Nagoya: The Greatest Show on Earth

Nagoya, in Central Japan, is, depending on your sources, the fourth or fifth largest city in the country. It is famous for miso, a thick paste used to make soup, and conservatism, a thick social and political attitude that is often the butt of jokes in other parts of the country. Despite a large-scale urban renaissance that has transformed the cityscape over the last three years, the conservative infrastructure remains intact.

Once again, I relied on a nozomi shinkansen to take me from Point A (Fukuoka) to Point B (Nagoya). I figured I'd splurge and stay at the Marriott, the city's newest, poshest hotel, located in one of two circular towers that rise from the main train station like the prongs of a gargantuan electric plug. Plus, I was tired and wanted to get into a room with as little physical effort as possible. When I got to the lobby -- on the 26th floor of the 60-floor prong -- a petite, bell-lady relieved me of my weighty bag and escorted me to the reception desk for check-in. What, no reservation, sir? I�m sorry, but we don�t have any rooms available.

Off to the Hilton, still in splurge mode and fairly certain that�s where KISS was staying. What, no reservation, sir? I�m sorry, but we don�t have any rooms available. The manager, sensing that I was tired and desperate for shelter, approached me and asked if he could help. I told him that I had just come in from Fukuoka and needed a room for two nights. He didn�t exactly laugh: He explained that Japan�s largest orchid festival was taking place that weekend, and that "there were no rooms in the city."

Oh, brother. What�s more conservative than a orchid?

Long story short: The manager called his buddy at the Nagoya Crown Hotel, right around the block and the only joint in town with a natural hot spring in the basement, and finagled a single room for me, for two nights. I proffered the appropriate number of sumimasens ("I�m sorry for the trouble") and domo arigato gozaimasus (a very polite "thank you�), then asked him if KISS had checked in yet. No? At 5:00? I�ll come back. Domo arigato gozaimasu.

Sure �nuff, I returned to the Hilton in time to catch the band as they checked in. Ace, in black jeans, T-shirt, jacket and sunglasses (he�s been wearing the same ensemble since 1972) kind of breezed by with little more than a nod. Paul, who was traveling with his son, Evan, arrived in denim overalls, juggling a handful of toys and papers. I didn�t bother him. Gene, all in black and pulling a carry-on with wheels, took a few minutes for me as I introduced myself as KISSONLINE�s reporter/photographer. Eric walked up behind, said hi and yes, he did remember me from KISSFest in Yokohama. So, it was nice to have this first real access to the band and cool to let them know who I was and what I was doing.

The Hard Rock Cafe is right across the street from the Hilton, and my instincts told me someone from KISS would go on over for a comp. When I lived in Nagoya, I did a story about this eatery�s grand opening, and was one of the few, the chosen, permitted inside before the red ribbon was snipped. The whole building process and interior design was so hush-hush, you�d have thought it was a training institute for spies or home to a yakuza scalping ring. Because I was privy in those days, I thought the manager would remember me and take me under his buffalo wings for the evening. However, he had been relocated to another location. Such is the transient, topsy-turvy world of restaurateuring.

Details of hanging out at a Hard Rock Cafe are hardly the stuff of engaging reading, let alone ethical journalism, so I�ll spare you the details. Paul did come in to eat with Evan and his assistant. As fate would have it, the three of us met in the men�s room, had a short conversation about the tour and said our good-byes. Before I left for the evening, I talked again with Paul and Evan, who thought Japan was "cool." After I left, Ace showed up, signed a T-shirt and posed for a picture with the new manager. Both were on display the next morning, when I sauntered in for a Bloody Mary, which the old manager always boasted were the best in the city.

Sunday, the day of the show, was glorious. It was sunny and warmish, and all the orchid freaks were leaving town en masse. I walked over to the Hilton around 10:00 a.m., just to see what was shakin�. There were about two dozen fans prowling the lobby, which told me that I should just hang back and watch, not try to participate in any autograph-seeking or picture-taking. Indeed, when Gene came down to partake of the breakfast buffet, the fans flocked to him and did their thing. He was accommodating, willing to postpone his morning repast to sign things, pose for pictures, answer questions, etc. Eric came down later and was greeted with the same. However, after things had calmed down and he was standing alone, I walked up and talked with him for a while. He�s an approachable, friendly guy who doesn't mind jawing with fans. And he�s a watch freak: Nagoya has a great watch shop, WatchMan, and Eric was on his way there to check out the wares before sound check at Rainbow Hall.

By now, the concerts were falling into a pretty established pattern, both before, during and after the shows. Before, fans walked around outside, took pictures, ate, drank, made merry. During, KISS rocked as tightly, loudly and joyously as they ever did. After, I went backstage and hung around like a real rock�n�roller, getting in several words with the band and the crew.

The "during" part at Nagoya, however, did depart from the norm in at least one respect, the addition of a medley. That night, conservative, miso- and orchid-loving Nagoya went totally ape. From start to finish, the fans were keyed up to fever pitch in a display of solidarity and sheer, unbridled adoration of KISS that was truly something to behold, something special. My guess would be that the snippets of "Got To Choose," "Parasite," "She" and "Makin� Love" were totally off the cuff, a result of the band feeding off the crowd�s energy and enthusiasm. Hearing these songs, even in bits and pieces, transformed this ethical reporter into a kowtowing boot-licker mesmerized by the sheer presence and power of his quarry.

A less raucous moment came when Paul began humming what�s known popularly, in English, as "The Sukiyaki Song," a ditty all Japanese learn at an early age. He did the same thing in Nagoya during the Reunion Tour and got the same response: a packed house singing the traditional favorite in perfect unison. A nice nod to Japanese culture, Mr. Stanley, one the Japanese fans appreciated and enjoyed (and found amusing to boot).

Backstage, everybody thanked the band for the extra effort. Paul, Eric and Gene, always more "around" than Ace, all agreed that the show was incredible because the fans had made it so.