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“THE 48TH HONORS FELT HEAVY — IN A GOOD WAY.” When KISS talked about the Kennedy Center moment, it didn’t sound like a victory lap. It sounded like relief. They smiled at the memories. The early years when doors stayed shut. When critics laughed. When approval never came. So they kept going anyway. “You don’t wait for permission,” they said. “You build your own road.” Decades later, the respect finally met the work. But there was a quiet space in the room. A name not spoken. A brother not standing there. The honor felt earned. And a little incomplete. Because some journeys are about survival, not just success.

KISS Honored at the 48th Kennedy Center Honors – A Legacy Cemented

The John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts recently celebrated five extraordinary individuals and groups during the 48th Kennedy Center Honors, recognizing their profound lifetime contributions to the performing arts. This year’s honorees included:

  • Country music legend George Strait
  • Iconic rock band KISS (Paul Stanley, Gene Simmons, Peter Criss, Ace Frehley)
  • Tony Award-winning actor Michael Crawford
  • Disco music pioneer Gloria Gaynor
  • Hollywood icon Sylvester Stallone

“For nearly half a century, this tradition has celebrated those whose voices and visions tell our nation’s story and share it with the world,” said Kennedy Center President Ambassador Richard Grenell. “This year’s Honorees have left an indelible mark on our history, reminding us that the arts are for everyone.”

The evening was filled with heartfelt tributes, musical performances, and poignant moments that honored the honorees’ enduring influence on American culture. The event, held on December 7 at the Kennedy Center Opera House in Washington, D.C., was broadcast nationally on CBS and Paramount+ on December 23.

KISS Reflects on the Honor

In emotional interviews featured in the official Kennedy Center videos, the members of KISS reflected on the significance of the honor — and on the absence of founding guitarist Ace Frehley, who passed away earlier this year at age 74.

Paul Stanley shared, “It’s really surreal because it’s the embodiment of the American dream.”

Gene Simmons added, “We were awed by the singers, some of the best singers we’ve ever seen. America gave the world rock and roll, and this celebration at the Kennedy Center is all about that. The greatest honor in the world for us right here in America is that the president allow us to celebrate this thing that America invented.”

Peter Criss became visibly emotional, saying, “Ace Frehley, as you know, passed away not long ago. He was a major part of this band. And so tonight I got to sit next to his chair, and I broke down quite a few times.”

Paul Stanley further reflected, “Most of us came from nothing. My mother came from Germany, fled the Holocaust. You see the American flag, you see the Statue Of Liberty, and you realize all things are possible.”

Gene Simmons closed with a message to the next generation: “Keep wearing the makeup. Keep the leather outfits. Keep doing what you’re doing, because when we first started, nobody liked us, but you make your own destiny.”

A Celebration of Artistic Excellence

For over 47 years, the Kennedy Center Honors have stood as a symbol of national recognition for artists who shape the culture and spirit of America. This year’s event highlighted a unique blend of music, theater, film, and dance, with today’s leading performers paying tribute to legends whose work has transcended generations.

The ceremony concluded with a post-performance celebration in the Kennedy Center’s Grand Foyer — a fitting end to a night that honored not only artistic achievement but the enduring power of expression, identity, and legacy.

Watch Highlights from the Ceremony

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“WHEN A VOICE BREAKS, THE HEART LISTENS.” The lights were soft. The stage felt still. When Ignazio Boschetto stepped forward with Il Volo, his voice carried more than notes. It carried memory. The song was for Mia Martini. Each line sounded heavier than the last. His hands tightened around the microphone. His eyes dropped to the floor. And when the final note faded, he couldn’t hide it. Tears came quietly. No drama. Just truth. You could feel it in the room — the pause, the breath people forgot to take. Not a show. A confession. Some tributes don’t end with applause. They end with silence… and a heart that needed to speak

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Don Henley once declared with absolute certainty: “The Eagles died the day Glenn Frey passed away.” He was ready to set down his drumsticks forever. But fate had written a different script that night at Dodger Stadium. When a young man named Deacon Frey stepped onto the stage—wearing his father’s sunglasses and lifting his voice into “Take It Easy”—the entire stadium seemed to hold its breath. From behind the drum kit, Don Henley—famous for being cool and exacting—froze. The silhouette, the tilt of the head, the sound of the voice… it was heartbreakingly like Glenn. For a split second, Don felt as if his lifelong partner had risen from the grave to stand beside him again. He had to bite his lip to keep from breaking down mid-song. The way he looked at Deacon was more than pride—it was a deep, aching longing for the absent father. When the show ended, Don walked straight to Deacon’s dressing room. He didn’t offer congratulations. Instead, he silently placed a small, worn piece of metal into the young man’s hand—something Glenn Frey had dropped during their worst argument thirty years earlier, and something Don had secretly kept as a treasure ever since…

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“IN 1972, A THREE-MINUTE SONG QUIETLY WALKED INTO HISTORY.” When Three Dog Night recorded that early-70s song, they weren’t chasing a trend. They were carrying a message that had already lived quietly for years. A folk idea shaped by desegregation, suddenly meeting mainstream radio. What made it land wasn’t volume or polish. It was Chuck Negron’s voice. Clear. Steady. Human. You can hear him lean into certain words, almost like he knew they mattered. Today, as people revisit that recording, it doesn’t sound old. It sounds honest. Less like a hit single, more like a moment frozen in time. There’s something in that performance that still asks you to listen closer—and remember why it mattered in the first place.

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It wasn’t meant to be a performance. Just a quiet Sicilian wedding. Soft light. Clinking glasses. A room full of people who thought they knew what the night would be. Then Gianluca and Piero stepped forward. No spotlight. No distance. They sang “My Way” like brothers, not stars. Shoulders close. Eyes steady. Each note landed slow and honest. The room changed. Guests stopped moving. Someone forgot to lift their glass. The air felt thicker, warmer, like time had paused to listen. When the last note faded, nobody rushed to clap. They needed a second. Maybe more. What happened there felt personal—something meant to be remembered, not explained.

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At 35,000 feet, Neil Young wasn’t supposed to make headlines. It was just another flight. Another anonymous seat. Until he noticed an elderly war veteran standing in the aisle, carrying more history than luggage. What happened next wasn’t loud. No speeches. No applause. Just a quiet exchange that made the cabin feel… different. Neil stood, offered his seat, and said something so disarming it stopped time for the passengers nearby. People swear the air changed after that. Conversations softened. Strangers shared glances they didn’t need to explain. And when the plane landed, the final gesture between those two men said more than any encore ever could. Would you have noticed it—or felt it—if you’d been on that flight?

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