Tony Soprano once famously said, “’Remember when’ is the lowest form of conversation.” This never dawned on Kiss’ Gene Simmons, whose recent “rock is dead” rant amounted to little more than waxing nostalgic about the days when his band ruled the roost — and revealed his ignorance and disinterest in the current state of the genre.

Simmons made his latest proclamation on an episode of The Zak Kuhn Show. When asked if he believed rock was still dead, Simmons replied: “It is. And people don’t understand how I can say that when we all have our favorite songs and we love our favorite bands, you and I and everybody else. But what I mean is that — well, let’s play a game, and I’ve done this before. From 1958 until 1988, that’s 30 years. Thirty years. So what came during that period? Well, we had Elvis, we had the Beatles, the [Rolling] Stones, Jimi Hendrix, all that, Pink Floyd, the solo artists, David Bowie and just music that lasts forever, we’d like to think. In the disco world, you had Madonna, more heavy guitars, you had — oh, God — AC/DC and everybody else, Aerosmith and on and on. And you had Motown at the same time. You had Prince. It was a very, very rich musical menu. It could go up and down. You had prog bands, you had Yes, Genesis, Gentle Giant, and you had the heavy bands, Led Zeppelin and so on. And from 1988 until today — it’s something like almost 40 years, certainly 35 years — who are the new Beatles?”

When Kuhn suggested Nirvana, Simmons interjected: “Stop. We are blinded. I’m a major fan. If you walked down the street and asked a 20-year-old, ‘Who’s the bass player in Nirvana?’ they wouldn’t know what you’re talking about. Or, ‘Can you sing a Nirvana song?’ No, no. The Beatles — and, to a slightly lesser extent, the Stones and Elvis — everybody knew the Beatles. If you hated rock music, you knew about them. By the way, I’m delusional enough to believe some market reports about how the Kiss faces are the most recognized faces on the planet. And I’ve tried this before: You walk down the street, randomly ask people, ‘Who’s on Mount Rushmore?’ They’ll say, ‘Uh, Elvis.’ They won’t get it, but they know those four faces anywhere you go. They may hate the band, but you can’t deny that.”

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It was a typically meandering and self-aggrandizing response from Simmons, and one that failed to offer any tangible evidence that rock is dead. Instead, it revealed that Simmons’ idea of a “thriving” rock scene can be commodified and sold on department store T-shirts around the world. Simmons is talking about rock as a corporate monolith that looks, sounds and acts the same as it did in 1977. There’s still a market for that, as evidenced by the many legacy rock artists who have announced massive tours for 2025, as well as young acts like Greta Van Fleet who have debuted inside the Billboard Top 10 and filled arenas off the strength of their classic rock cosplay. But this narrow, antiquated view of rock barely scratches the surface of the genre’s rich, albeit embattled, present-day ecosystem.

Simmons’ “Who are the new Beatles?” refrain is a lazy and irrelevant response to the discussion of rock’s current standing. For one, the Beatles were a one-of-a-kind sociocultural phenomenon that will simply never be replicated. (Taylor Swift may have made a similar global impact, but she operates in a music business and a world that is unrecognizable from that of the Beatles’ heyday, so it’s an apples-to-oranges comparison.) Secondly, the 30-year period Simmons is referencing, when labels had endless money to blow on fostering up-and-coming talent, is a mere blip on the radar in the scope of music as commerce. It wasn’t considered such a lucrative business enterprise before that, and it probably never will be in the same way again, save for the 99th percentile of pop superstars. The streaming economy has simultaneously democratized access to music, fragmented listenership and bankrupted small-to-midsize artists to the extent that a rock band cutting their teeth today has virtually no chance of achieving a whiff of the same success. They could be writing the next “A Day in the Life” as we speak, but it’s not going to sell 20 million copies, and it’s going to take some digging from avid music listeners to find. That’s a serious problem in its own right, but it’s not the problem Simmons purports to highlight here.

Furthermore, Simmons’ quick dismissal of Nirvana on the basis that no casual fan knows Krist Novoselic’s name rings hollow, considering the same casual fan would be hard-pressed to tell you who played alongside Simmons and Paul Stanley in Kiss for the past 20-odd years. His similar rejection of Pearl Jam, another one of Kuhn’s suggestions, ignores the inconvenient truth that both Nirvana and Pearl Jam outsold Kiss by at least five-to-one when you compare their highest-certified albums. (Pearl Jam’s Ten: 13 million. Nirvana’s Nevermind: 10 million. Kiss’ Destroyer: 2 million.)

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Kuhn also offered up Foo Fighters as an example of a modern-day rock giant, to which Simmons argued that Dave Grohl has eclipsed both Nirvana and Pearl Jam’s popularity by becoming a Hollywood socialite, not based on his music. This, he claimed, is the same reason that Snoop Dogg remains more popular than “other rappers who might actually be bigger rap stars — M.C. Criminal or whatever, I just made that up.” This is, um, ignorant at best and racist at worst, but it makes Simmons sound bafflingly out of touch at a time when rapper Kendrick Lamar’s new surprise album GNX reigns atop the Billboard 200 and he occupies the entire Hot 100 Top 5 — a feat previously accomplished by only Swift, Drake and, that’s right, the Beatles.

If Simmons wants to lament the death of rock ’n’ roll as monoculture, he has some grounds to do so. But to proclaim the entire genre dead across the board shows that Simmons has no interest in looking outside his insular world. If he did, he might notice that Green Day — whose major-label debut Dookie was recently certified double diamond for sales exceeding 20 million — is headlining Coachella next year. He might realize that My Chemical Romance just sold out an entire U.S. stadium tour. He might see that Linkin Park and Pierce the Veil have hefty arena tours booked for 2025. He might marvel that genre-bending psych-rock weirdos King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard have become one of the biggest cult bands on the scene, packing theaters and amphitheaters around the world. And if he really wanted to do his homework, he might take pleasure in the rock/punk/metal hybrid of bands like the Dirty Nil or White Reaper, who are dutifully making the rounds on the club and theater circuit the way old-school rock bands used to do. (For the record, either of these bands could have made great openers on Kiss’ farewell tour if the band didn’t take the easy way out and handed the gig to Amber Wild, led by Paul Stanley’s son, Evan Stanley.)

But Simmons doesn’t want to do that. He would rather complain that he and his retired boomer cohort no longer run the show, and if they’re not in charge, then nobody should be. He’s well within his rights to lament the death of rock to anybody who will listen — but he ought to know it’s the lowest form of conversation.