon, but it’s fun to realize what went on in the sandstorms of the 1970’s.

    http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?lt1=_blank&bc1=000000&IS2=1&bg1=FFFFFF&fc1=000000&lc1=0000FF&t=thisbosmu-20&o=1&p=8&l=as4&m=amazon&f=ifr&asins=0879309822http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?lt1=_blank&bc1=000000&IS2=1&bg1=FFFFFF&fc1=000000&lc1=0000FF&t=thisbosmu-20&o=1&p=8&l=as4&m=amazon&f=ifr&asins=B002VECWD6http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?lt1=_blank&bc1=000000&IS2=1&bg1=FFFFFF&fc1=000000&lc1=0000FF&t=thisbosmu-20&o=1&p=8&l=as4&m=amazon&f=ifr&asins=B000001DZK

    COVERED: Kiss vs. Red Giant

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    COVERED is a new section of ThisIsBooksMusic.com where I will look for and explore album cover parodies and homages. In other words, consider it a “cover version” of a cover. I’m a big fan of cover parodies and homages, so I’ll post them more often.

    Here’s one for Kiss‘s Love Gun album, done by a band out of Cleveland called Red Giant.

    http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?lt1=_blank&bc1=000000&IS2=1&bg1=FFFFFF&fc1=000000&lc1=0000FF&t=thisbosmu-20&o=1&p=8&l=as1&m=amazon&f=ifr&md=10FE9736YVPPT7A0FBG2&asins=B000VZLL02http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?lt1=_blank&bc1=000000&IS2=1&bg1=FFFFFF&fc1=000000&lc1=0000FF&t=thisbosmu-20&o=1&p=8&l=as1&m=amazon&f=ifr&md=10FE9736YVPPT7A0FBG2&asins=B0043X7RQU