Rock Star: Supernova has a strange allure

What have I become? Two weeks from now, when it's all over, will I—will anyone I know—be able to recognize the music fan I once was? My name is Brian Lynch, and I have watched every minute of the reality-TV series Rock Star: Supernova. Every last toe-curling, cred-nuking, enthralling minute.

Why? Good question. It certainly isn't out of concern over the fate of Supernova itself, the “megagroup” in the middle of it all. The band is the rock 'n' roll equivalent of a microwaveable burrito filled with preserved trimmings from some of the larger groups of the '80s and early '90s: Guns N' Roses replacement guitarist Gilby Clark, Metallica refugee Jason Newsted, and the ever-unavoidable Tommy Lee, onetime drummer for Motley Crue.

Still, I'm obsessed. Over the last two months, I've neglected relationships to make sure I'm there three times a week for the full cycle: Monday nights “In the Mansion” , the Hotel California–style pile where the contestants pretend to drink too much and haggle over who gets to sing “Every Breath You Take”. On Tuesdays it's time for the performers to do their dance before the wooden thrones of host Dave Navarro et al. On Wednesdays I get to find out who's being ordered to pack up and go home. Any episode that I've been forced to miss, I've taped.

I'm not proud of this. Friends of mine who are rock devotees have used words like abhorrent and fucking sad when I've jokingly, compulsively raised the topic. What can I say?

Most rock music is based on fairly rigid genre conventions, forms that gain power by being repeated but that, in being repeated, risk slipping into cliché. No matter what your taste, you can probably name only about 10 acts in rock history that seem totally original from top to bottom. The rest do variations on themes; some of these variations are incredibly powerful, but they remain quotes nonetheless. This applies equally to rock “attitude” , the whole rock “lifestyle” with which Rock Star: Supernova is obsessed. Nirvana, for instance, was certainly brilliant, but when its members smashed up their gear—even when Kurt Cobain killed himself—the action was immediately understood as a certain kind of rock behaviour. (Remember Cobain's mother commenting on how his suicide meant he'd joined “that stupid club”?)

What we have on Rock Star is the theme without the variation—pure, distilled pose. Lean back-to-back with the guitarist during Verse 2 or share your mike with him during the chorus. Reach down to the swaying hands in the front row. Never sing the word “me” when you can sing “mwwayuh”  or “muuurahh”. (Judging by the vocals on Rock Star, the most influential singers of all time are Billy Idol and Chris Cornell.) Fall down at the end of the song.

Do all of it right, “crush it, dude,” and you'll get rides in a private jet stocked with Jagermeister and a Vegas hotel suite upholstered like a porno set. Oh yeah, and your own bowling alley. Awesome, bro.

It's wrong, I know, but I don't have time to keep talking about it. I just need to find out who wins. Want to hear my picks? No? Sorry, but I insist.

Ciggy-voiced Dilana has lately turned into a back-stabber, but as of press time she's still the favourite. No one else can interpret the work of Cyndi Lauper with such daring. Not far behind is Lukas Rossi, a throaty, overwrought Toronto native whose head seems dipped in makeup. Then, as I see it, we've got a two-way tie for third right now, between Magni—a tall, bald Icelandic dude who, I'm guessing, would be first choice for the very dudely Supernova project if it weren't for his often plain delivery—and the scowling Ryan Star, whose manic efforts always leave what talent he has in the dust. I think you can forget about the remaining two, Toby Rand and Storm Large (that's right, Storm Large)—both too blond, too bland.

Who among these will pull off the tricky business of being a full-tilt rebel while conforming closely to expectation? I'd like to say I couldn't care less. For the sake of my self-esteem and my love of rock music, I'd like that more than anything. Anything, that is, except for the next episode. Forgive me, I'm not well.