My love of Paul Stanley and Gene Simmons and all things KISS are well documented. In fact, this is probably one of my longest running love affairs, starting at around the age of 10 or 11 and continuing to the present day. Sure there were others in those heady, pre-teen days of the late 70s (Leif Garrett, Shaun Cassidy, Bay City Rollers... yikes) but none have stood the test of time like those wild boys from Queens, NY.

I had sexual feelings for Paul Stanley before I even knew what sexual feelings were. I have such vivid memories of listening to the Dynasty album with my friend and smirking lewdly (though naively) at "Charisma" - not knowing what the word meant but being sure it was "rude" since Gene sung it in such a suggestive manner.

I will never forgive my mother for not allowing me to see them live in 1980 - it is a deep-seated saddness within me which I will one day need qualified psychiatric assistance to dislodge. Seeing them live when they did their "final" world tour (two or three tours ago) was one of the greatest moments of my life. Sure they were getting old, sure my beloved Ace and Peter were beyond pathetic... but they were still larger than life and still pounding out the songs I love so much.

For despite their questionable sex-appeal (which for me has dwindled considerably over the years) their songs still have tremendous power over me. Of course there are the anthems: "Rock'n'Roll All Nite", "Detroit Rock City" and "Shout It Out Loud". There are the rock your socks off songs: "Strutter", "God of Thunder", "King of the Nighttime World", "I Was Made For Loving You", "Deuce", etc. But the songs I really love are the "smaller" songs, the album tracks which didn't make the charts: "Hard Luck Woman" (a Peter Criss classic, done beautifully by Garth Brooks on the "Kiss My Ass" tribute album), "Beth" (another Peter Criss ballad, which I actually thought was a tender love song - in my innocent days - before I listened again and realised he was saying he wasn't coming home because he would be out rehearsing with the boys - he's no SNAG, that P. Criss), "2,000 Man" and "New York Groove" (both from Ace Frehely's solo album).

All this reminiscing brings me to "Rock School". For those who haven't had the pleasure it's the latest catch from the shallow end of the reality tv pool and it stars the unquestionable lord and master of the KISS universe, Gene Simmons. Having read his biography recently I have no misconceptions about Mr Simmons. He is a man who knows what he wants (money, fame and power) and he knows how to get it (by flogging to death every conceivable, and sometimes inconceivable, merchandising opportunity for the "KISS" brand). Whatever one might think about his ambitions in life one thing is true - there is no bullshit about his ideas, his motives or his focus. It's refreshing in a world of music stars who don't discuss the business side of their careers, swanning through life as if they were some sort of holier-than-thou deity.

I digress. The idea of "Rock School" is simple, though incredibly stupid: put rock god Gene Simmons into a stuck up, 200 years behind the times, poshy posh boarding school in Bugger-upon-Avon, England; mix in a handful of butter-wouldn't-melt-in-their-mouths, love classical music, don't like rock music, stodgy teenagers. Purpose? Create a teenage rock band to open for upcoming Motorhead concert.

To be honest I was excited at the idea when I first heard about it. Only because it was KISS related and I thought they may do something "interesting" with the idea. What a fool I was! From the first few moments of the first episode I knew it would be crappola of the highest order. First of all there is very little of anything interesting to show so the majority of screen time is filled up with images of Gene striding around the staid surroundings of the school, all long leather coat, big black boots and rock star sunglasses. Then there are the bits where he tells the poor, pouting children how much they suck (in a mistaken belief that they will rebel and show him how good they really are).

These children are freaks (though I'm sure their parents are awfully proud). They just aren't into rock or pop music so a demonic rock idol like the fire-breathing Mr Simmons would seem from another universe to them. When he asks them to have a "rock attitude" he might as well be speaking Swahili. These are placid, well behaved children who obviously haven't seen a single minute of MTV and therefore might as well have been living in a cave on a desert island. For someone who has grown up living and breathing popular culture it is very hard for me to believe such children exist outside of remote tribes in Papua New Guinea.

Gene chooses the singer from the group because this young man seems to be the "outsider" (and Gene seems to think all good lead singers are such because of their outsider status). I'm not so sure. This kid is a geek amongst mega-geeks. He speaks Elvish! Enough said. Watching him trying to emulate the sort of rock performance he has never actually seen is cringe-a-fying (?). Singing and performing rock music is as alien to him as the possibility of a platonic relationship with an attractive woman is to Gene Simmons.

Over the weeks things simply haven't improved. The kids are still terrible. Gene is still sauntering around the school with his faux demonic demeanor. Next week is the final episode where the "big performance" will be unveiled. Despite some careful editing I fear it will be a terrible fiasco. I cannot fathom how it could turn out OK and I cannot fathom why anyone (especially myself) would care.

Having invested the past 6 or 8 weeks of my life in this television stupidity I must stick it out to the end. As I watch the aging Gene Simmons strutting around I try to recall how he used to make me feel. How I would sit in the darkness of our attic, listening to a KISS album through my headphones and I would imagine that if I was ever in danger that Paul or Gene would come to my rescue and we would... well, I didn't really know at that point in time but I knew it was something naughty but wonderful. I try to reconcille those pre-pubescent, romantic dreams with the wrinkled, foul-mouthed, middle-aged man I see now and a part of me is very sad for what is lost and a part of me wants to play "Detroit Rock City" really loud and jump around like a maniac. Life is strange.