Four stars

It took a full five songs before there was a bit of fire breathing, and another 20 or so minutes after that before Gene Simmons was lifted skywards to perform above the crowd. Such is the way of Kiss, a band more rock theatre than simple concert.

An early sombre note was struck with a minute’s silence for the victims of the Manchester bombing, but normal service resumed afterwards. In addition to Simmons show-stealing demon persona, letting blood run down his costume, there was Paul Stanley zipping to a platform at the back of the arena, plus flames, sparks, fireworks and a nifty Saltire designed guitar. No stone was left unturned, no ‘make some noise Glasgow’ cliché unuttered.

It was, of course, ludicrously good fun, even if Stanley’s voice sounded somewhat wobbly at times, including on a couple of their biggest hits, Crazy Crazy Nights and I Was Made For Lovin You’s disco beat, where the audience was left to do the heavy lifting. The reminder of the set featured plenty of familiar hits with the odd surprise, rarely straying from the big chorus, easily anthemic rock-pop template, including a typically outlandish Lick It Up with a Won’t Be Fooled Again snippet, a thumping War Machine and Say Yeah’s unashamed pop.

Some more spontaneity would have been nice, with the set slicker than an oil spill, no deviation allowed. But after all these years Kiss still convey both the power and the inherent ridiculousness of rock n’ roll, with a fanbase that clearly goes from generation to generation. It is rooted in escapism, of shedding worries and hassles in pursuit of partying for a couple of hours, or, indeed, every day. Hail to that.