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Ace Frehley, the Spaceman of rock, has died at 74

  • Oct 16, 2025
  • 3 min read

16 October 2025

Kiss guitarist Ace Frehley performs at Alice Cooper's 19th Annual Christmas Pudding Fundraiser in Phoenix, Arizona in 2021. He has died aged 74, after a fall in his recording studio. Photograph: Daniel Knighton/Getty Images
Kiss guitarist Ace Frehley performs at Alice Cooper's 19th Annual Christmas Pudding Fundraiser in Phoenix, Arizona in 2021. He has died aged 74, after a fall in his recording studio. Photograph: Daniel Knighton/Getty Images

Ace Frehley, the guitarist and co-founder of Kiss whose cosmic persona and blistering solos helped define an era of theatrical hard rock, has passed away following complications from a fall. The news was first confirmed by his family, who said he sustained injuries in his recording studio in late September that led to a brain bleed, and that he died at a hospital in New Jersey surrounded by loved ones.


Born Paul Daniel Frehley in New York City in 1951, he answered an advertisement in The Village Voice placed by Paul Stanley and Gene Simmons in 1972 to join their new group, which evolved into Kiss. He adopted the “Spaceman” or “Space Ace” persona, painted in silver and black, and brought both spectacle and sonic ambition to the band’s stagecraft. Frehley played lead guitar on Kiss’s first nine studio albums, and in 1978 he released a solo album that became the most successful among the Kiss members’ parallel releases, thanks in part to his cover of “New York Groove.”


Frehley’s departure from Kiss in 1982 stemmed from personal and creative strain, including battles with substance use and tension with his bandmates. He launched his own project, Frehley’s Comet, and later rejoined Kiss in 1996 for a full reunion. Though he did not join Kiss’s farewell tours in 2022–2023, his legacy remained a touchstone for both loyal fans and younger musicians.


Tributes poured in swiftly from former bandmates, collaborators, and musical peers. Paul Stanley and Gene Simmons issued a joint statement calling him “essential and irreplaceable,” reaffirming that he remains inseparable from Kiss’s identity. Peter Criss, the original Kiss drummer, expressed shock on social media, writing “My friend … I love you.” Mike McCready of Pearl Jam credited Frehley with inspiring his guitar journey, saying he “studied his solos endlessly.” Bret Michaels, among others, saluted the emotional and musical debt owed to Frehley’s influence.


Frehley’s life was marked by peaks and turbulence. In his 2011 memoir No Regrets, he detailed battles over recognition, clashes with Stanley and Simmons, struggles with addiction, and a personal decision to leave Kiss at a point when he felt his creative voice was being compromised. His revival and sobriety in later years earned respect, and his sustained devotion to craft restored part of his narrative.


Though Kiss is celebrated for spectacle the face paint, the pyrotechnics, the fire-breathing the band’s musical core rested in part on Frehley’s powerful riffs and melodic instincts. f The Guardian argued that Kiss would not have achieved their “extraordinary greatness” without Frehley’s “monster plod” guitar style and the emotional weight he lent to their sound. In many performances even decades later, songs Frehley played on remained staples of the setlist.


As the world reckons with his passing, discussions swirl about how to carry forward his memory. Some are calling for posthumous tribute performances or archival releases honoring his era, while others reflect on how much of rock music’s storytelling depended on characters like Space Ace. Frehley is survived by his wife Jeanette, his daughter Monique, and his siblings, who remain guardians of both his private legacy and public legend. 1


In the end Ace Frehley belonged to rock’s grand illusion he made fantasy feel solid, he made spectacle feel substantive. In every solo, every harmonics burst, every riff with smoke trailing behind, he reminded audiences that rock is as much about identity, myth, and desire as it is about sound. His passing closes a chapter in one of music’s more theatrical stories but his star still flickers, in guitars, in legions of fans, in the echo of solos yet to be learned.

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