I ended up losing my temper at a party following that event. I’d been chatting with Hugh and his entourage of Playmates when out of the corner of my eye I saw some guy pouring a bottle of champagne over my daughter’s head! I dropped everything and darted over to Monique. I grabbed the guy and started punching him in the face. I only got three or four shots in before the bouncers intervened. Having seen the whole incident, they just pulled the guy out of my hands and dragged the half-conscious asshole out of the club. They apologized to me for the incident, but I was far more interested in my daughter. Luckily, Monique was okay; she was just a little shaken up.
Most of the roasts I recalled consisted of people who were lifelong friends or coworkers of the person being “honored.” That’s when it suddenly hit me: Gene doesn’t have any friends! Never did—as far back as I can remember. And everyone who has ever worked with Gene in the past has either been fired or quit. The only person who’s remained with him over the years is Paul Stanley. At that point I decided to give Paul a call and see if he was going to be involved with the show. We shot the shit briefly, and then I hit him with the question.
There was a slight pause as Paul carefully considered his response.
“I’m not doing the show, Ace. It’s not in my comfort zone.”
I didn’t press him on the matter. We chatted for a few more minutes, wished each other well, and said good-bye.
The next few days I continued making calls in an attempt to find out who else was going to be involved. Peter said he’d received an invitation from Gene, “But I told him I was busy.” It didn’t occur to me to call Eric Singer or Tommy Thayer, since they were just hired guns wearing our makeup. After a few more calls to some of the other people who were supposed to be involved, I decided it was probably better if I just bowed out gracefully.
When I finally replied to Gene’s producer, declining the invitation, he seemed somewhat agitated. I figured he was getting frustrated with the whole idea of a Gene Simmons roast, since most of the people I had contacted had no intention of taking part. I wasn’t going to let it bother me, though. I decided to put the whole thing out of my mind and concentrate on recording. Several months passed. I had forgotten about the roast until a friend called and said the program had already aired.
“How was it?” I asked, not really caring about the answer.
My friend laughed.
“Pretty bad.”
He went on to explain that most of the guests involved appeared to be comedians paid by the network to appear on the show. For a moment I almost felt bad for Gene. I mean, really. How embarrassing.
It’s been documented in more than a few publications that I’ve had some alien encounters and sightings in my life. One of my homes is located in the lower Hudson Valley, a well-known UFO hot spot where thousands of verified sightings have taken place over the years. I’ve seen some very strange stuff at times (sober and under the influence). Most of the people in the area just kind of take it for granted, and I, for one, am not fazed by it in the least.
My most memorable encounter happened in 2002. At first I thought the whole experience was a dream. What changed my mind was what happened afterward. I woke up one morning and found myself lying on the ground in the front doorway of my home, my body half in the house and half in the driveway. I’d woken up in a lot of strange places in my life, but this took the cake. I slowly got up and went inside for a cup of coffee. As my head cleared, I could recall a strange dream about being inside a spaceship. It didn’t seem that weird, since I dreamt about UFOs and aliens from time to time in the past, without ever giving it a second thought. This time, though, seemed different… more real. Maybe because I’d never woken up in the doorway before.
The more I thought about the dream, the more vivid it became in my mind’s eye. After breakfast I decided to go outside and look around the yard. I stumbled upon a circular impression in the grass, almost like a giant burn. It appeared to be about thirty feet in diameter, but after inspecting it more closely with a tape measure, it actually turned out to be twenty-seven feet.
27…
My lucky number!
Later, in the shower, I checked my body for marks—some sign of having been abducted. But there was nothing strange to be found. By the next day the impression in the grass had disappeared, and I just went about my business like nothing had ever happened. I figured if what I had dreamt really had taken place, there wasn’t much I could do about it.
Close encounters—real, imagined, or manufactured—had long been a part of my life. Sometimes they were merely a source of amusement, like the time I was on a hunting trip with my buddies Frank and Bob.
It all started with an invitation from Frank, whose family owned about seventy acres of land in upstate New York. Hanging out there was my first real experience with hunting and handguns. Frank was a very good marksman, and later on in life he became a licensed federal firearms dealer. He was the guy (with the help of his older brother Kenny) who taught me how to shoot. Since the seventies I’ve had a love affair with guns, and I shoot just about every chance I get (which isn’t really that often, due to my hectic schedule).
This particular incident occurred on probably my second or third visit to Frank’s place. All three of us, at the time, enjoyed our drugs and alcohol, and we weren’t exactly amateurs at it. It was the last day of a long weekend trip. We had used up all of our ammunition and blown up a few other things on Frank’s property, and now we were looking for something different to do. I remembered that I had a few weather balloons in my trunk, and the whole crazy charade began from there.
We had been drinking all day, and Frank and I decided it might be fun to dress Bob as an alien, and see how authentic he would look! Since we didn’t have any silver space suits, green makeup, or ray guns, we decided to improvise. We just grabbed some ordinary household items: a white sheet, a cork, and a flashlight.
And the weather balloon.
One of my favorite science-fiction films is Invaders from Mars. Most of the film lacks authenticity in terms of special effects, but I always loved the appearance of one particular character, an alien leader encased in a glass sphere. If you’ve ever seen the movie, you’ll remember that the alien had a large forehead and brain, characteristics we hoped to replicate with Bob. To get the desired effect, we stretched the weather balloon over Bob’s head, which was no small task. At first he had it around his neck and none of his features were visible. He looked so ridiculous that Frank and I completely lost it. We laughed so hard that I actually threw up!
When we finally regained our composure, we helped Bob reposition the balloon just above his eyes. At first there was too much air in the balloon, but after letting some out, he began to look the part of an alien: totally looked totally fuckin’ weird. To finish off his costume we wrapped him in the sheet, burned the cork and rubbed it around his eyes, and handed him a flashlight.
We helped Bob get through the cabin door, which was harder than you might think, since we had to squeeze the balloon and direct him without popping it. Then things got really interesting. We led Bob down the hill and told him to walk along the side of the road, but not too close. Maybe ten yards or so. While he was slowly walking, he put the flashlight inside the sheet and under his chin. From a distance, in the dark, he looked like, well… something not of this earth.
Soon enough a car went by. Frank and I were hiding in the bushes. The car slowed down momentarily as it passed Bob, then sped away. This happened a few more times with similar results. Eventually an eighteen-wheeler came along, and when the driver spotted Bob on the side of the road, he slammed on his brakes and almost jackknifed the truck.
That was a little more than we had bargained for.
“We’d better get him inside before somebody takes a shot at him,” Frank said.
A few minutes later we were approached by a pickup truck—one that had already passed by earlier. There were two guys in the cab and a shotgun rack in the bed. Clearly these gu
ys wanted a second look. Maybe they were out to do a little alien hunting.
“Turn off the flashlight!” I yelled to Bob.
The road suddenly went dark and we all hid quietly until the pickup truck drove off. Then we whisked Bob back into the cabin and called it a night.
A few days later the local newspaper ran a story bearing the following headline: “Local Man has Alien Sighting Outside Port Jervis.”
We couldn’t help but laugh about the whole experience. Apparently Bob had been even more convincing than we’d realized.
Once I got my studio up and running, I continued writing and recording new material. In mid-2007 I once again hooked up with Anton Fig, along with a new bassist, Anthony Esposito. The first track we worked on was “Pain in the Neck,” and within a few short months the songs really came together. In October, Ed Trunk called and asked if I wanted to perform at a Halloween party he was hosting at the Hard Rock Cafe in New York. I talked it over with Anthony and he agreed to help me assemble a band for the performance. I hired Scott Coogan on drums and Derrek Hawkins on guitar to round off the new lineup.
I told Ed I’d love to do it, but in reality I was a little apprehensive. This would be my first live performance in more than five years with my own band. And I’d been sober only a year (following a relapse in Las Vegas). But all my fears were put to rest that night at the Hard Rock. I hit the stage with a powerful set and the show turned out to be a big success. Anton Fig sat in on drums for a song, to the delight of the fan, and reviews reported that I looked and sounded better than ever.
When I got home that night, I was happy and thankful for the outcome, which seemed all the more remarkable considering what a struggle I’d gone through just eighteen months earlier.
The difficulty had begun one night in early February 2006, when my sister, Nancy, called to say that my mom was very sick; she was in a nursing home in Saginaw, Michigan, where my sister lived with her husband, Ron.
From the sound of Nancy’s voice, I knew the situation was serious, so I decided to jump on a plane the following day. Complicating matters was the fact that it was Super Bowl weekend and the game was being played in Detroit. Most of the flights were booked solid, but I managed to get a ticket and fly into Detroit that Friday afternoon. On the plane, before we landed, the pilot mentioned that a snowstorm was moving into the area, and I became concerned; I thought my plan might be in jeopardy. After we landed, though, I succeeded in renting a car and got on I-75 headed toward Saginaw. Normally this is about a two-hour drive, maybe less. But the snow had already begun to fall, and shortly after we got on the road, the weather took a dramatic turn for the worse. There were some tense moments on the highway, but I finally arrived at my destination—several hours late, but in one piece, thank God. I got a chance to see my mom briefly that night, and my worst fears were realized: she was close to death. The doctor said she probably wouldn’t last through the weekend.
I was overwhelmed with grief, but also very thankful that I had a chance to say good-bye to my mom. I spent the weekend at the nursing home, and had to return to New York on Sunday. Before leaving, I told my mom it was all right for her to join Dad up in heaven, and that he was waiting for her. I was holding her hand at the time, and even though she couldn’t talk, she squeezed my hand and appeared to understand what I was saying. I kissed her good-bye and told her I loved her, and then drove back to Detroit for my flight home. I later heard from my sister that she passed away just hours after I left.
A few weeks after my mother’s death, I got the news that KISS was being honored by VH1 as part of the network’s first Rock Honors award show in Las Vegas. I wasn’t sure what role I would play in the ceremony, since Tommy Thayer had been wearing my makeup and costume and performing with KISS. I remember Ed Trunk calling me up and saying, angrily, “I can’t fucking believe those guys! That’s your award. You were a cofounder of the band, and you designed the Spaceman makeup and costume!”
I wasn’t sure what to think. As I told Ed, “Well, I guess I’ll be getting a call from Paul or Gene?”
The phone never rang, so Ed came up with the idea for me to play with an all-star band that was also performing on the show. At the time I was a little reluctant to even go to Las Vegas for the taping without a formal invitation from KISS, but Ed convinced me.
“You have to go, Ace. Don’t let them get away with it. They’re always trying to make it seem like you never existed. Fuck ’em!”
So I agreed and booked a flight to L.A. and started rehearsals with Slash, Gilby Clarke, Scott Ian, and Tommy Lee. We rehearsed a couple of days and then jumped on a private jet and were flown to Las Vegas by VH1.
There was a lot of excitement revolving around the show. In addition to KISS, Def Leppard, Judas Priest, and Queen were being honored. When I arrived on the set, I realized that it was a much bigger deal than I had anticipated. As usual, Ed Trunk had given me the right advice. I was still wondering why I never got a call from Paul or Gene concerning the show, but I really didn’t want to think about it. I just pretended that everything was fine; when I saw the guys from KISS, I greeted them like nothing had ever happened, posed with them for a few pictures, and acted like we were long-lost friends. The truth, though, is that I started feeling ill about the whole production and how my contribution to KISS was again being minimized. I’d been sober for some time, but before the show I started feeling even more anxious, and when Slash offered me a drink backstage, I just couldn’t say no. I didn’t want to feel my emotions anymore and was still very upset about my mother’s passing.
Rob Zombie joined us on lead vocals, and together we performed a kick-ass version of “God of Thunder.” Right before the show I suggested to Slash we throw in the riff from Led Zeppelin’s “Bring It on Home” between our guitar solos, and he agreed. It blew my mind that we pulled it off flawlessly, in harmony, without any prior rehearsal. That was a rush!
The show progressed; eventually KISS played a few songs. I wondered if they felt strange during their performance, knowing I was watching their every move. We all posed together at the end of the show for the press, and then it was over.
I went back to my hotel suite knowing I had lost my sobriety, and even though I wanted to blame KISS or my mom’s passing away, I knew deep in my soul it was my own fault. Later I heard from Slash, who apologized for handing me my first drink. He was feeling somewhat guilty, since he had also struggled with addiction, but I assured him that I was planning on getting fucked up anyway, and if it hadn’t been him, it would have been someone else.
I stayed in Vegas a few more days and continued to party, and then headed back to New York. I should have called some of my sober buddies and told them what happened, but I didn’t want to face the music. I continued drinking and self-medicating and slowly began spinning out of control. By the end of the summer I was a mess. If not for my daughter Monique’s intervention, I’m not sure what would have happened.
One day Monique called and expressed concern for my well-being. She had been told I was getting fucked up, and she was well aware of my destructive behavior. Monique had also been in the same place herself, and she realized I was going down a road from which I might not return. She started crying, and somehow got through to me. When I got off the phone with her, I looked in the mirror and said, “Well, now what?” I knew I was at a point where I hadn’t gone over the edge with what I was taking, but I was very, very close. I had only been drinking and doing pills, but I was seriously thinking about getting some coke. If I’d taken that step, I probably wouldn’t have been able to stop. I would have been on the merry-go-round again, without any desire or strength to get off.
That evening I did some praying and self-examination, and decided to call Monique and tell her I was going to get sober. She was thrilled with the prospect, and I promised I would follow through with my decision. In the next few weeks I opted to slowly decrease the dosage of all the junk I was consuming. Finally, by mid-September, I was completely done with ev
erything. I called Jimmy Jenter and told him I’d like to hit a few meetings that week. I believe he may have heard through some of our mutual friends that I’d fallen off the wagon. He agreed to join me, and I slowly began regaining my sobriety—one day at a time. As of today, I haven’t had a drink or any opiates or tranquillizers since September 15, 2006. By the time this book is released I will have celebrated five years of sobriety!
Life is full of twists and turns, but there are only two roads you can follow. The choice is up to you.
Even though I was working on my new album at the time, I got the itch to hit the road and perform live with my newly formed band. I hired an agent and we quickly put together a U.S. tour. I realized performing sober was lots of fun, and we kept adding dates to our tour schedule.
I wanted to prove to everyone else in the business that what Gene Simmons had said about me was a lie. He had basically slandered my name in the press by telling everyone I was still a drunk and a drug addict. Furthermore, he said I was unreliable as an artist… and unemployable. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, and I needed to show the world that Gene had his head up his ass. The tour continued in the States and then went through Canada without any mishaps. I appeared at every show and met every contractual obligation that was required of me. I’ve always been the kind of person who draws strength from adversity, and this was just another example of my resiliency.
Later that year we did a sold-out show in London at the Hammersmith Odeon and received rave reviews across the board. With the tour under my belt and some positive press to rebut Gene’s negative campaign, I decided to go back into the studio and finish my new studio album.
Despite the many ups and downs I had with KISS over the years, I couldn’t help but remember all the fun we shared in our formative years. We achieved greatness in the music industry and had several groundbreaking achievements well into the new millennium. To this day I still consider them my brothers in rock ’n’ roll and love them.
No Regrets Page 29
