😱 At Ace Frehley’s Funeral, Gene Simmons FINALLY Admits What The Secret Tape Ace Left Behind Contained 😱

The rock world was shaken to its core as fans gathered to mourn the loss of Ace Frehley, the legendary guitarist and founding member of KISS, who passed away at the age of 74.

The clock struck 2:14 a.m. on October 16, 2024, marking the moment when Ace’s monitor flatlined, signaling the end of his remarkable journey through rock history.

However, it was not just his death that would leave an indelible mark on the music world; it was what Gene Simmons, his longtime rival and bandmate, would reveal at the funeral that truly shook the foundations of rock history.

Simmons, known for his larger-than-life persona, approached the lectern at St. Peter’s Episcopal Church in Morristown, visibly changed.

Gone was the makeup and bravado; instead, he stood before mourners as a man burdened by the weight of unspoken truths for over four decades.

“I never told him this,” Simmons began, his voice trembling as he reflected on their complex relationship.

“I’m sad in retrospect. You know, hindsight’s 20/20. I wish I had been more honest with Ace and Peter.”

As he spoke, the room fell silent, the air thick with anticipation.

For months leading up to Ace’s tragic fall, he had been pushing himself relentlessly in the studio, engaging in grueling eight-hour recording sessions with little more than brief coffee breaks.

Ace often declared, “If I’m not sweating, I’m not working,” a mantra that stemmed from the early days when KISS was still fighting for recognition.

Tragically, during one of these sessions, he lost his balance near an amplifier, leading to a head injury that ultimately caused a hidden brain hemorrhage.

Days later, doctors advised Ace’s family to prepare for the worst, and by October 15th, his condition had turned critical.

When the news of Ace’s passing broke on October 17th, the rock community reacted with shock and grief.

Paul Stanley described the loss as bigger than music, stating, “He was our soul.”

Peter Criss referred to Ace as the “electric heart of KISS,” but Gene Simmons had remained silent until this moment at the funeral.

As Simmons stood before the mourners, a woman unexpectedly rose from her seat, introducing herself as someone who had shared a significant part of Ace’s life in Los Angeles after he left KISS.

Her relationship with Ace had remained private, away from the public eye, but she held a piece of evidence to support her story: a personal recording Ace had made.

“This recording was not for sale or for a label,” she explained, “but with instructions to play it when the time came.”

Simmons nodded in acknowledgment and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small cassette.

“When Ace left the band in 1981, I told everyone he couldn’t keep up. That was a lie,” he confessed, his voice quivering.

The room gasped collectively as Simmons continued, “The truth is, I was jealous. He had something we could never copy—raw honesty.”

He revealed that Ace’s music was driven by passion, stating, “He didn’t play for money. He played like every note could save his life.”

Simmons then held the cassette in his hands, contemplating whether to share this final piece of Ace with the world.

“It’s not a hit, no fancy technique, just a slow acoustic ballad,” he said, “simple moves, no drums, no backing vocals.”

With a trembling hand, he placed the cassette into a small player beside Ace’s casket.

Static crackled through the speakers before giving way to soft acoustic guitar, and then Ace’s voice emerged, almost a whisper: “This is for the only person who understands me outside of music.”

The melody that followed was intimate and vulnerable, a side of Ace Frehley that the public had never known.

As the track concluded, Simmons wiped away tears, reflecting on the dichotomy of their lives: “I spent years building a brand. Ace built a soul.”

He stepped away from the microphone, leaving the church in complete silence, a profound moment of reflection for all in attendance.

In the front pew sat Paul Stanley, Peter Criss, and Ace’s daughter, Monique, alongside the casket adorned with Ace’s silver spaceman pick and his beloved Les Paul guitar.

The memorial programs, simple white cards bearing the dates 1951-2024, felt inadequate to capture the enormity of Ace’s influence on rock music.

Just a day before his fatal accident, everything had seemed normal, with Ace engaged in another long recording session.

His engineer noted that Ace could work tirelessly for hours, focusing on creating space for the music to breathe rather than layering sound.

This stubborn need for authenticity and honesty defined Ace’s artistry, but it also came with a price—exhaustion, a moment of imbalance, and ultimately, a fall that even rock and roll couldn’t shield him from.

After the ceremony, fans gathered outside the church, lighting candles and bringing memorabilia to honor Ace’s legacy.

Reporters sought further details, but Simmons only whispered, “This tape was his real goodbye. I just helped people hear it.”

Monique Frehley later confirmed the existence of the cassette titled “Goldie Star,” a personal recording from 1981 with instructions for it to be played only when Ace’s story was over.

Two days later, a memorial concert was held at Gibson Garage in Nashville, where musicians performed without stage makeup, stripping away the personas to honor the man behind the character.

Tributes poured in from across the music world, with Tom Morello commenting on Ace’s ability to create unforgettable sounds with simplicity.

Dave Grohl recalled how watching Ace perform inspired him to pursue his own musical career, while Lady Gaga hailed him as an icon who taught artists to embrace authenticity.

Engineers and producers noted Ace’s preference for capturing the feel of a room rather than layering tracks, a legacy that continues to influence recording practices today.

Following the funeral, Ace’s family began cataloging his extensive archive of handwritten notes, cassettes, and unreleased tracks known only to his inner circle.

The rights to Ace’s creative legacy passed to Monique, who will curate a private trust to preserve his recordings in the style of early Frehley’s Comet—simple yet instantly recognizable.

There are no promises of major releases, but perhaps that is fitting; knowing that the music exists, waiting for its moment, is enough.

As for Gene Simmons, the man who once commanded the stage with fire and fury, he appeared smaller that day, more human than ever.

In his vulnerability, he offered a candid assessment of their relationship, stating, “KISS without Ace is just makeup.”

Was Simmons’ confession an apology or a sign of respect spoken too late?

The answer remains as complex as the relationship between these two rock icons, now forever marked by a cassette tape and words that waited 40 years to be revealed.

Though the spaceman has departed, the sound he created—authentic, uncompromising, and uniquely his own—continues to reverberate through rock history.

Perhaps that is the greatest legacy any musician could hope for: to leave behind a sound that resonates long after they are gone.

If this story moved you, remember to like this video in Ace’s honor and share it with those who once listened to “Alive II.”

Drop a comment about what resonated with you the most—Gene’s confession, the secret tape, or the realization that sometimes the simplest sound at the right moment can change everything.

Let’s build a memory map together, celebrating a man who taught us that being yourself, when pretending would be easier, is the truest form of rock and roll rebellion.