ROCKSTAR: SUPERNOVA...A LESSON IN ROCK POSERY

As if watching four former rock stars pose as if they're still important and people really care, we have to watch a slew of kids from the suburbs who watched too much MTV pose like rock stars. Geez, when does this crap stop?!

Yeah, I feel bad for former Metallica bassist Jason looking for a freakin lead singer on CBS. I mean, you'd think if the dude really wanted a singer, he could just go, "I'm Jason Newstead. Who wants to sing for me?" But, of course not, he joins ex-Guns and Roses somethingist Gilby Clarke and everyone's favorite 80s metal leftover Tommy Lee sitting there auditioning for their little band called Supernova (for those not remembering what a supernova is: a "supernova" is a stellar explosion that produces an extremely bright object made of plasma that declines to invisibility over weeks or months). Dave Navarro, who I kinda like, plays again the master of ceremonies with his cute quips and wonderful mastery of the rockstar language. The result is a celebration of all of rock's overused stage tricks and a downright dastardly display of awesome mediocrity. It's your neighborhood karaoke bar, but there's a few stars in the house tonight.

Okay, my meatballs are warm and sitting right next to me with a fork in them. It's time to type.

Meet Lukas (the "k" instead of "c" gives him that striking edge--if letters were weapons, the "k" would be compatible to the throwing star, however the "c" would be as harmful as Nerf).

Oh yeah, the jacket with Converse-looking shoes. It's the rockstar class. Dude, you're not a rockstar yet, you can't pull off that look until you played the Whiskey. He's got that "my future's so bright I gotta wear shades" look in his eyes. And that super-sweet hairdo. This kid is a tool. He needs back to the school he dropped out of, take off that makeup and come to terms with himself. Last night, he did the worst cover of Nirvana's "Lithium." I never liked the song in the first place and after he butchered it last night, I've decided I've never liked Nirvana. That's how bad it was. He almost made me stop listening to music altogether. And he acts like the "crazed rocker"--unpredictable, jumping and hopping about. You're a loser. Hopefully next week, people finally have the nerve to tell you that. There's a Sonic parking lot looking for their bad-news kid to lean against his Camaro and smoke cigarettes.

Oh yeah, let's not forget that Lukas has a little notch shaved out of his eyebrow much like another once-famous poser, Vanilla Ice. Yuck! Make it stop.

But we can't yet. We haven't yet met the Icelander, Magni.

He's got the charm of a foreigner. He shaves his head--just like me! Okay, maybe a couple of points, but I subtract all points because you know this kid shaves his head just so it'll fully expose that gnarly artery that runs up the side of his head. This is Magni "getting intense." He's the crazy guy among the bunch. He likes to run around naked, party and get others to join him. He better watch it--John Bonham liked to do the same thing. Okay, I don't know about run around naked. Actually a rather fearful thought. He looks like Moby. He looks like Rob Halford. And he looks like that stupid intense dude from Live (you know, "Lightning Crashes" then our career does too). Not all too coincidently last night, Magni was chosen to sing "I Alone." Everyone loved it. Apparently, I alone wanted him to shut up and go away. Not necessarily Iceland, but away.

Then there's this kid.

Yeah, the rocker girl--Dilana. She's almost a parody of herself doing an impersonation of someone else. She's from Houston, but she has this wicked accent I can't figure out. Colorful George Clinton hairdo, tatts all the way up her arm and lower back (like all the rockstars) and piercings all over her face yet, hold up, you think you got her figured out, don't you? Wait, she has the voice of absolute angel--an angel who likes stipping paint without using her hands. She'll work delicately through portions of a song, but then "cuts loose" and jumps around and acts crazy. Blah, blah, blab, she's perfectly normal, but likes to play dress-up and look scary. She did turned the lights out last night with Tracy Bonham's "Mother, Mother." It was hot, but she kept doing all these little gestures. Like when she said the word "tobacco," she pulled her fingers to her mouth as if she was smoking. That's enough cheese to melt it down and serve queso to safely fifty people. Then she kept glaring into the camera during all the right moments, again, looking "intense" and "frightening." She likes to jump off of speakers and play charades. Maybe fun on a boring Saturday night, but if I had to sit through this girl's performance night after night, I'd probably jump of a much taller stack of speakers--spread eagle making sure my face hits the ground first.

Um, who else can I pick on? Uh, how about this guy in memoriam because, unfortunately, but appropriately, he was asked to leave tonight. Meet Ryan (and no kidding on this last name) Star. That's right, Ryan Star. Cute.

I was thinking this is the guy I could see myself most getting along with until I saw the above picture where, like all of these kids, he's posing--here on top of a piano surrounded by fog. Shoot me now! We all found after "November Rain" that everyone likes the sensitive rocker who can sit down at the piano and rock out. Last night, the fans decided that Star need to use Coldplay's "Clocks" as his arrow that he'd shoot directly into our collective hearts. Too bad it wasn't treated with a tranquilizer. I didn't think Chris Martin was that great of a singer until I heard Ryan attempt to sing his music. He even did the Bono-esque freedom jumps with his arms out to his side like he was flying. Ryan, I'm glad you're gone. I just wish they decided to eliminate everyone last night and do television a favor and cancel early. It'd probably be the best move that ol' Newsstand, I mean, Newstead could make at this point. Just go into hiding with Lars in Scandinavia or wherever.

Crowd surfing, fist pumps, the rock stance where you stand with your feet straight out to your side about eight inches out from your shoulder width, creepy looks into the camera, tongue waggin', reaching the mic out into the crowd so they can help you with the chorus--it's all there. This show is lame, lame, lame. I'll hold no punches if you dare to ask me about this show. I don't like it. I'm no rock professional, but I know C-B-S doesn't spell "rock."

W-O-L-F-M-O-T-H-E-R does.

Kids need to get a clue.