I
was an aficionado of cock rock long before I ever heard it called that, and indeed
well before I possessed a discernible cock of my own. At the age of nine I was
an authority on KISS. At the Faulconbridge Primary School talent show in 1979, three
mates and I performed a dramatic mimed rendition of “I Was Made For Lovin’
You.” We wore all the relevant face makeup, painstakingly applied by my
friends’ sisters. Where appropriate, we wore capes. We wielded nylon-string
guitars borrowed from teachers who used them, by day, to accompany group renditions
of “Frère Jacques”. My friend Matty W., portraying Peter Criss, played fake
drum rolls on the school’s minimalist kit. I was Gene Simmons: the demon. Whether
I did the tongue stuff I don’t remember. Actually I do remember, but I’d prefer
not to dwell on it. A year later, at the talent show of 1980, we put away childish things. Unmasked, dressed in decidedly more casual threads, we appeared as AC/DC ... [FULL ESSAY HERE]
