The rock world stood still in October as one of its brightest cosmic flames dimmed forever.

Ace Frehley, the electrifying, silver-suited Spaceman who launched KISS into the stratosphere of rock immortality, was finally laid to rest in the same Bronx neighborhood where his journey began.

It was a full-circle farewell for a man whose riffs once defined rebellion, whose swagger turned guitars into weapons of joy — and whose loss has left a galaxy of fans mourning across generations.

The Final Farewell in the Bronx

On October 22, under the cool autumn skies of New York, Ace Frehley was buried in the Bronx — a quiet resting place just blocks away from the streets where a young Paul Daniel Frehley first dreamed of rock stardom.

The private ceremony was deeply intimate, attended by about seventy-five of the people who truly knew the man behind the makeup — family, lifelong friends, and fellow musicians who’d shared the stage, the road, and the chaos with him.

 

Among the mourners were the three surviving members of KISS — Gene Simmons, Paul Stanley, and Peter Criss — who stood together once more, their silence heavier than any encore.

It was the first time in years that the original four had, in some sense, “appeared together,” though this time, it wasn’t under the bright lights of an arena, but beneath the muted hum of grief.

 

Radio host and longtime friend Eddie Trunk described the day as “unreal — the end of an era.”

 

Having attended both the funeral and the memorial service held the day before in Yonkers, Trunk’s voice trembled as he recalled the sight of fans quietly gathering outside, clutching flowers, KISS records, and homemade signs that read “Spaceman Forever.”

 

Eddie Trunk’s Emotional Revelation

Trunk, who has championed Frehley’s legacy for decades, took to Instagram soon after the funeral, sharing his heartbreak and something more — hope.

 

“It’s been a crazy week or two,” he began.

“Today, Ace was laid to rest in the Bronx, near his parents — exactly where he wanted to be. The rock world continues to mourn the passing of Ace. I know I certainly do.”

 

But then came the part that electrified fans worldwide: Trunk revealed early discussions about organizing a fan tribute concert in Frehley’s honor — a celebration of the Spaceman’s legacy that could bring together musicians, fans, and family under one cosmic banner.

 

“I’ve explored the idea of doing some sort of fan tribute concert for Ace,” Trunk admitted.

“I think he’d love that. I think he deserves that.”

 

The words lit up social media like a pyrotechnic finale at a KISS show.

The Birth of an Idea: A Concert for the Spaceman

Trunk made one thing clear: the tribute concert won’t happen without the blessing of Frehley’s family.

And after an emotional conversation at the cemetery with Ace’s daughter, niece, and wife, that blessing was granted.

 

“They fully endorsed it,” Trunk revealed.

“They gave me the thumbs up to explore it at some point — to do it when the time is right.”

 

Still, he emphasized patience. The grief is too raw, the wound too fresh.

“This is extremely preliminary,” he said.

“It’s way too soon. We all need to exhale a little bit. But it has to happen — it should happen.”

 

While no details have been finalized, insiders speculate the event could be staged in 2026, possibly at Madison Square Garden or the Hollywood Bowl — venues befitting Frehley’s larger-than-life legacy.

Fans envision an emotional night filled with collaborations, archival footage, and perhaps even appearances from the surviving members of KISS themselves.

 

A Legacy That Refused to Burn Out

Ace Frehley wasn’t just a guitarist — he was an attitude. The flash of silver on stage, the crackle of distortion before a solo, the wink that told you he was half-joking but all-serious about melting your face off.

From his explosive leads on “Shock Me” to his cosmic stage persona, Ace embodied rock’s wild, dangerous heart.

 

Yet behind the chaos was a man of contradictions: shy offstage, thoughtful in interviews, often misunderstood.

Those closest to him describe a musician who carried both pride and pain — proud of his art, but scarred by decades of tension with his former bandmates.

 

When news broke of his passing on October 16 — reportedly due to complications from a fall at home that caused a brain bleed — it hit the rock world like a thunderbolt.

Messages of shock and sorrow poured in from across the globe.

Fans lit candles outside old KISS venues, while others blasted “New York Groove” in tribute, turning their grief into celebration.

The Family’s Final Words

Frehley’s family released a statement that could bring even the toughest rocker to tears.

 

“We are completely devastated and heartbroken,” it read.

“In his last moments, we surrounded him with loving, peaceful words, thoughts, prayers, and intentions as he left this earth. The magnitude of his passing is beyond comprehension.”

 

They called his life’s work “epic” — a word that fits not just the guitarist, but the myth he became.

 

Eddie Trunk, still visibly shaken, shared how surreal it felt to say goodbye to a man who “never really left the stage, even when the music stopped.”

 

Fans Demand a Final Encore

The idea of a fan tribute concert has since taken on a life of its own.

Online forums are flooded with fantasy lineups: Slash, Ace’s solo bandmates, Gene and Paul onstage for one final jam, and even holographic projections of Ace himself — blasting one last cosmic solo into eternity. Trunk insists that if it happens, it will be “for the fans, not the fame.”

 

He wants it to be an explosive celebration, not a somber memorial — a night where laughter, tears, and feedback merge into something transcendent.

The Cosmic Legacy Lives On

For now, Ace rests in peace, but his legend is louder than ever. The Spaceman’s riffs continue to echo across decades, inspiring new generations to pick up guitars and chase the stars.

His influence can be heard in every solo that dares to be too long, every stage outfit that dares to shine too bright, every dream that dares to be too big.

 

Eddie Trunk’s mission is clear: keep that light burning.

“Ace may be gone,” he said, “but what he left us — the energy, the laughter, the rebellion — it’s eternal.”

 

And maybe someday soon, under the lights of a tribute stage, with guitars screaming and fireworks exploding, the world will look up and feel it again — the cosmic charge of The Spaceman.

 

Because if there’s one thing Ace Frehley taught us, it’s this: Rock and roll may sleep, but it never dies.