December 17, 2003
The rise of the tribute band has closely followed John
Howard's conservative ascent. What price Kissteria's Gene Simmons clone as next
PM? Eric Ellis reports.
At first glance, the 500-odd punters at the Kissteria show at the Wests Leagues
Club in Leumeah, in Sydney's "Deep West", don't seem natural fellow travellers
on John Howard's white-picket fence revolution. But as he slugs down another
Bundy and Coke, his fifth of the night, Alan, 32, of Merrylands, perhaps
unwittingly reveals a deeper truth about why Australians are flocking to
"tribute" shows such as this one – and perhaps why Howard finds unexpected votes
in places conservatives once never ventured.
"The music around today is crap, mate," Alan says, with the conviction of a true believer, and he goes on to say:" Johnny fucking Howard, mate, is an absolute legend. He's the best prime minister this country's ever had." Or at least that's what I think he said because Alan's ringing endorsement of Howard was interrupted as he leapt from his seat to scream his contribution to Am I Ever Gonna See Your Face Again - as Angels fans are wont to do - a version of which is being played very loudly this night by Powerage, another tribute band running around the suburbs supporting "established acts" such as Kissteria.
It's easy to say that Australia's boom in "coodabeen rock stars" – encompassing everything from Quo Vadis (Status Quo) through Creedence Clearwater Recycled to the Three Tenors Tribute (for evidence, scan the gig guides in any weekend newspaper) – is because Australia is at the bottom of the world and it is too far and too expensive for promoters to bring the actual bands Down Under.
But that's utter nonsense, says Brisbane-based Mike Mooney, manager of the Melbourne-based Three Tenors Tribute. Australia has been on the international popular music map from the day it was drawn. And, as he rightly points out, international acts launch themselves from Australia.
"I don't think it's a coincidence that tribute shows have sprung up in numbers while Howard's been in power," he says, as his charges "Luciano", "Jose" and "Placido" tune up with a bottle of good claret for a Collingwood Football Club black-tie dinner at Melbourne's Crown Casino. "There's no doubt about it, their popularity taps into the same conservative pattern in society. It's safe; you know what you're going to get; you're guaranteed a good time."
But that analysis goes too far for Mick Edge, Garry Roff, Scott Donaldson and Steve Elencevski as they painstakingly transform themselves into Kiss' Ace Frehley, Gene Simmons, Eric Carr and Paul Stanley backstage at Wests to entertain the mullet-and-Jim-Beam crowd who've flocked in tonight.
Still, a good time is what Kissteria promise and their preparation is certainly impressive. The make-up takes about two hours to apply, the band's green room awash with face paint, hairspray, mousse, nervously puffed Winfield Blues, VB and, yes, even groupies. The attention to detail is immaculate in mimicking Kiss' Unmasked world tour of 1980, which Kiss aficionados regard as the band's real deal.
Donaldson, 34, spends his weekdays working as a courier in Sydney's west. But tonight he's The Fox, Eric's alter ego (Kiss freaks know this stuff) just as Edge (36, another courier) becomes SpaceAce, Roff (32, IT specialist) becomes Demon, and Elencevski (29, self-employed cleaner) transforms into Starchild, the heartthrob of the group.
"I've been doin' this for seven years; I don't need any photos to help me," says Elencevski/Paul.
And in full stage regalia, it's very hard to see any difference between these boys and the original Kiss – mindful that it's been 20-odd years since I, for one, last saw the real Kiss (and that was in my own blizzard of Stone's Green Ginger Wine, the Bundy of its day). "My 21-month-old kid Jake sees a photo of the original Kiss and reckons it's a picture of his dad and his mates," says Roff/Gene, practising the tongue contortions Simmons was notorious for.
Now in their seventh year, Kissteria even have their own Kiss Army of loyal fans who follow them from gig to gig. Some are allowed much-prized backstage passes – "access all areas" – like 39-year-old Claudio Valentini, a Kiss fan in his native Argentina who saw Kissteria in their early gigs in 1996-97 and is now the group's roadie, bouncer, "official photographer" and general dogsbody.
Valentini says he carries his hallowed pass "everywhere" but even he isn't the hardest-core of Kissteria fans. That honour probably goes to "Erin" who drives in from Canberra almost every Saturday night to Sydney's outer suburbs – the Blacktowns, Hornsbys and Penriths that Kissteria play, mostly in leagues clubs – her party piece being to take her top off when the band whip out their Ryobi leafblowers for the wind effects in God of Thunder. And Gene's tongue, of course.
"She's blonde and has got very nice tits," says Elencevski. Rock stars are all the same, even the pretend ones – although Kissteria are not so pretend as to mime. The playing and singing is all their own, their take admittedly sounding better at 2am after a big night on the sauce than at the sober hour of 11pm when they first come on.
For the Three Tenors at the Crown, there's nothing quite so raw. This is the third time Angelo Falcone (Pavarotti), Sandro Martino (Domingo) and Vittorio Sacca (Carreras) have performed for Collingwood, and one of an average of 25 shows a year.
But tonight's a big one for T3TT. It's Collingwood legend Lou Richards' 80th birthday roast, hosted by the ubiquitous Eddie McGuire, and about 1000 members of Aussie rules royalty are in the house to hear them do Nessun Dorma and My Way.
"Nessun Dorma is our most requested song but we've sung Good Old Collingwood Forever, too, before," says 55-year-old Falcone, a restaurateur, stalwart of Melbourne's Italian community and, as luck would have it, a Collingwood supporter. "It's a privilege to play a show like this one," he says, padding his tuxedo to give himself a Pavarotti-like girth.
It's also a lucrative gig, yielding about $1000 per performer – and a free feed – for a show that lasts just two songs, a far cry from the $2000 Kissteria will share among the 10 or so members of the entourage.
The show goes over well. The three bear good resemblances to the real tenors, and if the voices aren't quite as golden, they can certainly carry a room.
And, as John Howard might best understand, the fans of "safe" tribute shows like these can also, quite possibly, carry an election.
Eric Ellis is The Bulletin's senior Asia correspondent and winner of this year's Walkley Award for coverage of the Asia-Pacific region.