About ten minutes into tonight’s show, Ace Frehley said hello to Brisbane. At least that’s what I thought he said; the people around me had the same recollection. A guy outside the gig said Ace had failed to show at a specially organised meet and greet function – apparently Ace couldn’t be bothered getting out of bed and putting in an appearance, notwithstanding the excessive premium paid by some of his more dedicated fans.
Mid-way through Rocket Ride, the Alive II track that opened the show (the original record of which, according to Kiss rumour, didn’t feature Ace due to his narcotic and alcoholic obsessions of the time), Ace seemed to diverge from bandmates and wander into his own psycho-stratospheric zone, eventually returning to earth with an apologetic smile.
But that’s what you want with Ace. Precision and punctuality are to the rock’n’roll aesthetic as double-entry book keeping is to an anarcho-syndicalist commune. Paul Stanley and Gene Simmons might be the financial and choreographic brains behind the Kiss commercial behemoth, but Ace’s sloppy and charismatic style gave Kiss its charm: the stumbling guitar swagger, the giggling and juvenile demeanour, the pervading sense of rock’n’roll excess.
Ace’s expanding girth means he’ll never fit into his spaceman costume again, but with his leather pants, shimmering maroon blazer and sunglasses, he’s still the outer-galactic guitar-god of yore deep at heart. The highlights were undoubtedly the Kiss songs, replete with spine-tingling riffs, sexually-charged lyrics and self-indulgent guitar solos; Parasite, Cold Gin, King of the Night Time World (co-written by the late LA scenester Kim Fowley), Love Gun, Strutter, even the rarely-played Strange Ways from Hotter Than Hell.
Ace’s recent solo material sounded like an average ‘80s LA metal band, which makes sense when you realise just about everyone of those largely forgettable acts were inspired by Ace’s classic riffs. But then it’s back to Kiss, and arguably the band’s best pop song, Talk to Me and Ace’s cover of Hello’s New York Groove from his 1978 solo album.
Ace’s voice has never been his strong suit, and the vocals were shared with drummer Scot Coogan, guitarist Richie Scarlet and bass player Chris Wyse (whose bass solo later in the set almost reached Simmons-like levels of gratuity). But even while Ace’s vocals on Shock Me were almost pallid, we screamed along like it was 1977 again, and gazed in adolescent wonder at the smoking Les Paul in his bling-covered hands.
Ace came back on stage for a killer two-song encore of Detroit Rock City and Deuce, before muttering his farewell, waving to the adoring crowd and loping off the stage. Maybe he still thinks he’s in Brisbane, or Hobart, or Melbourne, Florida. But he’s Ace Frehley and no one else ever will be.
BY PATRICK EMERY
Loved: King of the Night Time World, amongst so many wonderful Kiss moments.
Hated: A perplexing interchange I had with the bouncers at the Corner Hotel later on when I had a rock’n’roll nightcap of King Gizzard and the Wizard’s manic-psychedelia.
Drank: Cooper’s Pale, as always.
