The Power of Ace Compels Me

My internet when I was a kid.

I don’t know if it was 1979 or 1980 (I’m pretty sure it was 79?) that my Aunt Cookie gave me the Gene Simmons solo album for my birthday and Sandy Claws left the remaining 3 KISS solo albums under the Christmas tree, but experiencing those records built an amusement park in my head that hasn’t stopped running ever since. I listened to them as if my life depended on it, stared at the covers and bonus album inserts for hours on end, and drew pictures of them non-stop. Out of the 4, Ace’s was the one I played the most. I liked his bizarre voice, and of course the smokin’ (literally) guitar playing.

Along came July of 1982 when the aforementioned Aunt Cookie took me to see E.T. and I bought KISS ALIVE! at Maplewood Mall afterward. I remember the drive home as if it happened 5 minutes ago: It was dark out, super humid, and as we cruised down Ideal Ave. in Cottage Grove we passed the large valley (which is all now developed, boo) a few blocks from home. It was twinkling like crazy with fireflies.

ALIVE! Gatefold cover & booklet

When we got home I ran up to my room, ripped the cellophane off of the snazzy gatefold cover, took Destroyer off of the turntable and threw it aside like it was yesterday’s news, and put on side 1 of ALIVE! – BOOM – I was in KISS concert heaven. There was no YouTube in 1982, of course, so I just sat and imagined it all as I listened. When I first heard Ace Frehley’s extended guitar solo in “She” I picked up the needle and listened to it again. And again. And again. And again. Hm. I kind of want to do that.

As a result of that solo in “She” (posted below, it should automatically start at the “good part”) and the Stray Cats Built For Speed album that I also bought that year, I took up playing air guitar, and I got pretty good at it if I do say so myself. I soon upgraded to tennis racket guitar, and a few years later started playing the real guitar that my dad kept under my parents’ bed.

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As many of my peeps know, I’ve been fortunate enough to meet Ace a few times since moving to NYC, here’s me blabbering on about the first time it happened and he autographed my arm. That was pretty much the best day ever. A few weeks ago I caught wind of an Ace interview/meet-and-greet thing that AOL was hosting and ordered a ticket faster than you can say “ordered a ticket.” Well.. it probably took longer than that, but you know what I mean.

Event day came and I was happy to see only a small amount of people waiting outside. I’m used to seeing a line of Ace nerds stretched out over several long city blocks when going to these kinds of things. We were escorted up to the 4th floor and into a super small room that held 50 people, tops. I planted my arse at the end of the 3rd row of seats. Not a bad spot to see someone I once saw an ant-sized version of in arenas shooting rockets out of his Les Poal guitaah:

Here’s where the fun starts.

See that bald melon right in front of me in the lower left of the photo? He disappeared a few minutes after I snapped that shot and walked up to me 10 minutes later with a not-so-friendly look on his face. He leaned down and in a nice thick meathead East Coast accent said “Hey buddy, you’re in my seat.”

Being the absent-minded professor I am, I didn’t even notice that he was the egghead in front of me just a few minutes ago. If only I was more tuned in to my surroundings I could have simply pulled up that photo and said, “Nope. I’m in my seat, buddy. Look – there’s your big dumb head in front of me in this picture!”

I told him that I’d been sitting there for 15 minutes and looked at the guy 2 chairs down from me. “Right?” The guy gave a quick yes nod, with a very adamant Hey man, don’t rope me into this look on his face. Apparently that was the wrong answer for Baldy.

“No. That’s my seat, pal.” I offered to move to the empty seat next to me. Wrong answer again.

“That’s my buddy’s seat. You’re gonna have to get up and move. I was one of the first ones in here. I walked straight over to this spot right here and sat down.” What, are we in 3rd grade on the playground starting a fight at the swing set right now or something?

I could tell by the way that he was conducting himself that if I wasn’t going to move, he was most likely going to move his fist into my face. Am I staring at his gold filling? Stop staring at his gold filling. Wow, this guy sure is a massive bag of dicks. I’m not moving. I looked around, confused, and said “Well there weren’t any jackets on these seats or anything, and I’ve been here for at least 15 minutes.. right when everyone else walked in.” Just as I was starting to get up, his friend returned and brought it to his attention that they were one row up and in front of me. He said something along the lines of ” Ha! Sorry ’bout that, man, it’s all good. My name’s Jeff, nice to meet you” and shook my hand. I wanted suggest that he urinate on his chair next time to mark his territory but didn’t feel like getting punched so just kept my mouth shut and nodded as he turned around and sat down. I should have asked him if he was interested in a romantic stroll in the park after the meet-n-greet.

*******

Seconds later I was tapped on the shoulder by the girl behind me and asked if anyone was sitting in the chair next to me. Both the guy one chair down and I laughed and told her as far as we knew, it was. Soon after that I felt a freight train in slow motion making its way down the aisle toward me. I looked up and saw a creepy voluminous woman in her late 60s with long frizzy hair coming toward me cradling a dog carrier in her arms. It gave me the same kind of feeling that I had when I first saw Cousin Eddie in National Lampoon’s Vacation, except in this case it wasn’t funny.

There’s only one empty seat and it’s right next to me. Oh dear gawd, no.

Oh yes. As she sat down with the grace of a medicine ball rolling off the top of a 3-story building, her left leg squished firmly against my right leg. I moved my chair over a few inches, trying not to be too obvious about it.

I felt so bad for this little guy.

She got situated, propped the doggy carrier up on her lap, and fished a water bottle out of her massive purse. Of COURSE she had a massive purse. She cupped her left hand, poured water into it, and gingerly inserted her hand into the carrier. The little doggy started lapping it out of her hand.

Fun fact in case you don’t know this about me: I suffer from a rather severe case of what’s called Misophonia:

“Do Ace and the other KISS members get along?”

I was in point-blank earshot of the dog’s lapping. My world was slowly imploding. I thought about getting up and just standing in the back of the room but didn’t give in. My legs started nervously bouncing so I started scrolling through my phone to distract myself, pulling up the Kindle app and pretending to read. After she was done hydrating her little husband she put the carrier on the floor, took a few swigs of water, put the bottle back in her 5 gallon purse, and wiped her hands off on her pants and shirt. Mmm, just when I thought she couldn’t get any more sexy.

She turned around to the girl who asked me if the seat was empty and in a southern drawl said:

“Thank you for asking about the seat, I thought I was going to have to stand! So do you know if Ace and the other KISS members get along? I’m more from the Beatles generation, KISS was after that. I didn’t really get into KISS as much. So far I’ve got Paul and Gene’s autograph.” Wait. What? Gee, I sure am glad that ticket went to such a huge fan. Right around then an odor wafted my way, and it wasn’t a fart or B.O. if you catch my drift. There’s this one KISS song called Deuce, and mama could have used a little something from Walgreen’s that sort of rhymes with that. As a firm believer of karma, I definitely paid off some karmic debt for the 45 or so minutes we were next to each other. She never attempted to talk to me. Perhaps I scared her or she picked up on my neurotic vibes. Either way, fine with me!

Ace A-ing the Q’s.

5PM rolled around and Ace walked right by me to the stage. I got to give him a handshake and a hows-it-going which was cool. He was in really good spirits and even told a few stories that I’d never told before. He had a hard time hearing the interviewer due to stage monitor problems and a lot of the time would ramble on when he was answering questions followed by a “Did that answer your question? I can’t ever remember what you asked me,” and then laugh at himself. If it’s possible to contract certain things like that through years of overexposure to his music, that would explain a lot.

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It may sound like I had a horrible time, but I seriously didn’t. I’m just kinda weird around strangers. Overall it was a total blast and well worth every noise, smell, and gold-toothed a-hole that I encountered.

After the interview was done it was announced that Ace was going to take pictures and everyone was getting a signed 24×16 poster, but wasn’t doing autographs. That’s okay, I’ve got a signature that I carry with me 24/7 anyways. When I approached him for my photo I said “The Sharpie still hasn’t washed off!” and pointed at my autographed arm. He said “Wow, they did a really nice job on that. When did I do that?” I told him at the book signing here in NYC and flashed my unfinished Ace portrait tattoo above it at him saying “Still hoping to get this done one of these days..” It put a proud Well would you just look at that! smile on his face. The guy does countless meet-n-greets and his brain is a little fried from that and years of drug use so I don’t expect him to remember me. It’s just cool to stand next to the dude who played so many of my favorite guitar riffs and solos and say THANKS. That’s why I do these kinds of things and have Ace’s and Jeff Beck’s signatures on my arm. Not so much to be a stalker, but to recalibrate my perpetually cluttered brain and keep in close touch with my musical roots.

Hey, LOOK! It’s Rock and Roll!