The discs, colored green, red, yellow, and blue, tumble towards her, spilling like candy from a tipped box of Sprees, almost too many of them to catch. Her fingers lift then push, then lift then push over and over again above the corresponding frets, more mechanical than graceful. Imagine a pneumatic robot hand, and you will understand the choreographed taps of her digits; it is as if they learned to dance from footstep diagrams.
She does not sing the lyrics or hum the melody or tap her feet with the rhythm, she has attempted to faultlessly play this track enough times that she is long past enjoying the song. Truthfully, she has always loathed "Rock and Roll All Nite" as a shallow anthem. This time, though, Gene Simmons is singing her victory, as she is only a few chords away from a perfect score.