ACE FREHLEY

w/ L.U.S.T
The Tivoli, Brisbane – 8th February 2010

Rocking up to a packed Tivoli, it is apparent that the atmosphere tonight will be different to the typical 18+ rock show. Everybody in attendance has hit middle age, and you’d be hard pressed to find any fans born after 1985. KISS shirts run rife, and there’s a mullet on every corner.

Sydney-siders L.U.S.T are the lone support band of the evening, blending 70s punk and 80s rock, with the result leaving onlookers unsure whether to headbang, dance, or fake a full body seizure. Their influences are apparent in songs like First Tattoo, with the chorus ‘Hey! You! Fuck You!’ overtly reminiscent of The Ramones’ ‘Hey Ho, Let’s Go’ with a rock twist. The sound system is on par this evening, with frontman Mikey Rollins’ vocals ringing through clear as hell.

Despite 99.9% of those in attendance never having heard of the band before, L.U.S.T’s catchy choruses and clear vocals have people quickly catching on and singing along with their tales about getting wasted and being the town man-slut. Having seen many ill-fitted support bands in the past, it was apparent how fucking perfect L.U.S.T were for the bill, with their slightly cheesy and wonderfully cliché renditions of the sex, drugs and alcohol mandate.

After the most drawn out intro in existence, the man of the evening slowly shuffles on stage, indifferently combing through his rapidly thinning hair as everybody drunkenly wails for Ace Frehley. Unfortunately even legends have their problems, as the perfect PA from earlier goes out the window, as the guitars threaten to deafen audience members, and overpower Frehley’s vocals for a third of the set.

While the vocals may have been indistinguishable for Rocket Ride, Parasite, Snowblind, and Sister, the crowd don’t give a fuck, roaring and jumping and generally sending their blood pressure skyward. Whether the sound improves or the audience gets used to it, Frehley’s vocals eventually become clearer as he stumbles into Outer Space (no pun intended), Speeding Back to my Baby, Love Her All I Can, Talk to Me and gets a crowd singalong going for Rock Soldiers.

As the set is peppered with KISS songs, Frehley jokes and laments several times throughout the evening on playing with ‘those guys who wear makeup’, and auditioning for those 3 gays guys once upon a time on East 23rd street. The rest of his banter is amusing if nonsensical, as he babbles on about being bi-coastal, doing cocaine, his guitarist’s love for older women, and his 2012 predictions.

Frehley’s supporting band members are also surprisingly vocal throughout the set, giving him shit for living in LA and bringing up the rear when Ace reverts to his solos. As funny and technically proficient as they may be, the supporting band members are remarkably younger than Mr Frehley, looking like they all defected from shitty emo band, Escape the Fate.

Frehley seems to come alive through the second half of the set, teasing at the cover of the Rolling Stones’ 2000 Man with several solos, sliding into rather than bumbling through Strange Ways, Rip It Out and Hard Times, and getting a singalong started in changing New York Groove to Brisbane Groove. He also remarks on getting electrocuted in the 70s, an obviously prelude to crowd pleaser Shock Me.

Then comes the event everybody has been waiting for – the big fucking solo. Frehley’s guitar skills have been nothing short of inspiring tonight, with the crowd fixated on him during his guitar solos, but that’s nothing compared to what he busts out now. Frehley embarks on a nearly 10 minute solo, that has the crowd practically pissing their pants in excitement, and results in smoke coming out of his guitar. SMOKE CAME OUT OF HIS GUITAR. Whether it’s the work of an extremely small smoke machine or some wonderful brand of magic, nobody gives a fuck because it’s the coolest parlour trick everybody has ever seen.

After swinging through Foxy & Free and Shout It Out Loud, the band departs the stage in that obligatory move to get the crowd chanting for an encore. Problem is, their departure is actually quite convincing, with the dimmed lights the only cue telling the crowd not to leave just yet. After an awkwardly long absence Frehley and co. return, giving the crowd once last thrill with Love Gun and Cold Gin.

As Frehley laments, all good things must come to an end, as the legend permanently leaves the stage with minions in tow. The middle aged masses are sweaty and satiated, and tonight’s gig is probably the first time they’ve felt genuine excitement since 1992. As they all rush home to take their laxatives and gout medication, there’s a special sort of bonding going on – as cheesy as it probably sounds, this audience has just been witness to a total fucking legend.