"They just need you to sign this waiver before you head inside," says a young woman sitting at a long table just inside the entrance.
I do.
"Oh, and one more thing: Don't make any references to the cameras, just pretend they're not there."
"I'll do my best," I say half-heartedly.
With that, I cross into the world of reality television.
It's not that I wanted to be on TV, believe me. But I got word from a friend that pop icons Bow Wow Wow, whose hit "I Want Candy" has been a staple of retro radio and compilation CDs for years, were going to play at the Icehouse Lounge as part of VH1's Bands on the Run series, competing against forgotten power popsters Enuff Z'Nuff.
I always thought Bow Wow Wow were a cut above their contemporaries. I dug the serpentine riffs of their late guitarist, Matthew Ashman, and the insistent drive of their African-derived drumming. And let's not forget their lead singer, the stunningly provocative Annabella Lwin.
I didn't have MTV back in '82, but my friend Todd did, and he called me one day to tell me of a really neat video he had taped. We watched "I Want Candy" on an endless loop. The image of Annabella, who was only 16, running around the beach in a tight T-shirt, bikini brief and her trademark mohawk made an impression on two impressionable eight-graders. Even Todd's father, a crusty World War II vet, found her captivating.
"That, my boys," he said, "is what we used to call fetchin.'"
Of course, Annabella had her competition, notably Jane Weidlen of the Go-Go's and Clare Grogan of Altered Images, but Annabella was the one whose photo I pierced with a fishing hook and hung from my ceiling fan.
So when I hear that she and original bassist Leigh Gorman and a reconstituted Bow Wow Wow were going to play, I figure Why not?, grab an old 45 of their single "Baby, Oh No," and I'm out the door. Hey, my Thursday was free.
"I just found out about this gig yesterday afternoon," says Janet Westing, the Icehouse's booking agent. "It's been kind of a rush; apparently the band hardly had time to rehearse, but they should be starting around 9."
I find a space on a sofa and wait. The Icehouse is stylishly different from other Downtown establishments: nice spacing, clean furnishings, just enough "classic Vegas" photos and I don't see any chain-smoking change ladies with tall bouffants and peach-colored lipstick. I am sitting between a spike-haired punker and a guy in Armani closing a real-estate deal on his cell phone.
As Annabella makes her appearance in a beguiling two-piece and suede boots, it's clear that—although she just broached the wrong side of 40—she's still fetchin' after all these years. She leaps about the stage with a coltish abandon—she's obviously hit the gym once or twice since the band's glory days. I suspect she's ill because she sounds a little congested, but she's a pro whose energy level never flags. The band—Gorman on bass and recent members Phil Gough on guitar and Devin Beaman on drums—display excellent musicianship. The 53-minute set is tight, and those who dismissed Bow Wow Wow as a one-hit wonder got to hear them burn through their catchiest singles: "Louis Quatorze," "Baby, Oh No," "Do you Wanna Hold Me?," "Go Wild in The Country."
Once you get used to cameras, they're not that bad, either.
After the performance, I head toward the front to get my old single autographed by Annabella. I see Leigh Gorman.
Me: Very good set.
Leigh: Thanks. I was hoping it would be all right since we hardly had a chance to practice.
Me: Sounded okay to me. Any idea how well Enuff Z'nuff went over yesterday at the Cheyenne Saloon?
Leigh: I don't know, but it's not really about the competition for me, I just love playing.
Just then, Gorman notices the single in my hand. One side has a photo of the entire band, and he's confronted with himself nearly 25 years ago.
Leigh: Oh, my God! I can't believe I had so much hair then!
I get a tap on my shoulder, and am led to Annabella.
Me: Ms. Lwin, could you autograph this for me, please.
Annabella: Of course, love.
She coughs dryly.
Annabella: Forgive me, I've got a chest infection.
She signs the record: Michael, thanks for the support, Love Annabella.
Me: Would you mind if someone took our photograph.
Annabella: Not at all.
I hand my camera to Janet. Annabella puts her arm around me and warmly presses her head against mine. Janet takes the picture and grins.
Me: What's so funny?
Janet: You turned bright red!
Me: Brighter than an ambulance siren?
Janet: Much brighter!
And the cameras were there. But you signed the waiver Michael, so no regrets now. Just keep moving.
Later, a friend asks me if all the camera intrusion was worth getting an autograph.
I suppose my answer should wait until we see if any footage of me ever appears on the screen. Then again, there's the picture with Annabella. So I tell him yes, it was worth it—for now.