In Memory of Ross “The Boss” Friedman January 3, 1954 – March 26, 2026

March 26, 2026, the world lost a rock and roll legend. And I lost a friend.

 

I've spent the last couple of months watching YouTube videos—live footage, interviews, memorials, and retrospectives—with a mixture of laughter and tears. One thing that was consistent about Ross throughout it all was his personality. He was real. There was no bullshit about him. There was no pretense. There was no holier-than-thou rock star bullshit. He was just a guy from the Bronx doing what he loved.

 

And he was accessible. His Facebook page was public. He always answered messages from fans. He took the time. If somebody asked him a question about his gear, about a specific song, or about a specific solo, he didn't just cut and paste an answer. He thought about what he was going to say. He actually looked at the person's profile (especially if it was a female, haha). He gave them his time. That's something I took for granted in the world of heavy metal, and I've actually been surprised when I found myself faced with a locked door while reaching out to other musicians.

 

So let's go back to the first time I actually met Ross.

 

He was always around. He was playing wherever he could, with whoever he could. It was 2009, and the Ross the Boss Band was co-headlining with my (at the time) fiancé's band at a bar in Red Hook. My best friend and I were just chilling out backstage, and there was Ross casually scrolling on his phone. The two of us idiots were giggling like teenagers. I was going to have my fiancé introduce us because that would've been proper rock and roll etiquette, but he was busy setting up his drums.

 

Fueled by Jack Daniel's and bravado, I grabbed my best friend's hand and we just walked over to Ross and introduced ourselves.

 

That was it.

 

We were all instant friends after that.

 

I've seen Ross play dozens of times—his own material, other people's material—but one of my favorite memories stands out above the rest.

 

It was at Lucky 13, a heavy metal dive bar in Brooklyn.. He was jamming with a local cover band, playing Judas Priest, Mountain, and, of course, Manowar. Then, after a speech because this was right after Lemmy died, the band ripped into "Ace of Spades" by Motörhead.

 

Anyone who knows me knows that Motörhead is my favorite band. Hands down.

 

Ross knew this.

 

I had one of those meta moments. Here was somebody I considered a close friend, playing the music of one of my favorite guitarists.

 

"You liked that, huh? I think I did your boy Eddie justice," he asked me in typical Ross fashion when the song finished.

 

There's enough on the internet about Ross's influence on the world of punk with the Dictators and heavy metal with Manowar. But I just wanted to write a little something because lately I've found myself thinking a lot about my friend.

 

And I miss him.

 

-Rys