Kiss is the best American band of all time. I mean, who has really come close?! Mike Stax and Ritchie Unterberger would make their case for the Byrds, and I would make my case that they’re full of beans. Seriously, can you think of another band that embodies the American Spirit better than Stanley, Simmons, Frehley, and Criss? Break the Byrds down to their base fundamentals, and what do you get? Roger Jim Larry Steve McGuinn realized that this Dylan cat knew what was up, and reacted accordingly. Gram Parsons had mommy’s money and the good drugs. The haze of optimism and idealism has long since worn off, and they can be properly assessed as a bunch of optimistic idealists, no better or worse than the average person. OK, I’m not gonna sit here and say the Byrds are null and void, but they had a pair of pocket aces and a stack of chips hidden behind their chairs. They put up a good fight, and I still know all the words to “So You Wanna Be A Rock N’ Roll Star” and “Hickory Wind” by heart. I still think Kiss wins by a landslide.

America is full of white trash loads of shit sitting in their pre-fabricated homes, with stacks of lottery tickets stashed under their ample buttocks. Idealistic realists, waiting for their surplus checks. As much as they want to hate Barry Bonds, his easy ride to the top, and his abnormally large head, they can’t help but be jealous. What does Barry Bonds think about the escalating gas prices, and Mr. Bush’s outrageous statements to Egypt and Saudi Arabia about the price of oil?! I bet he’s counting his money, and is slightly relieved. His status as most hated man in America rose at the same time as Mr. Bush, and I bet he’s glad that the chase for greatness is over. Both men are the living embodiment of the American Dream.

Barry Bonds and George Bush are the heroes and icons of our times, like it or not. Mr. Bonds achieved a respectable amount of home runs and a sick run of Gold Gloves in a time where such things didn’t matter. The phrase “market share” has quickly become the most important one in the culture. McGwire and Sosa had usurped Bonds, and he wasn’t going to take it sitting down. They were getting the attention, so what would a syringe in the ass mean in the long run?! Everyone else is doing it, so why can’t I? What can it hurt if my friends in the oil and defense industries have a friend in office to help them out?! Mr. Bush and Mr. Bonds are just a couple of regular Americans that saw the writing on the wall and decided to get everything that was coming to them.

Stanley Eisen and Chaim Witz, better known as Paul Stanley and Gene Simmons, can’t be hated for pursuing the same dream. They ddn’t set the record for home runs or gas prices, but they did put out Kiss Alive! These sons of immigrants purposefully ignored Gram Parsons and Gene Clark’s inflated legacy, and David Crosby’s inflated liver, and make their own way.They stuck the syringe in their asses and went for the long ball. I don’t care if it was all smoke and mirrors. If, as legend has it, Kiss Alive! was recorded in the studio and embellished with applause taped off Monday Night Football, then I don’t wanna know. Fuck, they wrote “Cold Gin, “Strutter,” “C’Mon And Love Me,” “Rock N’ Roll All Nite,” and “Deuce.” If the Byrds were Babe Ruth, a proud, innocent relic of an ancient time, then Kiss was Barry Bonds, ahead on points, flash, technology, and technicalities.

What the fuck is “Deuce” about, anyway?! “You know your man is workin’ hard, he’s worth a deuce”?! I have a slightly deranged mind, and I’m gonna assume its about anal sex. In modern times, “he worked 60 hours in globally-warmed uncertain weather with no insurance or benefits, and wants to come home and stick it in your ass and not have to hear you bitch about how the kid needs braces and you can’t make your morgage payment” doesn’t have the same ring to it, does it?!

In short, we need heroes. I’m casting my lot with ‘roided up monsters and blood-spittin’, fire-breathin’ flyin’ grease painted rock n’ rollers. I can’t claim a bunch of namby-pamby, folk-rockin’, love-bead sportin’ relics as the best American band of all time. America is the Tiger Woods, fist -pumpin’ chip-shot into the hole, the Paul Stanley screaming “what, I can’t heeeah ya!” before the chorus kicks in on “Rock N’ Roll All Nite.” Every time I’m worried that the world’s going into the shitter, I can listen to Kiss Alive! and realize things are gonna be just fine.