No Regrets

by Ostrosky, John, Frehley, Ace, Layden, Joe

  When John called me, he had just flown in from California, where he had been working on what would be his last film, Neighbors, and was going to be in town for only a couple of days.

  “Come on, Ace,” he said. “Let’s hook up in the city.”

  “Sorry, John. Can’t do it. I’m cleaning up for a while. I just need a break from the insanity.”

  I remember him laughing on the other end of the phone. I suppose it did sound funny, the idea of me not wanting to party. A break from the insanity?! What do you mean? I was Mr. Insanity… from Outer Space! I must admit his offer was tempting, and I hadn’t seen him for weeks, but I had been burning the candle at both ends and just wanted to stop feeling like shit for a little while. I also wanted to relax and hang out with my two-year-old-daughter, Monique, and be Daddy for a while. Also, don’t forget—I’m a Taurus through and through. Once I’ve made up my mind, that’s it. I very rarely reverse a decision.

  We had a few more laughs and eventually he decided to give up and make other plans. He told me he’d call when he got back from L.A. on the next run, and then said good-bye.

  I didn’t realize that would be the last time I’d ever speak to John. If I had known, I would have dropped everything and met him in the city, no questions asked. A few weeks later I was watching the news when I heard that John had died of a drug overdose in Los Angeles. I was in complete shock; an overwhelming feeling of sadness came over me. I was never going to see him again. I had become very fond of John, and suddenly I realized all the fun we had together was over. He had told me a few months earlier that he wanted to put me in his next film, since I was one of the few people who could always crack him up. Now it was just a dream.

  We had a mutual admiration. John Belushi was a great guy and a gifted performer. I feel very lucky to have known him. His death was a tragedy and was the catalyst for me to clean up my act for several months afterward. I still think about the crazy times we had together and get a smile on my face; I just wish things could have turned out differently. John was a comedic genius and no one has ever been able to fill his shoes. He was unique. I miss him. I think everyone does.

  APPLE WINE AND AIRPLANE GLUE

  While some critics blasted us for indulging our egos with solo albums, I believe the interlude provided a crucial artistic outlet for all concerned. If I hadn’t been given the opportunity to record Ace Frehley, I probably wouldn’t have lasted as long as I did with KISS. The success of my solo album gave me significantly more confidence as a writer when KISS reconvened to record our next album, Dynasty.

  The production process began changing with Dynasty. There was very little collaboration among band members. Each of us went into the studio on our own to record demos that we later presented to each other and the producer, Vini Poncia. This process created more of a power struggle within the band, since several of the songs would have to be rejected. I wanted more of my work represented on KISS records, and for the most part, I was accommodated.

  I have mixed feelings about some of the tunes on Dynasty. On one hand, I think it’s one of the better KISS records, with a lot of hard-driving rock. Vini did a terrific job of making a record that would appeal to hard-core KISS fans. I also liked the fact that he was willing to listen to my suggestions and even encouraged them, unlike some other producers.

  My buddy Chris Cassone, the in-house engineer at North Lake Sound Studio, came up with the idea for me to cover the Rolling Stones song “2000 Man.” On first listen, it didn’t really sound like a KISS song, but I made short work of that. It was the title that originally caught my attention, and with a major overhaul, and slight rearrangement, I changed it into something special. I’ve always loved the Rolling Stones, and Their Satanic Majesties Request was a brilliant record. From what I can remember, it was their answer to the Beatles’ release of Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. Vini loved the idea for the remake of “2000 Man,” and it became one of the premier tracks off the record, as well as a signature song for me in concert.

  Besides “2000 Man,” there was “Hard Times,” a song about my high school days in the Bronx, and “Save Your Love,” which was a slight departure from my normal straight-ahead rock ’n’ roll. For the first time in “KISStory,” I sang more songs on a KISS record than Gene.

  There were problems that surfaced during the making of Dynasty. Peter had been involved in a bad car accident in L.A., and had become increasingly reliant on pain medication. Sometimes it affected his drumming and gave him mood swings, which provoked internal conflicts within the band. When his performance in the studio became questionable, the band opted to use a studio drummer, and we chose Anton Fig, whom I had worked with on my solo album. At the time I wanted to believe that Peter’s absence in the studio would only be temporary, but it turned out to be permanent.

  The situation deteriorated over the course of the next year, and when we recorded Unmasked, Peter’s spot on drums was again filled by Anton, even though Peter’s image appeared on the cover. Technically, Unmasked was the last studio album to feature the original lineup.

  Even though Unmasked wasn’t as big a commercial success as its predecessors, it still had some memorable tracks. I again aced three songs on the record: “Two Sides of the Coin,” “Torpedo Girl,” and “Talk to Me.” The latter became a big hit in Australia, and I performed it live in concert around the globe.

  Even though Peter was absent during the Unmasked recording process, he did return to film the video for the album’s first single, “Shandi.” Peter was obviously very upset at the end of the taping, and I felt some of his pain, knowing it would be his last time wearing the KISS makeup and costume. I don’t believe Peter really wanted to leave the band, but Paul and Gene were dead set on replacing him. I wanted to give him another chance, but my hands were tied. I was outvoted, and the decision was made to move forward without him, so I accepted the decision reluctantly.

  Before Peter left the band, there had always been a certain amount of creative and personal tension. For the most part, though, it was manageable. Yeah, it’s true that we often played two on two—me and Peter against Paul and Gene—but when tempers flared, I usually tried to be the peacemaker. In the wake of arguments I’d sometimes tell a stupid joke to make everyone laugh and clear the air. Chemistry and balance allowed the band to function in spite of the quirks and egos of its members, but with the loss of Peter, I soon realized things would never be the same.

  Finding someone to fill Peter’s shoes wasn’t an easy task. We auditioned several great drummers, but settled on a relatively unknown kid from Brooklyn named Eric Carr. Eric was a solid drummer who had played in a variety of local bands before he joined KISS. He was a very good replacement; he just wasn’t Peter.

  Here’s an example. There was a time when we were touring in Canada, not long after Eric joined the band, and one day Eric and I were out shopping and ended up in a big toy store at a mall. As we passed the model airplanes and cars, I was overcome with a feeling of nostalgia.

  Wow… been a long time since I sniffed glue!

  I knew there was a difference between the glue in this store and the glue they were selling back in the States. The regulations in Canada were different. This shit was the real deal, like the glue I’d sniffed as a kid back in the Bronx. My curiosity got the better of me, so I decided to ask Eric for a favor.

  “Hey, man. Could you buy some glue for me?”

  Eric looked at me like I was fucking crazy.

  “Why can’t you buy it yourself?”

  A fair question, and one I couldn’t readily answer. It had more to do with paranoia and the feeling that with my well-documented reputation for getting loaded, if anyone recognized me, there might be repercussions. Hardly anyone knew what Eric looked like without makeup. He could buy a few tubes of glue without so much as raising an eyebrow. And he agreed reluctantly. We went back to the hotel, and after a few drinks, I decided to satisfy my curiosity. I emptied the tube into a paper bag and got down to bus
iness. I wasn’t sure what to expect and my memory was hazy. I remember hearing that sniffing glue was one of the most toxic things you could do to your body and brain. Like most drugs, the chemicals in glue are metabolized through the liver. I knew all of that, but I figured that one more time wouldn’t kill me. Hell, I knew plenty of guys who had sniffed hundreds of times and they were still walking around, although missing millions of brain cells. Hey—I’m not advocating glue sniffing. I don’t recommend that people try any of the crazy shit that I did. But it’s my history, and it is what it is. Mainly I was curious as to whether sniffing glue was the terrifying experience I recalled.

  Luckily, it wasn’t. I got dizzy and reached a short-lived euphoric state. At its hallucinatory peak, I saw pink elephants floating across the ceiling, like in Disney’s Fantasia. The high lasted only about fifteen minutes, and then it was gone. Disillusioned and frustrated, I tossed the bag into a nearby garbage can and cracked open another beer.

  So what’s the point, you might reasonably ask? Just this: If it had been Peter with me that day, we’d have been sniffing glue together. Eric wasn’t quite as straight as Gene and Paul, but he sure wasn’t a party animal. He was just a good kid from Brooklyn trying to fit in at his new job, which happened to feature several unusual coworkers.

  Job is the right word, too. Eric was a hired gun, brought in to replace Peter, but not to be an equal partner. This was a drastic change in the fundamental structure of the band, and one that had a profound impact on all of us, but especially on me. In the past, we had all been equal partners, and we voted on all important issues. More often than not, when we disagreed, the voting was split: me and Peter on one side, Paul and Gene on the other. But now Peter was gone, and I was in trouble. The balance of power shifted heavily in favor of Gene and Paul. I realized quickly that they usually voted one way, and I voted another. Four was a good number. With four there was fairness and democracy. If a tiebreaker was needed, we turned to Bill Aucoin. He was like the fifth member of KISS. But eventually Gene and Paul got rid of Bill as well. They were control freaks, and Peter’s departure allowed them to exercise that control to an extent I hadn’t anticipated.

  I should have seen it coming.

  Bob Ezrin is a brilliant producer, but when it came to the ninth KISS studio album (and what would turn out to be, for all practical purposes, my last KISS album for a while), Music from “The Elder,” I disagreed with him and the band on many issues. I could see it from the beginning. I had the street smarts and common sense to take a giant step back and look at the project with an objective eye, and I knew it was a colossal mistake in judgment. Paul, Gene, and Bob didn’t get it. They went forward with the whole ridiculous concept.

  To be perfectly candid, I never fully understood what the hell this record was supposed to be about. Gene had written some kind of story, and there was talk of turning it into a feature-length movie or animated film or something. Even after the Kiss Meets the Phantom… catastrophe, Gene was fascinated with Hollywood culture. Ezrin stoked the fire by suggesting that Gene’s little story be used as the basis for some sort of big multimedia, cross-platform vehicle for KISS. Part of the plan, apparently, was a “concept” record.

  As anyone who knows rock ’n’ roll can tell you, concept records can be career killers even for the most talented bands. The problem is that instead of ending up with a masterpiece like Tommy, you could end up with Saucy Jack, Spinal Tap’s unproduced rock opera about Jack the Ripper.

  I cowrote two songs for the record. One was called “Escape from the Island,” and the other was originally called “Don’t Run” but was later renamed “Dark Light,” after Lou Reed rewrote some of the lyrics. I didn’t understand the concept, and I didn’t give a fuck about the central character (some old fart nobody knew anything about). It was ludicrous. I kept trying to tell the guys that if we released an album of self-indulgent nonsense, complete with spoken dialogue and haunting wind instruments, we’d be slaughtered. Our core fans would get pissed, and serious rock critics would laugh at it. It was doomed from the beginning.

  Didn’t matter what I said, though. I was outvoted.

  Ezrin has willingly taken considerable heat for that album over the years and admitted he was doing a lot of drugs at the time, which clouded his judgment. Dammit! I was doing a lot of drugs, too, but I could still see that the project was going to be a flop. At one meeting after another, I went on record against it, but the other guys insisted on moving forward.

  Even weirder was the fact that we recorded a big chunk of Music from “The Elder” at my home studio in Connecticut, but I avoided being in the studio most of the time. If I wasn’t doing vocals or laying down a guitar track, I was usually upstairs shooting pool and having a cold one and a toot. Granted, that’s not the way it’s supposed to work. If you’re enthusiastic about a project, you want to be there as much as possible, but I was so opposed to the album’s direction that I went into avoidance mode.

  After the project moved up to Canada, I decided to remain behind most of the time and continued to work on guitar solos and overdubs at home. To my dismay, a lot of the solos I recorded were missing from the final mix. Go figure.

  One of the biggest tragedies during the recording of that project (bigger even than the album itself, as far as I’m concerned) was the death of my dog, a shepherd-Lab mix named Seamus. He was the most friendly, loyal dog I had ever owned and a great watchdog as well. Sometimes he barked excessively, but if you’re a dog person, that’s no big deal. Not everyone is a dog person. Paul fell into that category. He was afraid of the dog, and so I agreed to keep Seamus out of the house and studio whenever Paul was around. I had a dog run next to the house, off the garage, bordered by a chain-link fence, and I used to put Seamus in there for only brief periods or when there were workers on the property and I wasn’t around. He normally didn’t like being separated from me—

  I think he was worried about me and may have thought someone was trying to hurt me. One day Seamus tried to tunnel his way out to get closer to me, and he wound up getting stuck underneath the chain-link fence. By the time I found him, he had choked to death. I was devastated. If you’re a dog lover, you can probably understand how much that blew my mind. Seamus was not just a pet; he was my best friend and companion. I used to prop him up on the couch next to me when I was loaded and talk to him. And I swear to God, it seemed like he understood everything I was saying. He’d just look back at me and nod his head. Now he was gone, and I secretly blamed Paul for the whole incident.

  The thing is, Music from “The Elder” is not really a terrible album. It’s just a terrible KISS album. The songs themselves aren’t all that bad, but some of them simply aren’t appropriate for a KISS album.

  We changed the costumes and cut our hair, and I went along for the sake of consistency. The whole thing was ridiculous. When I see video footage of KISS performing songs from that album on television, trying to look so serious and self-important, I don’t know whether to laugh or cringe. Like I’ve always said, I’ll try almost anything once, but if I had a do-over, I’d take a pass on Music from “The Elder.” I think we all would, and the KISS Army would be grateful.

  I remember one time when Monique was just a baby, and I was home in Connecticut, waiting for a limo ride to the airport. When the car arrived, I was in the bedroom packing my bags. I could hear Jeanette yell, “Come on, Paul! You’re going to be late!”

  We had a big, sloping, circular driveway, with a fountain in the middle, and when I finally got outside, the limo was parked just off the edge of the driveway. I knew right away the guy was in trouble. The driveway was made out of asphalt with a cobblestone border, and the driver had managed to back the car into the rock garden and get the undercarriage stuck on some of the larger rocks.

  “Sorry, Mr. Frehley,” he said nervously. “I’ll get us out of here in no time.”

  No time is about what I had. Here I was, already late for a flight to a KISS show, with my road manager calling m
e, and everybody else freaking out because I’d missed flights in the past and had made it pretty clear that I was becoming disenchanted with my role in KISS.

  “Get the fuck out!” I shouted.

  Then I jumped in the car and hit the gas. The wheels started spinning like crazy, but the car didn’t budge.

  “Idiot limo driver,” I muttered under my breath. “Where do they get these fuckin’ guys?”

  The driver began to panic. For all I know he’d only been on the job a day or so and he was worried about getting fired.

  “We’re going to have to get a tow truck, sir,” he said.

  “Bullshit!” I yelled. “I’ll drag you out of there.”

  I ran down to the garage and fired up the four-wheel drive—a Chevy K-5 with monster-truck wheels. I pulled up in front of the limo and tied the bumper of the car to the back end of my truck using a thick nylon rope.

  The limo driver’s eyes widened.

  “Mr. Frehley, I’m not so sure this is a good idea.”

  “It’ll be fine. Get behind the wheel and put it in neutral. I’ll pull you right out of there.”

  I had a little hangover from the night before, and I had popped a few quaaludes to ease the sting. I began revving the engine. The car started to move, accompanied by an awful scraping sound—the undercarriage being dragged along the rocks. The sound, I later discovered, had spooked the driver, prompting him to throw the car back into park. Physics took over from there. The rope snapped and my K-5 was catapulted forward—right into the front of my house! The car smashed through a wall and came to a stop in the closet of my baby daughter’s bedroom (she wasn’t there at the time, thank God).

  I got out of the car, dazed and bleeding from my chin. Jeanette was screaming, “Paul! For Christ’s sake, you’re in Monique’s bedroom!” The limo driver was in shock, and the next thing I knew, paramedics were on the scene, examining me in my living room.