These days your average woman of a certain socio-economic class looks like either a rock star, a stripper, a hooker, or a lesbian. And they might even be all of the above. What they end up being to me is scary, which may be the point. Among the scariest new women on the scene to embody this sartorial aesthetic is Storm Large, one of the 15 contestants on the talent contest Rock Star: Supernova. 

 

 

You probably already know enough about this show to spare me having to summarize its premise. For that you can go to TV sans Pity:

But there is one thing that you probably don’t know, which is that Storm Large comes from my town. As a Favorite Daughter, all the Goth girls are cheering her on, and the coffee bar swells are rooting for her, unless, of course, that is deemed an uncool thing to do amongst that sort. Also, all the geriatric out of touch local papers are scrambling to assign themselves street cred by suddenly acting as if all along they have loved and supported Storm and her band, The Balls (which played nearly exclusively, as far as I can tell, at a scary bar downtown called Dante’s).

Another thing you don’t know is that I have met Storm Large. Perhaps I should phrase that as “met” Storm Large, as I doubt if she can remember me among the hundreds of thousands of faces that have come before hers. Storm is a friend of a friend of mine, Marne Lucas, the superb art photographer who also lives here. When Marne was working at a local bar, called the Aalto Lounge, she invited Storm in one weeknight to watch herself on TV. Storm was the subject of a profile on an arts show aired on the local PBS affiliate. I happened to be there with a bunch of my geek nerd movie buff friends who at the time always met that week night. I watched the segment and studied the back of Storm as she sat at the bar. She has a rather humongus tattoo on her back. I met her but only to say hello, and then say I met her (I’ve also met one of the members of the recently disbanded Sleater-Kinney, who also hangs out at the same bar, but only because we once worked for the same company and she makes no secret of hating my guts. But then, she’s a woman, and this is Portland).

 

 

After the show Storm went on to ensorcel and hypnotize my movie buff friends, who all sat around a round table in a back smoking room where the bathrooms were located. She came out of the bathroom, responded to their testosterone, entertained and flirted and controlled them, and then left the room, forgetting about them. It was all very entertaining but also scary. My lord, the pure absolute ego one must have to be a rock star! One of the best moments from the second week was Dilana mask-flipping off Dave Nararro when she thought he was going to say something rude (he didn’t, he praised her). Does one ever really “know” a rock star? Aren’t they always “on” and at the same time full of themselves, warding off real human contact? You can’t imagine being around rock stars (or should I say aspiring rock stars). They don’t want friendship, they want worship. And when you think of your own petty puny life, all you can think to do is drop to your knees and whine, “We’re not worthy.”

This is made evident on the show, wherein each contestant, during the post performance judging orals, endeavors to come across as arrogant, confident, strutting, and narcississtic. They all assume that they will be the singer for Supernova. Including, sadly, Storm. Except that she has a very polished and professional voice, and could front the band with confidence (in local interviews, Storm likes to say that she doesn’t need the show because she already is a rock star, and that she is doing the gig to be able to pay the musicians in The Balls). But this is what makes Rock Star ultimately more enjoyable than American Idol: the contestants aren’t amateurs. We are not watching them “grow” before our eyes. Most of Rock Star’s contestants are seasoned professionals who know what they are doing. Curiously, though, the three Supernova members and the producer of the their album seem basically pretty down to earth. Apparently only years of real rock star fame allow you in your old age to revert back to being a human being.

 

 

The contestant who seems the most sympatico to me is the one actually named Star; he’s a guy who doesn’t like tattoos or the other trappings of rock living on that high level. I don’t know how well that sits with the band members of Supernova or Dave Navarro, who have no unmarked body space. Storm is a little scary herself, but that is required of Portland women. Portland, as you know, is the home of Tonya Harding, and the whole state is notable for producing Marci Rideout, the woman who gained fame by accusing her husband of rape, and Diane Downs, the trendsetting child murderess. Apparently the goal of most Portland women is to have a TV movie of the week made about them.

It turns out that Storm Large is her real name (her middle name is Susan). Which she must get that a lot. It’s the first thing she says about herself in the first interview with her aired on the show. But she is no Portlander. Storm was born in Massachusetts, and went to a prep school in Southborough called St. Marks, where her father teaches.

 

But now seeing Storm up close thanks to the wonders of television I kept being reminded of someone else, and I couldn’t figure out who it was. I knew who contestant Lukas, from Canada, looks like: Clint Howard, widely noted as the ugliest man in Hollywood (Lucas is another homeless guy, like J.D. Fortune, who won the first season’s contest to front INXS). Anyway, I finally hit upon it. She has the same basic facial structure as Lindsay Lohan. And I revere Lindsay Lohan. It turns out that, after all these years of thinking that I was attracted to any reasonably pretty girl, I have a “type.” 

I’m a little worried about Storm. She is 37, and that seems a little long in the tooth for a band fronting rock star. At the same time, Supernova are pretty old themselves. In any case, I am rooting for Storm, while at the same time kinda hoping she loses so that she’ll come back to Portland.

 

 

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