Ace and Grace

There have been two celebrity deaths in my lifetime that have really hit me. The first was eleven years ago. I was in my car listening to public radio, and I heard a sudden announcement: Robin Williams had died. I had to do a mental double take. I definitely knew what I had just heard, but that was not something I (or I imagine anyone) would’ve expected to hear. Then it registered and began to sink in: “Robin Williams?” I felt grief and loss from his death, but also an immense gratitude that this man existed. I have had very similar feelings ever since seeing in my social media feed that KISS’s former guitarist and founding member Ace Frehley had died.

Ace Frehley was always my favorite member of KISS. His stage persona in KISS was always more calm and cool in contrast to the fiery presence of the rest of the band. He played these well-executed, not overly done melodic guitar solos that I would find myself humming later after hearing it. (A fellow KISS fan once told me that Ace’s solos are like a song within a song). I was also drawn to Ace’s offstage personality. Ace felt real — laid back (maybe too much at times), relatable, humorous (“Actually, I’m a plumber!”), humble, and appropriately self-deprecating. I will return to some of these qualities shortly.

But unlike with Robin Williams, whom I always would have shared that I was a fan of, there were a number of years in my life where I never would have admitted that I like KISS. I mean, it’s KISS. I have always thought of myself as someone having “good taste” in music (whatever that even means), and people with “good taste” are not supposed to like a band like KISS, right? KISS is the butt of the joke in many circles of respectable music lovers. Certainly, I was not the only closet KISS fan who would feel insecure about the fact that I truly like (okay, love) this band, but I won’t concern myself here with the snobbery I may project onto others and instead deal with the log in my own eye … I’ll confess and repent here of my own music snobbery. Do I find some of the music (and other aspects) of KISS cringey? Absolutely. But honestly, I can think of plenty of things I’ve said or done that make me cringe — even a few from this year.

I have been reading Ace’s 2011 autobiography No Regrets. It has been fascinating. For being the member whose character in the band was the Spaceman, Ace was remarkably down to earth. He had the kind of authenticity that frees a person from the self-made shackles of pretense and false appearances. Ace was also a hilarious person, and he often used humor not as a shield but as a way to put things back into perspective when situations got too heavy. And he was self-deprecating in the healthiest way — the kind of self-deprecation that allows us to see ourselves realistically, not as perfect or above others. When paired with humor, this makes us approachable; when paired with seriousness, it makes room for others around us to be honest and vulnerable too.

That said, the book is a roller coaster. Though highly entertaining, it is full of incidents of recklessness that he engaged in. Ace lived the rock-star life. And rock-star life — the one we all know through tabloids, documentaries, or clichés — has its own myth and momentum. Because underneath the veneer of glory and freedom hides the opposite: isolation and loneliness — along with the unhealthy ways we often adopt in an attempt to cope with that isolation and loneliness.

KISS went from obscurity to superstardom almost overnight. They were probably the biggest thing in North America after Star Wars for a (albeit short) period in time. For a stretch of the late 1970s, “KISS mania” was everywhere — a cultural fever. I can’t begin to imagine what that would’ve been like for the actual members of the band — to be thrust from anonymity into that kind of fame.

Yet even through the haze of fame, addiction, and excess, Ace’s life carried flickers of humility and humanity — qualities that reflect, however dimly, something of God’s image still present in us no matter the lifestyles we adopt. That’s the part of Ace’s story that stays with me: not so much the exhilaration and energy of rock ‘n’ roll, but the grace that managed to break through it all.

Ace shares many moments where the perception of glory and freedom fades away. Of course, Christians also discover how “glory” and “freedom,” at least in this life, are illusions that rob us of who we are meant to be. For humans, seeking glory in this life often comes in the form of chasing power or success, or it may come in the form of seeking moral achievement. Admittedly, the ’70s culture of sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll was not at all seeking glory through moral achievement (although many criticisms of that culture — including not a few from religious circles of the time — may have been rooted in that misguided pursuit). But rock ‘n’ roll culture certainly presented the pitfalls of seeking glory through power and worldly success.

But by whatever means humans seek glory in their standing before God or before others, whether through power, success, or moral achievement — these are all futile ambitions. As Martin Luther aptly put it, (and Paul and Bernard before him) true glory is hidden under suffering, under humility, and in the self-honesty of bringing our faults, pains, and struggles to light in order to receive divine healing. As I read Ace (who was interestingly raised a Lutheran) share about the lessons and insights he gained through the ups and downs of his own story, I saw how he came to similar realizations about life and how he found grace … even if not usually written in explicit terms of faith and spirituality.

That said, there is one moment in his book that struck me. Ace shares about a point in mid-career where he was staying in a hotel room and felt darkness he could not at first shake. He then says,

In my darkest hour, I remembered that I could always draw strength from a higher power. I was brought up in a religious household, and even though I had stopped going to church regularly a long time ago, I still kept in conscious contact with God. I opened the drawer of the nightstand and reached for the Bible. As I began reading some of my favorite passages, all the feelings of hopelessness began to dissipate, and eventually I came to my senses.

Ace found a kind of peace in that moment that even the loudest concert applause couldn’t offer: the peace that the scriptures say “surpasses all understanding” (Phil 4:7) —  the peace that comes from God. God’s Word is the voice that speaks and breathes words that are “spirit and life” (Jn 6:63). It is these words where we encounter peace — along with renewal, comfort, and hope, and the message that raises the dead to life. This peace has the power to raise anyone up out of any situation and restore them to what they are meant to be. This peace brings God’s grace to us and emboldens us in pursuit of all that is good, true, and beautiful.

We too will find peace and grace in his Word. The word is God’s means by which he does all these wonderful things for us and for our benefit. I believe Ace felt the full power of this in that moment and received the deliverance he needed from whatever was plaguing him so that he could have peace. I believe this peace continued to shape him and his understanding afterward. He certainly helped shape me into not being a music snob anymore (maybe the next step for me is finally joining the KISS Army?).