Kids, I’ve been to a lotta damn concerts in my life. Over 50 to be precise. But I gotta tell ya, I’ve never seen a more overrated, overblown, underwhelming piece of trash band… than Kiss.

And with that comment, I can feel the millions of infuriated grease-painted stares looking my way. Yes, I have thrown a direct blow to the Kiss Army. It’s put up or shut up time, Kissies, so put away your Kiss dolls and condoms and coffins and pregnancy tests and tampons and mood rings and retainers and hubcaps and crack pipes and adult diapers with Paul Stanley’s star on them.

I saw Kiss perform this summer with Aerosmith, and I gotta tell ya, Boston’s finest made the “hottest band in the world” look like a bunch of amateurs with pyro. Essentially, that’s all Kiss is and ever was. A mediocre band with make-up and pyrotechnics. Don’t like it? Well, that’s the bottom line kiddies.

Remember when Kiss took off the make-up in the 80’s? Remember that? Remember how far they plummeted until they put it back on in ’96? Ever wonder why? No, it’s not because Peter and Ace were gone at that time; their career had already begun to flag before any departures. Here’s a simple formula.

Kiss’s music – make-up and stage shows = generic hair metal personified.

And that’s just the sad fact. The Kiss Army (or “Spineless Lemmings,” as I like to call them) have been blinded by huge explosions, long tongues, and fake blood for thirty years. So much so that they’ve been unable to realize that the band they worship is frickin’ horrible. Peter and Gene can’t sing for shit (I won’t even begin to get on Peter Criss’s rendition of “Beth” at this summer’s concert), and musically, they can play, but that’s about it. They’re not spectacular, and save “Rock And Roll All Nite,” “Shout It Out Loud,” and a few others, they have never had a knack for good solid hard rock hooks. And at this stage in the game, all that pseudo-mime make-up is a goddamn blessing. When Peter came out for “Beth,” his face looked like a damn burlap bag.

Speaking of Peter Criss, I never thought I would see a less talented “big” drummer than Charlie Watts, but Peter proved me wrong. How can this guy be rated up there with the likes of Neil Peart when it took him a full 30 seconds to start “Rock And Roll All Nite.” He looked confused, like he had never sat at a drum kit before.

Peter! It’s snare, high hat! Snare, high hat! I’ve sat at a drum kit twice in my life, and I can play that beat!

I guess someone forgot to wind up the key in his back when he went offstage prior to “Beth.”

Then there’s Paul Stanley, the hairy-chested Starchild. Y’know, Paul subscribes to every sad classic rock cliché imaginable. Paul’s between-song shuck ‘n jive consists of, “Are you ready to rock, Hartford?!” “It’s time to rock, Hartford!” “Let me hear you, Hartford!” “Who wants to rock and roll in Hartford tonight?!” I wish I was making this up. But his most absurd comment came in something so ridiculously asinine, it makes Poison look like Bob Dylan:

”Y’know Hartford, there a lot of bad stuff going on in the world these days. Every night on the news, you see it, turmoil all over the world. But we can save the world. We can save the world with rock n’ roll!”

I’m amazed no freelance snipers have aimed for that black star on Paul’s face yet.

How can you be so insipid to make a comment like that? What is this, ’73 all over again? Paul, it’s almost 2004! Get with it, for Chrissakes!

Then, of course, there’s Gene Simmons. The long-tongued butt-ugly self-proclaimed sex god who sleeps with Shannon Tweed and her three cousins on a mountain of cash every night. I do believe Gene has a slightly better voice than Paul, but that’s only because Paul’s voice shakes and quivers like Katherine Hepburn on a fuckin’ mechanical bull. Gene didn’t have much to offer at all, save the requisite fire-spewing/fake blood vomiting. And, of course, he flew. That’s right. He flew with the assistance of a harness. You know who else flew in concert, Gene? The New Kids On The Block and ‘NYSYNC. Rock stars do not fly, you ugly prick!

I can’t really say anything bad about Ace Frehley. The man is a talented guitarist, probably on the level of Joe Perry. And he was smart enough to get outta dodge while the getting’ was good. That being said, Tommy Thayer, while a solid guitarist, couldn’t hold a candle to Ace if he wanted to.

And Aerosmith blew them outta the water without so much as a hint of pyro.

So kids, take it from me, put away your Kiss dolls and stop slobbering over your Kiss boxer shorts.

They suck. Always have, always will, period.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.