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Jailhouse Rock: A Catalogue of Cliches

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It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a record company in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a Skid Row of its very own . . . a teen-metal band of mean understanding, little information and uncertain musicianship, but girl-pretty faces and millions of records sold.

At the Palace on Friday, you might have been able to spot the differences between Los Angeles-based Jailhouse, Enigma’s new sub-Skid Row, and other MTV post-pouf bands--an interesting slide lick here, a crooned vocal hook there, straight, long hair that any Breck Girl would’ve envied--but not many of them.

The show sometimes seemed less a concert than a contest to see which Jailhouse member could spread his legs apart the farthest without splitting his leather pants.

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You could also have catalogued the cliches, from the drummer’s wind chimes to the moment when the singer and a guy on Stratocaster rubbed up against each other just like Plant and Page did in “The Song Remains the Same.” Jailhouse actually has a song called “Sweet Angel,” and a stage set that includes papier-mache bombs with peace signs scrawled on them.

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