Let’s face it. . .before you knew what exploitation was or even what the word meant, you loved being exploited. All the toys, the cereal, the movies, the lunchboxes. . .wow. And your parents, God bless them. Even if they were savvy enough to see what was going on, they could never withstand your ceaseless, whining consumerism. Although mad props go out to the mom who stuck with the red and black flannel pattern lunchbox. . .your children are now Canadian fur trappers. Musicians had turned into monsters! We kids were beside ourselves with joy and admiration while our Boomer parents were like “Well it was bound to happen sooner or later.” Alice Cooper and Cher had quartetplets and Kiss Big-Wheeled themselves into our lives. And oh my brothers and sisters, we the exploited consumed.

The first Kiss song I remember sticking in my head was “Deuce.” I heard it on the record at my cousin David’s house. My Aunt and Uncle didn’t like each other anymore and bought their children whatever they wanted so he had the Kiss LP. I had grown up with a record player and adults were always giving me records to play. I was particularly turned on by songs that made really loud noise like “My Generation” and “We Gotta get out of this Place.” When I heard Kiss, I was very fond of “Saturday Night’s alright for Fightin'” and “Suffragette City” both of which featured loud instruments, yelling and screaming, and crescendos. I had also seen Lynyrd Skynyrd live at the Orange Bowl in 1974 so I knew which instruments made each sound. “Deuce” stuck in my head for three reasons. One, I knew what the word meant. Two, the men singing it sounded tough and determined. . .Mr. Bowie and Mr. John didn’t look that tough. And Three, during the chorus the guitar player was trying to jam more strumming into it than it would seemingly take. . .it could not be contained! Combine those things with the monsters on the album cover and I was an instant convert, just another of the exploited children of the 1970’s.

I had Kiss records, Kiss posters, Kiss trading cards, a ceramic Kiss bank (Gene-quarters, Paul-dimes, Ace-nickels, peter-pennies), and a Kiss belt buckle. My cousin even had a Kiss pinball machine – don’t be jealous – he is currently incarcerated. The youth of America embraced Kiss as fervently as they would a weird uncle or a complete stranger in an animal costume. I was very young, in fact I was much closer to breast feeding than I was to breast fondling, but it did not take a very astute observer to realize that most Kiss songs involved women or, as I called them, girls. To my credit, I never thought girls were icky, but the criteria by which a young man might judge success or failure in these endeavors was complex and seemed to change with the weather. The lyrics to most Kiss songs however, seemed to indicate a complete mastery of this confusing and complicated coupling. After close examination of “The Joy of Sex” and “Hustler” I understood the end game. Were these teenage girls banging on backstage doors being exploited. . .absolutely!

Sex, Drugs, and Rock n’ Roll. . .a concept that many Kiss fans adopted as a lifestyle. Being so young when I first heard Kiss, I will have to amend this famous mantra. Rock n’ Roll came first, then Drugs happened, and then many years later, Sex arrived. Now many Freudian head-shrinkers will disagree with me but I don’t consider adolescent whacking off to be Sex. Sex was what Kiss sang about – intercourse with girls – you know, when a guy puts. . .oh never mind. Anyway, Kiss was there for me again and my feverish whacking gained purpose and direction. Some magical combination of Gene’s flicking tongue, Linda Blair’s possessed lesbianism (Exorcist), and Hustler provided me with otherworldly insight into the world of Sex without actually engaging in it exactly. Drugs were much easier to understand and obtain. Other people who listened to Kiss gave me Drugs. This sounds bad but, as we all know, the first taste is always free. After that they only gave Drugs to people that liked Kiss and had money to buy them. At first Drugs were awesome because they let you think about cool things that were not Sex, but after awhile you would start to think about Sex again. Later, when you discovered that girls also liked Drugs, then Drugs could get in the way of Sex. When you finally had Sex, probably assisted by Drugs, you realized that Sex could bring about a lot of stress and heartache called variously, crush, infatuation, love, or (the worst one) a relationship. Any one of these tragic consequences could and would send you hurtling back to the welcoming arms of Drugs and Rock n’ Roll.

So was I exploited by Kiss? Let’s review. Did Kiss make me engage in self-abuse? No, I would have done that anyway. Did Kiss make me drink, smoke, snort, or shoot Drugs? No, other people who (probably) listened to Kiss did that. Did Kiss make me put it in her? No, but I like to think they were there cheering me on. . .maybe in the closet or under the bed. Did Kiss make me love Rock n’ Roll? No, but they exploited my love for it and I thank them for their attention.