Read part one of Elmo’s encounter with Gene, HERE

In the wake of what seemed like a steel cage, wheel of death battle with a Demon, I decide some reflection is in order. For the most part, the interview is much more playful than that. In researching this story after the fact, I start to think that despite his reputation as a bully, despite all the machismo and the bragging and the on-the-record uncouth behaviour, Gene Simmons just loves a good ol’, down home argument for the sake of it. In much the same way that some of us grew up having amazingly heated disagreements on the topics of the day over the family dinner table, all the while knowing that however passionate it got, in the end, it’s all in fun. It’s a game of scoring points in a friendly, if not highly competitive, debating society. It sure beats quietly asking Dad to pass the peas.

“So who makes the call when you’re getting the band back on the road, again?”

“It sort of happens, we talk to each other all the time, (Gene and Paul Stanley, that is) everybody else answers to us. There’s no high like a KISS high. You get up on stage and you get to wear more make up and higher heels than any woman ever has. Come on. And I wear a codpiece big enough to house every farm animal in Brisbane, so there’s a lot of fun and games there. And of course the other fun is doing the encores back in the hotel. It doesn’t suck. It’s a lot of fun.”

Letting that one slide I say, “How long can you see yourself doing this for? Keeping on going with the band?”

“Well it’s only white people who ever ask questions like that. No one ever asks BB King when he’s gonna stop.”

“Because he’s so different to what you’re doing – ”

“It’s because white people are so concerned – white women – are so concerned with age and wrinkles. – œCause black. Don’t. Crack’,” Gene Simmons interrupts, seeming to momentarily forget that the last season of Family Jewels prominently featured he and Shannon undergoing his’n’her’s facelifts.

“Ha! So we’ll be seeing you with a walking frame, being dragged off?”

“Oh yeah. They’ll have to drag me kicking and screaming. Don’t be surprised if a few years from now I come out with a studded wheelchair being pushed out onstage by nurses with very big boobs.”

“Great! And then you’ll have that awful freak element too. People will be like, – œyou HAVE to see this’.”

“Look at that guy trying to mount that nurse. It’s like you come, and then you can go.”

Boom boom.

:: :: ::

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gene Simmons tells me, repeatedly. We’re deep into an argument about the future of the music industry. I’m in the camp favouring the digital revolution and everything it symbolizes: the death of the record label, the power put back in the hands of artists. It’s no doubt a terrifying time for the old school, in which Gene Simmons is firmly rooted. This seems to present the perfect opportunity to pick the brain of someone who’s been in the industry for almost as long as it has existed. What say you Gene Simmons, of the future of the music business?

“The record industry is dead!” Gene Simmons roars, getting rather worked up. “College kids file-sharing and downloading for nothing. The very same people that love and care about music so much are the same people slashing the throat of the music! There’s no business model anymore. That’s why the next great band from Brisbane or Adelaide doesn’t have a chance – because there’s no structure.”

“I don’t know about that. I’ll posit you this – ”

” – - œI don’t know’ is a fair statement. From you.”

“Ok, thanks.”

“Well it’s true,” Gene Simmons taunts.

“The way that Radiohead have done what they’ve just done – ”

” – you don’t have a clue what they’ve done or how they’ve done it or how many pieces they’ve sold.”

“The band are saying they’ve made more money online out of that model than from the previous sales of all their records combined.”

“Not true, not true. You know why?”

“Tell me why.”

“Because everybody else would have done it right away.”

“I think we’re going to have to wait and see.”

“Are you making a conjecture based on nothing, or are you stating fact? Are you saying it’s going to happen, or that it’s happening?”

“I’m saying it’s happing, and it will continue to happen.”

“You can’t say it’s going to happen because you aren’t qualified to make that statement. You can’t say it’s going to happen. This first thing I would say to that is, based on what?”

“OK, if I could finish what I was saying.”

“Yep. Good luck with this, by the way.”

“If you’re thinking about the music business, and it’s in so much trouble, blah blah – ”

” – I don’t have to think about it. But a new band does.”

“That’s what I’m trying to say.”

”- that’s the saddest part.”

Frustrated and risking the end of the interview, I try a little school teacher admonition of my own:

“Stop interrupting me, Gene Simmons!”

After a very brief pause he says, “Yes Ma’am.”

“Thank you. OK. So if Radiohead is doing this – doing away with their label. However much money EMI would have put into recording and releasing and promoting their new album, 10 million – however much money it is …”

” – you’re out of your mind! You have no idea what you’re talking about! You’re throwing figures around, you have no idea.”

“However much money it is. That money is now free to be invested in new artists, is what I’m saying. They can now invest that money in new talent.”

“They can’t, because they’re not making any money, anywhere.”

“Perhaps this revulsion with paying so much for CDs stems from the fact that record labels have been getting away with murder for so long.”

“You can have that opinion. But you can’t expect more eggs when you’ve let the foxes into the hen house for free.”

“Surely these are the same panicked arguments that went on in the switch from cassette to CD, when the technology changes – ”

” – you couldn’t be more wrong. Because they had to pay for it every step of the way. As soon as you take money out of the equation, the model dies. Money is the fuel of commerce, you understand?”

“Yes, IT IS.” I say.

“The analogy you just made is an exact contradiction in terms, because whether it’s cassettes, DVD, whatever, as long as people pay for the content there’s a business. It doesn’t matter what the model is. As soon as they stop paying for it, the business model dies.”

“Yes. And a new one has to be created.”

“So your comparison couldn’t be more incorrect. Because with DVDs, CDs, people still pay for it. With file sharing there is minimal to zero money being exchanged.”

“People do pay for music through iTunes and Amazon. A lot of people pay for music. Maybe not as many yet as did for hard copies -”

“You don’t know what that means. I’m having a conversation – I’m being respectful here. I’m having a conversation with the wrong person because whenever I ask you to qualify or quantify it, you can’t. You’re reading articles in Rolling Stone and telling me stuff. You need to have a conversation with a marketing person about sales stuff. You need the facts and figures, honestly.”

“Why don’t you throw some figures out there to put things in perspective?”

“The record industries are dead. And until the record industry figures out how to charge for it and how to make money from it, the next band that’s coming out of anywhere won’t have a chance. It’s been great talking with you, but it’s the wrong conversation to have with me because you’re not in sales marketing, although I think you’re terrific and creative. But that doesn’t make you’re qualified to talk about the business part of it.”

“That’s ok. I’m just trying to go with wherever you steer this conversation.”

“Meet me when I’m down there, I’d love to. Come up and say hi. But if I want to talk banking I’ll talk with a banker. I’m talking banking with my grocer. Wrong conversation. You have to be qualified to make assessments about the future. In other words being able to back it up. – œI feel this and that’ – so what? Based on what? It’s just an opinion.”

“Yes it is. Is that not ok?”

“No it’s not!” Gene Simmons thunders as I shrink back into the fourth grade. “There are qualified opinions. If my doctor says my heart’s gonna stop in three years, as opposed to my neighbour’s opinion. My neighbour’s opinion doesn’t mean anything because it’s not based on anything. He’s not qualified to make the assessment. The doctor has a qualified opinion. It’s ok to have a qualified opinion. That’s what I mean.”

Yikes! Guess I lost that round.

“Ok, great. Let’s talk about how you get on with the various ex members of KISS.”

“Well we love Ace and Peter, and Ace and Peter would both tell you they went through decades of self abuse, chemical and otherwise. And if you’re healthy, if you’re on the road to recovery, you come up and say – œI’m the reason that I’m no longer in the band. I’m why I’ve been kicked out three times.’ And if you’re not, then you’re not really on the road to healthy. And we love them dearly and I know that the fans keep crying – œbring back Ace and Peter’. It’s not gonna happen.

“In the same way that if you’re on a football team, if you’re on crack you’re not gonna play football. It’s just not gonna happen. – œBut where’s that original team that made the football great?!’ I know. But the people who make those requests aren’t qualified to make those demands. They’ve never been in a band, until they are and then they go, – œoh right, I know what you mean.’ It’s not unique, you know. Hey, Van Halen, the Rolling Stones, this band, that band. Everybody.”

“Not everybody,” I say. “There’s one band that’s never lost a member.”

“WHO? Which band is that??”

“U2.” I say. “They’ve never changed line up, ever. ”

“Oh, oh. They’re a young band. I though you were going to say AC/DC.”

“No. Would you say U2 were a young band? They’re pushing 50, getting up there.”

“I meant compared to KISS young. We’ve got 34 years, I think they’ve up to 25. Or 20 or something.”

”’76. So, Thirty-two years.”

”’76?” Gene Simmons asks a little breathlessly, like someone just walked on his grave.

“Yeah. ‘76 was the first U2 show.”

“Oh, Well there you go. Show or record? We count it from when your record drops. That’s when you’re real.”

“Oh right. Well that gives them, twenty-nine years. They’re catching up.”

“Good. When you’re first record drops you’re a real band.”

“OK, that’s OK. I’m not trying to cut your grass there or anything.”

“No no, no. It just is, or it is not. It’s got nothing to do with grass or if you cut it or not.”

“Sure. Do you ever catch up with the other guys, you know, do you ever just hang out for a barbeque or whatever?”

“Ace and Peter? Oh no. They’ve got their lives. Ace is trying to do a club tour and Peter is married to his wife. I’m not familiar with this married thing, but I’ve heard about it.”

“Do you enjoy working on any one of your television shows more than the others?”

“I don’t think in the menu of life you should have to choose. You should say – œI’ll take it all’. I like them all. Cheesecake tastes different from steak, but I enjoy them both just as much.”

“Do you ever have down time?”

“When you sleep! You’ll have lots of time to rest when you’re dead! Working is a privilege. Every poor person in the world would kiss your feet to have a job.”

“Are you someone who’s happiest working? Do you feel like you have to keep going?”

“I think it’s so interesting that in Western civilization people don’t want to work. Are you on fucking crack? Have you been to Africa or India where people are dying and you’d give your first born just so you could have a job, to pick up someone’s garbage to pay the rent? Not like here in America or Australia where we say, – œAh, why do you work so hard?’ Every poor person in the world is saying – œAre you out of your mind? You have a job, you’re blessed!’”

“There’s some people who are lucky to do what they love. I’ll be working I hope, until I’m too old to type.”

“That’s why people will continue to pick up my garbage, you see? If you don’t have ambition you will stay in the same place in life and that’s OK. Somebody’s got to wrap fish. And that’s OK. You make your bed, you sleep in it. I like golden beds. I have big visions and big appetites and this is just the beginning. Everybody’s allowed to have small dreams. I don’t.”

“Have you always been this way?”

“You just watch. This is nothing.”

“What did you want to be when you were a kid?”

“God,” Gene Simmons answers incredulously, as if he ever had a choice

“Ok. Well, you know, everybody’s got their little pipedream.”

“Ooh… I’m getting closer.”

“Yeah?”

“On that note I must run. My next interview will be very angry with me. I do wish you well though.”

“And I you. Thankyou so much for chatting with me.”

“My pleasure.”

“It’s been…” I realise I’m not sure what it’s been. “Mind blowing.”

And so ends somewhat abruptly, one of my life’s more perplexing exchanges. For Gene Simmons though I suspect, it was just another morning whiling away the hours grinding journalists into dust. Gene Simmons’ voice will rattle around in my head for days. I hear it as I’m falling asleep. It narrates my emails. It reads over this story. But most confounding of all, I hear it most loudly when I’m trying to finish “I Wanna Rock and Roll All Nite” on Guitar Hero. Which makes me wonder, if the devil played videogames…

Read part one of Elmo’s encounter with Gene, HERE