Revisiting this conversation from Jan. 28 2021 feels like unearthing a time capsule from a very specific and strange moment in history. The world was at a standstill. Live music was a ghost. And Paul Stanley the eternal Starchild of KISS was launching a passion project that seemed, on its face, to be the polar opposite of everything he represented. His band Soul Station was a loving homage to the Motown and Philly Soul that shaped him. But looking back at the raw transcripts it’s clear this wasn’t just a side hustle. It was a necessary recalibration.
In the thick of the pandemic Stanley was grappling with the same anxieties as everyone else. But he framed it with a particular clarity. For most he noted it was an “inconvenience.” But for half a million people it was “devastating.” His response wasn’t to retreat but to push forward. He says that in the midst of it all “I have tried to to reaffirm how great life can be and that you need to live it.” Soul Station was the engine for that reaffirmation a project built on pure unadulterated joy.
The first single from the project wasn’t a Motown deep cut but a Chicago soul classic “O-o-h Child” by The Five Stairsteps. It was a masterstroke of timing. The choice was less about genre purity and more about capturing a specific feeling. Stanley saw it as a song that “reflects optimism and hope.” He’s right. It’s a track that has always carried a weight of gentle reassurance a promise of better days.
“When I heard that song it it really it it was poignant,” Stanley recalls. “It it sang about that things would get better for for people and that one of these days we’ll walk in the in the rays of a beautiful sun. And it was put so eloquently and yet simply.” It was a message the world desperately needed to hear delivered by a voice people least expected to sing it.
But this project wasn’t some sudden pivot. The foundation was laid decades earlier. Stanley’s musical DNA is steeped in the sounds of the Motor City. He speaks with genuine reverence about the architects of that sound: The Four Tops Martha and the Vandellas The Temptations The Supremes and Smokey Robinson and the Miracles. He remembers hearing “Dancing in the Street” and recognizing it for what it was. “You wanna talk about a a rock anthem that’s that’s an anthem,” he insists. The man knows his history.
And he didn’t just hear it on the radio. He witnessed it firsthand. “I was lucky enough when I was in my early teens to see Otis Redding live. I saw Solomon Burke,” he says. “That music’s always been a part of my wheelhouse. That’s been part of the foundation of what I do.” This context is critical. Soul Station isn’t an affectation; it’s an excavation of his own artistic bedrock.
The Detroit connection runs deeper than just fandom. Stanley holds a profound respect for the system Berry Gordy built a star-making machine that rivalled Hollywood. He points to the staggering talent of arrangers like Paul Riser who at a young age was orchestrating monumental tracks like “Papa Was a Rollin’ Stone.” It’s the blue-collar work ethic of the city that resonates. “I think there’s something about Detroit and I think there’s something about blue collar workers and I think there’s something about a commonality that Detroit has that I relate to,” he admits.
Once you see the blueprint it’s impossible to unsee it in his work with KISS. He readily offers examples. “What Makes the World Go Round” from the oft-maligned *Unmasked* album? “That really is that’s a Spinners song,” he reveals. The iconic chorus of “Shout It Out Loud” is a direct lift from the call-and-response dynamic of The Four Tops with Levi Stubbs. Even the disco-inflected smash “I Was Made For Lovin’ You” has its roots in the driving basslines of Motown. “It’s in there you know? It’s in the DNA,” Stanley confirms.
When I was 17, I saw Zeppelin. It must have been ’69, probably around then ’68, ’69. And to this day, I’ve never seen anything quite like that. It was just a religious experience.
Vocally the project presented a different kind of challenge one that connected his varied career from the glam rock stage to the theatre boards of *The Phantom of the Opera*. The common thread is the falsetto. It’s a tool he’s used in KISS and one that was essential for his turn as the Phantom. And it’s the centerpiece for so many of the soul singers he admires from The Delfonics to Eddie Kendricks of The Temptations.
For Stanley it represents a different form of power. “It’s kind of like a masculinity without relying upon chest pounding or machismo,” he explains. “I relate to the idea of strength having nothing to do with flexing muscles.” It’s a nuanced and surprisingly vulnerable take from one of rock’s most famously macho frontmen.
When it came to recording these iconic songs the goal was never imitation. It was about embodiment. “I don’t think that impersonating is the answer because that’s surface,” he states firmly. “You have to understand where it’s coming from the passion of it. Otherwise you might as well be Rich Little.” The band itself a collection of session legends who’ve played with everyone from Stevie Wonder to Whitney Houston shared this ethos.
The recording process was about capturing a feeling not chasing digital perfection. “We were never going to confuse perfection with passion,” Stanley says. The proof is in the pace. The core band tracked nine or 10 basic tracks in a day and a half. It was about the live feel the interplay the celebration. This wasn’t an album fussed over with a microscope; it was a party captured on tape.
Even with musical director Alex Alessandroni Jr. at the helm Stanley was deeply involved in the arrangements. He couldn’t chart them himself but he knew what he wanted. “I have to sing them,” he says describing how he would vocalize the horn and string parts. “Alex and I work hand in hand. I couldn’t imagine surrendering it quite honestly because I know this music so well.”
At the same time his main gig was in limbo. The KISS “End of the Road” tour was paused indefinitely. The challenge for KISS he admits was no longer creative but purely physical. “If we were just in our t shirts and jeans and and running shoes we could do this into our nineties,” he muses. “But when you’re wearing eight inch heels and carrying 30 or 40 pounds of gear and running around the stage you play beat the clock. You can win for a while but the clock ultimately wins.” It was a starkly honest assessment of mortality from a seemingly immortal rock god.
The band’s massive New Year’s Eve 2020 show in Dubai was a surreal interlude a testament to their operational might. It was a bubble of pyro and rock and roll in a world on lockdown with a crew of 500 tested daily. Even then they were asked to adjust a few lyrics out of cultural respect a request they had no problem honouring.
Looking ahead from that moment in early 2021 Stanley was pragmatic. He saw Soul Station shows as more feasible in the near term than stadium blowouts. But one of the most revealing moments came when he was asked why he’d record a Soul Station album after claiming a new KISS album wasn’t worth the effort. His answer was brutally frank. A new KISS song can never compete with the nostalgia attached to a classic. It doesn’t have the listener’s life attached to it. It was a candid admission of the predicament facing every legacy act.
When asked by a fan about a dream collaborator his answer was immediate: Jimmy Page. He speaks of seeing Led Zeppelin in 1969 as a “religious experience” a moment of pure synergy and brilliance that he’s never seen matched. “He’s on a mountain by himself,” Stanley says with genuine awe.
Ultimately Soul Station was more than just a covers band. It was a lifeline. It was Paul Stanley stripping away the armour the makeup and the spectacle to reconnect with the music that first made him want to pick up a guitar. It was a project born of a silent world that made a beautiful and soulful noise.
519 Magazine Archive: We are thrilled to officially unearth the 519 Magazine Digital Vault. This isn't just a re-post; it's a high-fidelity restoration of a pivotal era in music journalism. By pairing original print dates with modern retrospectives, we’re bridging the gap between historical rock-and-roll grit and the lightning-fast performance of today’s web. These stories—once locked in physical print and lost URLs—are now back, fully searchable, and optimized for a new generation of fans.
We are thrilled to officially unearth the 519 Magazine Digital Vault. This isn't just a re-post; it's a high-fidelity restoration of a pivotal era in music journalism. By pairing original print dates with modern retrospectives, we're bridging the gap between historical rock-and-roll grit and the lightning-fast performance of today's web. These stories—once locked in physical print and lost URLs—are now back, fully searchable, and optimized for a new generation of fans.
