Uncle Jann's Spawn

Fictional band fever continues, probably best summed up by the fiction that accompanies the announcement for NA's Rock Royalty party. We're informed that host Ethan Browne, son of Jackson and nephew of Severin, "will be celebrating his current cover of Rolling Stone magazine." Let's not pretend that Ethan steals that crowd scene. He could be mistaken for Stephen Stills' kid while crammed amongst the 14 other rock seedlings that used to get shiny new dimes from Uncle Jann.

Tyler Hilton and his manager dad are having a better nonfiction year than Ethan, including Tyler's stint on the night's One Tree Hill Tour that has patient parents waiting outside of Roseland. There's no lesbian storyline, so it's understandable if you haven't been following The WB's modest hit. The teen soap currently features some kind of music-industry storyline with a character going off on tour. The high-concept real-world parallel is represented by Michelle Branch & Jessica Harp performing as the Wreckers, along with occasional guest star Hilton and One Tree Hill regular Bethany Joy Lenz.

Actually, this is kind of a neat idea-made more so with last year's The Tracks of Tyler Hilton being an impressive collection of rootsy pop songs. In fact, Hilton's right up there with Jamie Walters. Never mind that Jamie pretty much disappeared after his stint beating Tori Spelling on Beverly Hills, 90210. Tyler doesn't remember Jamie, either, but he's happy to have his current tour compared to Dick Clark's Cavalcade of Stars. "Good call," he replies. "I love that kind of stuff. I wish there were more shows like this. We've got our sponsors, and it all feels very Louisiana Hayride to me."

That's kind of pushing the historical importance, but the reference is understandable. Hilton's about to make his big-screen debut as Elvis Presley in the Johnny Cash biopic Walk The Line. He's properly humble about that, too. "They're hyping the movie so much. I'm at the point where I just want it to come out and see what people think."

Hilton's also realistic about his future struggle to maintain his audience-"I wasn't looking for the deepest kind of music ever as a teenager"-but there are worst things to be than a passing teen icon. His t-shirts are doing good business on the massive merchandising table. It's a good crowd for a school night, too. That may actually be a quaint concern on my part, judging from the amount of underage facial piercings. I'm more disturbed about how this is the first Roseland show I've been to where the restrooms are casually coed. Is this going on in our nation's high schools?

It's been a good night for fictional bands, since I've headed up to Roseland from a more intimate concert-about 40 people and anyone walking along 7th Avenue-at the Times Square Studios. We're in the midst of a big week for Swedish rock, including a CBGB showcase followed by bands performing at this iPod/Volvo promotion. Scandinavian rock act the Ark is as cartoony as glam rock gets, even if they've toned down their original hi-gloss look for military drag.

They're as shameless as you can hope for, too. "Okay, Volvo," declares frontman Ola Salo, "stick to the rolling and we'll do the rocking!" "Volvo," you see, translates into "I roll." I'm having a great time at the catered event, especially since I had to miss the CBGB show. Maybe they served hors d'oeuvres there, but I wouldn't have eaten them.

The evening's only slightly marred by overhearing a New York Press music writer earnestly noting that the music of overrated Swede act the Soundtrack of Our Lives is, in fact, the soundtrack of our lives. I hope we didn't run that hack's review where he claimed Interpol was an arresting act.

Then I'm back the next evening for more Swedish meatballs at the Volvo Music for Life awards. I missed Sahara Hotnights the night before, and I'm expecting a fine show for the nation's top 100 Volvo salesmen. I'd already spent last year bitching about all the good lefties on the awards panel, so I intend to skip the ceremony and stay downstairs for more music.

The plan's further confirmed when I'm not allowed inside the event. Fortunately, a security guard from the night before remembers me. I crash the party and try to look inconspicuous, which gets difficult when everybody goes upstairs for the awards ceremony. I assumed I was missing out on the party downstairs during last year's parade of do-gooders. Instead, I'm stuck watching the admittedly bipartisan event on a big video screen. Then I have to leave before the Black Crowes come onstage. It's a fun night, but I'm getting confused. That guy from According to Jim is serving as emcee. I used to think he was a Hollywood actor, but I can't tell anymore. He actually sounds sincere when praising the troops in Iraq.