On November 14, 2025, KISS returned to the stage for the first time in nearly two years, and they started the show with a deeply emotional moment: a candlelit tribute to their founding guitarist, Ace Frehley, who passed away just one month earlier.
The concert, held outdoors at Virgin Hotels Las Vegas, marked the opening night of their “KISS Kruise: Land-Locked in Vegas” event — a fan-focused gathering and reunion of the band’s classic lineup after their farewell tour ended in December 2023.
Before launching into music, Paul Stanley addressed the crowd, asking them to raise the electric candles handed out in honor of Ace. “Think about somebody who is at the foundation of this band … We’re talking about Ace,” he said. Stanley acknowledged that, despite past differences, the connection they shared was familial. “Why don’t we take a moment … think about him looking down on us — from Jendell, probably … Let’s have a moment for Ace.”
As the audience raised their lights, they chanted, “Ace! Ace! Ace!” — creating a powerful and silent salutation. It was a tribute that fused the theatricality of KISS with genuine grief: a recognition of their “Spaceman” who helped build the band’s foundation.
After the moment of silence, they launched into their unplugged set with “Comin’ Home,” a nod to their raw beginnings. Over the course of the night, the band played a stripped-down, deeply emotional 11-song set including “See You Tonite,” “A World Without Heroes,” “Hard Luck Woman,” “Beth,” and closing with “Love Her All I Can.”
Gene Simmons, typically the one to crack jokes, seemed visibly moved by the return. He told the crowd that seeing so many familiar faces “means a lot to us.” Paul Stanley, meanwhile, got personal and proud — calling attention to his son, Evan, in the audience and teasing new music: “Wait until you hear Nick and Evan’s album … it’s unbelievable. It’s hard to believe they came from us!” he said.
Even lead guitarist Tommy Thayer showed vulnerability. Despite doubting whether “Love Her All I Can” would work acoustically, he agreed to play it. Stanley joked before the song: “This may suck … but we’ll make it up to you tomorrow night.” To everyone’s relief — and surprise — it didn’t suck at all.
The tribute night was more than a performance — it was closure, mourning, and celebration all rolled into one. For a band that built itself on loud pyrotechnics and bigger-than-life stage personas, this quiet candlelit moment reminded everyone that behind the makeup, there was real loss, real love, and a legacy that still burns bright.
