Casablanca, 1978
Acquired: Half Price Books, Used, 2010
Price: $1.50
You know what, I got this album seven months ago and I’m just now listening to it. Fucking weird considering that I searched high and low for this album for the better part of a year because it was the only one of the Kiss solo albums that I didn’t have. Then it showed up, I bought it, and never listened to it. So much for collector culture. But now I’m listening to it because “New York Groove” is in some commercial about people who do tattoos on HGTV or whatever channel it is that Jenny watches all the time. ANYWAY, that song is the jam. And this is most definitely the best of the Kiss solo albums. It’s just a straight forward, motherfuckin’rock’n’roll record. It’s brisk, the lyrics are fucking awful 70s cock rock, but goddamnit if those songs aren’t catchy without putting their cock rock all up in your face (see: Paul Stanley, which is weird since until hearing this one that was my favorite (but only because Gene’s and Peter’s were you know, pretty godawful)). Sure, the best song on this thing is a cover, but it’s a goddamned great cover. Anyway, the best thing about this album is that it’s a straight forward, no bullshit rock and roll record that wants to be nothing more than a rock and roll record. Sure, it’s technically awful if you want to think about it and analyze tasty lyrical nuggets like "But an hour along, comin’ on strong, I was gettin’ drunk/ The next thing I knew I looked at you, I was blind as a skunk” on the ode to getting way too drunk and still being able to bone some bimbo, “Wiped Out.” Actually, analyzing the lyrics all the way through, you find out that they run out of wine so they switch to rum, and then they rhyme word with bird, fun with rum, and the couple either burn with passion or the booze catches fire and the house they’re in burns down. I CAN’T TELL! These songs are so straightforward, I can’t imaging Frehley and his co-writers incorporating any metaphors. And yet, this is still wayyyy better than the other three. Sure, there’s a good dosage of cock rock, but there are some inspired moments like “New York Groove” and the instrumental finale “Fractured Mirror,” and Frehley’s vocals are actually really fucking good. They’re clearly not what you were supposed to sound like back then, but they’re passionate, if you can believe it. Well, as passionate as you can get when you’re singing some really poorly written tunes, but it’s cool nonetheless. Shitty cool, and obnoxious, and ok “Ozone” is godawful but I’d listen to this ten times before I ever listened to Peter’s again. Ok, maybe like two times. At least now I have a good conversation starter: “Have you ever heard Ace Frehley’s solo album?” Good thing I’m not single, otherwise chicks would never talk to me again. Unless I had a time machine. And took that time machine back to 1978 when this sort of thing was cool and I could wear leather pants and…
And because you need this:
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