When we last left, the fearless twosome were on a never ending quest for glam.
Now, back to regular programming:
Instead of Vains of Jenna, Drugstore Valentine took to the stage. The Akron-bred, Cincinnati based group wasn't nearly as bad as their predecessors, and that's saying a lot. Their lead singer played dress-up, wearing a fur coat on stage just like Kid Rock. Old Kenny Ozz (he's the infamous lead singer) wasn't afraid of moving, and he liked crowd interaction. He jumped on the bar, ran around the room. He probably can't afford a gym membership. Drugstore Valentine is an odd mix of "music," and they were trying to be a little glam. To bad they fell short of the goal. A highlight of their show was a Poison cover of I Hate Every Bone In Your Body (But Mine). Too bad our friend Ozz doesn't sound (or look) anything like Bret Michaels.
It was during the intermission that we noticed the boys in Vains of Jenna milling around the club. They looked uncomfortable, but not nervous. They were probably afraid the crowd would attack them if they sang songs with intelligible lyrics. As the bassist, JP White walked by us, Heather grabbed his arm and asked when they were playing. He laughed -er - cackled and said "Next, ladies. Next, after these people." And the flipped his arm toward the stage. I laughed, for I'd just had another postmodern moment at the expense of glam.
My boy JP was wrong.
After Drugstore Valentine, it was time for a holiday, a Pagan Holiday (1313) evidently. The Cincinnati based band has a fairly local following, and a huge chunk of the crowd was there to see the horror metal band. Just like the other bands, I thought these guys were pretty vile, but I have a specific beef with Pagan Holiday 1313: they like to rip off Motley Crue. As anyone who reads this blog knows, Motley Crue - especially Nikki Sixx - is sacred territory in my book. Bassist Mike Pagan bears an odd resemblance to Nikki Sixx (except he's about 100 pounds heavier). Pagan rips off Nikki's hair, eyeliner, stage mannerisms, he even had on a MC Shout at the Devil shirt! To put the final nail in the coffin, Pagan spit blood during their "show." Please. Nikki Sixx and Motley Crue have been spitting blood at shows for two decades. Give me a break. It might not be such an insult if the band sounded 1 percent as good as the Crue. Sadly, Pagan Holiday 1313 is an abortion of music. It's a good thing I'm all about choice.
At one point we left the club and went to the bar next door. It was just too much bad for two good girls to take. I mean, bad.
And then, to the victor goes the spoils. It was time. Vains of Jenna finally took the stage at 12:45 A.M., more than five hours after we originally entered the club.
After waiting so long, risking life and limb for glam, we pushed our way to the front row and waited, and we were not disappointed. When Vains of Jenna finally started their show, Heather and I were thisclose to the action. Our new friend JP posed for pictures, and generally the young Swedes just rocked, hard. Unfortunately, they didn't perform the title song off their debut album Lit Up/Let Down, which also happens to be my favorite VOJ track. They played through all their fast songs with a frenetic energy the goth crowd seemed to actually enjoy. If the boys had attempted the slower Lit Up/Let Down, beer bottles probably would have been hurled toward the stage, and since I was basically on the stage I'm glad there was none of that. Their portion of the evening was fun, and people were actually smiling.
After the performance, Heather and I decided to look at the merchandise table. As we were browsing the customary concert swag, I inquired about the price of a shirt to the man sitting at the booth. He blinked and said he was just watching the booth. I blinked back. Was I speaking Greek? Apparently, Vains of Jenna sell their own merchandise, and sure enough lead singer Lizzy Devine trotted over to the little table to shirts and photos. I bought a shirt for a very reasonable $15 and Heather a necklace for $10. When I handed over my cash, poor Lizzy looked like he was going to cry. "Thanks for buying this. We really need it," he said. The band kept their money in a jar. On top of the jar was a yellow sticky note that read "We need gas money." Every member of the band is heinously thin. I hope their little indie label gave them a big enough advance that covers a stop at McDonalds once a day.
After this, we were out. Called a cab, skipped the headliner Wednesday 13. Of course, we had to wait more than 30 minutes for a cab. During our wait, we we're fortunate enough to witness a full on domestic dispute outside the club. As we stood just outside the club door, Wednesday 13 took the stage and played a song that sounded very familiar to me. During the bridge, it hit me: Wednesday 13 blatantly and unabashedly ripped off Shout at the Devil, (the song, not the entire album). These people are bigger Crue heads than me! As I voiced my disgust over the finding to Heather, the domestic dispute stopped and starred at me. Apparently, it's sacrilegious to speak ill of Wednesday 13. Whatever.
During the never ending wait for a cab, two members of Vains of Jenna trotted out, walked up the street, and then returned. They milled around us for a while, both Heather and I were on respective cell phones, trying to get a cab, desperate to get away from the Jerry Springer scene unfolding around us. Finally, they gave up and went inside. I suppose had I not been on my phone, I'd have an interview with the band to post here. The world may never know.
Tomorrow, some comments from Heather, a special contributor to Bring Back Glam!
Sunday, January 21, 2007 at 09:55AM 
There's no point in mincing words. I love American Idol. In fact, I'm an American Idol addict. I watch every show, and TiVo is set to record every bad note and mean comment. During last week's premiere episodes, I couldn't help but wonder why so many contestants (upwards of 1 million people auditioned for this season) avoided glam? After all, the 1980s were the heyday of the so-called "power ballad!" Why is it that these seemingly normal Americans would rather audition for THE talent competition of a lifetime to such stellar tunes as "Don't Cha" by the Pussycat Dolls or "Kiss" by Prince. Not that there's anything wrong with either song, except that they are incredibly difficult to sing, let alone perform a cappella. I simply can't believe that the teens, many of which are tone deaf, would rather place all their eggs in the basket of modern pop instead of trying to stay on key with "Home Sweet Home" or "Every Rose Has Its Thorn."
