Jailhouse Rock: A Catalogue of Cliches

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.

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.