Like many others have eloquently shared in recent days, Ace Frehley was my reason. He’s the reason I became obsessed with the guitar in 1977. He’s the reason I begged my dad to take me to my first rock concert in 1983. He’s also the reason I was confused when the new guy played guitar onstage during the Creatures of the Night concert.
He’s the reason I approached a publishing industry icon in 1997, with the intention of writing a book about KISS. “I don’t believe KISS fans actually read,” the guy sneered, long before metal memoirs from everyone with a Marshall amp stack clogged bestseller lists.
He’s the reason I launched an outrageous quest to meet my hard rock guitar heroes. He’s the reason I’ve bid on rare but expensive Washburn guitars that bore his name, but he refused to play. He’s the reason I Milli Vanilli-ed a guitar to stand next to him performing the song “Rip It Out” from his 1978 solo album. He’s the reason I planned a trip to Connecticut for early 2026 to visit a former residence.
Ace Frehley is also the reason why I decided, in July 2025, to stop seeing my heroes perform live.
“I don’t want to do this anymore,” I texted a music-loving friend from a hotel room in Louisville, Kentucky. I logged into my various ticket accounts and put everything up for resale.
The music will never die, but the show must come to an end at some point.
***
I had driven several hours to see a triple bill of Quiet Riot, Slaughter, and Ace Frehley. It was 90 degrees at showtime in Louisville at the Iroquois Amphitheater. The venue features wood and stone structures that evoke a sense of a lovely state park. There was shade under the roof and on the stage, but the air was still and heavy.
Over the course of my hair metal journalism career, I had the opportunity to interview and get to know many legends of the genre. I was always glad they still rocked every night. Whatever kept them on the road, whether it was money, ego, or desperation, I saw their determination as an admirable quality. There are far easier ways to earn a living than doing fly-in dates to a few hundred people. The published capacity at Iroquois was around 2,400 people, but there was nowhere near that amount in attendance.
Frehley walked cautiously on stage. He seemed tentative, but he was 74 years old. I didn’t expect acrobatics, and he was legendary for clumsiness, even when sober. I don’t know that I ever did an interview with him where falling, tripping, or stumbling wasn’t mentioned, usually accompanied by his famous cackle. So, I didn’t judge his hesitant movements.
In fact, I never judge harshly. As sports fans say, “Father Time is undefeated.” Voices weaken—hands atrophy. No one performs at 70 with the vigor they did at 30. As an observer and a fan, I am okay with that.
When I watch a concert today, my experience is a pastiche of past and present. I think about the images and memories associated with the music. A tree on our farm that looked like Paul Stanley’s poofy mane, or my prom date saying she liked the drums on Appetite for Destruction, or how my best friend got a speeding ticket to the opening chug of Dr. Feelgood. I think about how the music has stuck with me over the decades. I reflect on my interviews with the musicians, how they’ve changed, and how I’ve changed. I evaluate the performance of the evening, sure. However, it’s mixed up in this cocktail of emotions, which tends to mean that I am a very understanding critic.
Three or four songs in, Frehley stood in front of drummer Scot Coogan and made a horizontal cutting motion in the air in front of his throat, the universal “it’s over” gesture. Coogan is a professional and experienced vocalist, and he usually sang some of KISS’s songs on the setlist. Some vocal duties are also regularly handled by bass player Ryan Spencer Cook. Some of that sharing is normal in an Ace show. But that night seemed different, like they were adjusting on the fly.
I caught Cook exchanging eye contact with his longtime friend and bandmate, Jeremy Ashbrook. Those dudes have known each other for decades. They’re hard-working, skilled, and dedicated admirers who share the stage with their childhood idol. I cannot definitely prove what was going on in their heads.
However, I recognized that look. It was the one family recently shared as my parents’ health declined. It was the “Did you hear what Dad just said?” glance, the “Did you see Mom not be able to change the channel?” eyebrow raise.
There’s an orchestra pit at Iroquois that keeps the audience at a distance. Cook and Ashbrook zinged guitar picks into the second level, like ninjas in a Bruce Lee movie. Ace’s guitar picks fluttered, hesitated, and fell into the pit before reaching any fans.
His guitar performance meandered. There were moments of flash and excitement, but most of it was sloppy. Ace Frehley was never about precision. He had no pretensions about being a schooled and studied virtuoso. He joked in interviews that if he had known he would influence so many musicians, he would have practiced harder. He was Keith Richards or Joe Walsh, more about swagger and simply cool than sweeping picking arpeggios. However, that performance struck me as sloppy sloppy, not cool sloppy.
When he launched the opening crunch of “God of Thunder” before surprisingly transitioning to his solo hit “Back in the New York Groove”, I had moved from the front row to the back of the amphitheater. I was leaving early, but so was Frehley. Before I completely exited the venue, he told the crowd that the set was being cut short, but I couldn’t hear his explanation. Online, some fans said it was because Slaughter’s set ran long. Others claimed it was because he was sick.
Others, of course, went straight to the “He’s drunk again” and “That’s embarrassing.” It is the internet, of course.
As I lay in my hotel bed and read the comments and reviews, I didn’t feel anger. Frehley claimed to be sober, and I had no reason to doubt him. I think hard work and dedication to performance are positive, so I’m not going to tell anyone they need to quit. YouTube and social media make it easy to gauge how well an older artist is performing, so I don’t feel sorry for anyone who complains about being financially exploited. You know what you’re getting if you buy a ticket to Motley Crue or Stephen Pearcy of Ratt in 2025.
Weirdly, I was grateful. I felt like that Ace Frehley show demonstrated that it was time for me to stop chasing these musicians around the country. God bless them all who continue to perform. The fans who choose to see them should cherish every note they play. I just decided not to do it anymore. I didn’t want to see any more decline, any more descent, but that was my decision and mine alone.
***
Frehley wasn’t the only childhood idol that affected me in this way. I had felt it at a recent Yngwie Malmsteen gig. I was worried about Rudy Sarzo, at 74, performing in Birmingham, England, for Ozzy Osbourne‘s final gig and then getting back into economy class and passenger vans five days later for Quiet Riot shows. We age, and naturally, our heroes do too. It had been coming for me for some time.
On 10 July 2025, in Louisville, Kentucky, Ace Frehley was the reason I said goodbye to a generation of heroes. I’m grateful for the experience. I am thankful for him starting my musical journey in the first place.
Rumor brewed in the afternoon of 16 October 2025. Confirmation of his death came at dinner time, as I cooked our family meal. The kids asked if I was crying, and I was able to blame it on the onions I chopped as Hair Nation played a tribute. Later that night, I went through my interview transcripts with Ace. He once told me about the wonder of upgrading his Apple II computer to 128k of memory in the late 1970s. “That was a big day for me,” he said. Luckily, the kids were in bed when I read that original KISS drummer and fellow rogue Peter Criss was at the bedside when Ace passed. I didn’t feel embarrassed by my tears.
The Spaceman returned to his home planet of Jendell. He is the reason I love music. He is also the reason I was able to say goodbye, not just to him, but to a generation of heroes. I cherish it all.
