Seventy-Four. SEVENTY-FOUR!

Not everything around here is about my new launch.

Most of it is.  I need you to buy something. Seriously. Go now.

But.

Other things do still happen.

Sadly, one of those is the death of the original lead guitarist of the first band I was ever a fan of:

 

To no one's surprise, I loved KISS when I was a kid.

Ace Frehley, the Space Ace, died today.  He was 74.

Clock that. 74.

Man, I am OLD.

I saw Ace live in Regina, Saskatchewan a thousand years ago when he and Peter Criss were touring their bands together as a dual act, billing it as "The Bad Boys of KISS".

Peter's show was, meh.  He did do an acoustic version of Beth, so the memory is still a great one.

Ace was awesome.  Not so much musically, but damn could that man put on a show.  He must've flicked two dozen guitar picks across the bar over the course of 10 or so songs.  Nobody posed like Ace Frehley.

He told us he'd give us a guitar lesson and then held up his guitar, chugging on a D chord for about a minute.  The place went nuts.  

New York Groove blew us all away.  

The band and even Ace Frehley were only mediocre, musically. What was spectacular was the SHOW. It was a mid-sized bar in Saskatchewan and he wasn't wearing any makeup or blowing thousands of dollars of pyro, but his set was full on stadium rock. He played the room like there were 100,000 of us, not 100.

If you know anything about the KISS legacy, you are aware that there were probably about 10 minutes in the early 70s when everything was going smoothly between the original members and maybe 10 more minutes total in the last 25 years. As a fan, I never cared much about what went on behind the scenes, I just loved the SHOW. Not even the music, really, but the living comic book that KISS slapped on every picture, poster and album they touched. For a kid who wasn't allowed to listen to rock and roll around the house much, those guys in THOSE outfits and THAT make-up were musical gods.  

What I know of music and showmanship has KISS roots and no mistake.

And I'm still trying to swallow that he was 74. It's astonishing that the hard living, hard partying bad boy lived to 74. Almost as astonishing as realizing how old it makes me that the guys behind the outlandish hair, leather and makeup are all now into their 70s. That just doesn't track in my little brain.  

Forever young. Forever Space Ace, Forever the guy in the silver when everyone was done up in black.

I haven't listened to KISS in decades, but I may have to hunt up a little Detroit Rock City tonight.

And maybe flick a few picks around the room.