Jani Lane (born John Kennedy Oswald), the flaxen-tressed former lead singer of 1980's hair-metal band Warrant, was found dead on Thursday in a hotel room in Woodland Hills, California.
According to The Hollywood Reporter, police found the body of Lane, 47, at a Comfort Inn, with no cause of death available at press time. Lane was best known for the Warrant hit "Cherry Pie," which he wrote and features a guitar solo by Poison's C.C. DeVille. The double entendre-filled video for the song — featuring a barrage of footage flaunting the accolades of Lane's future wife, celebrated Star Search spokesmodel champion turned video vixen, Bobbie Brown — quickly became a programming staple on MTV's Headbanger's Ball when it was released in 1990. 
The singer was born in Akron, Ohio, on February 1, 1964. He began his career as a teenage drummer before moving to Florida and playing in a series of metal bands. Eventually he made it to Los Angeles with future Warrant drummer Steven "Sweet" Chamberlin in search of fame and a steady gig.
He was recruited to join Warrant in 1986 and the band released their major-label debut, Dirty Rotten Filthy Stinking Rich, in 1989, spawning the hits "Heaven" and "Down Boys" -- a vastly underrated song that, as far as I can tell, is about a wild child, looking cool on the cheap and ogling, i.e. "the way the street lights silhouette your thighs through your dress." But it was 1990's Cherry Pie that really put them on the map, selling three million copies and realizing their dreams of "making it" as hair-metal superstars. Supposedly, the title tune was written on the back of a pizza box, which can be seen on display at the Hard Rock Café in Destin, Florida. 
One of the best things about working at Amoeba Music is all the stories you get to hear. It seems everyone has at least one really great story starring some celebrity or other. Add to that the countless daily recounts of brushes with the bizarre (I'm sure each location has it's own special blend of resident and transient "street life" enthusiasts) and the many stories from the road told by those touring musicians Amoeba frequently fosters; the odd life-altering event/near death experience sort of yarn is spun as often as are the wheels of the gossip wagon. All this and more than enough stupid jokes and "inappropourri" to swell one's ears and imagination for days. Some of the stories I've heard will stay with me forever and some of the story tellers I'd swear have lived multiple lives. 
One of my favorite stories this person shared with me involves Warrant, a band that almost always suffered comparison to Poison yet never eclipsed, or even slightly reached, Poison's level of glam-rock stardom. Perhaps that explains why my friend saw them playing in a crappy night club in Fresno. The story is short and amounts to this: at sometime during the gig he stole backstage and lifted a number of items from Warrant, namely a bottle of White Rain shampoo. Now, maybe it's not that funny to everyone, but I clutched my gut in laughter upon hearing this. White Rain! The bottom shelf of hair products! These glamorous guys, who obviously pride themselves on their hair, couldn't get it together to get some Panteen Pro-V or Mane and Tail (being the show ponies they were). I have to admit that I was and still am inclined to think the worst of Warrant -- I was never a fan, not even a little, of their music and their frontman, a man called Jani Lane, frightened me in an Edgar Winter way. To me their music was a tepid, obvious attempt at following Poison's lead (and so was 
irty Rotten Filthy Stinking Rich-- hardly.
mittee founded in 1985 by Tipper Gore and three other highly connected political ladies, pictures right) in their endeavors to protect and uphold the morals of America by stifling first amendment rights for recording artists of every genre, a retailer whose name used to be synonymous with right wing, so-called "bible-thumping" Christians could ever, ever sell, exclusively, the new, long awaited record by heavy metal bad boys AC/DC. Maybe the lyrics to AC/DC's hit single "Money Talks" from their Razor's Edge album released in 1990 could clue us in on this retail gaffe: "come on come on love me for the money/ come on come on listen to the money talk." Yeah, and the only way anyone can hop on AC/DC's "Rock N' Roll Train," the first single from Black Ice, is to slum it on down to Wal-Mart 'n' buy it there, or, as it turns out, Sam's Club is selling it too, but only to those who have a membership of course. I understand that a large part of American rockers live in places where Wal-Mart is the only place they can shop for music and I've been reminded repeatedly that times are tough all over, yet Billboard
reports that copies of Black Ice are "flying off the shelves" in Wal-Mart and Sam's Club -- money talks indeed -- and I can't help feeling like the "understanding" between Capitol Records and Wal-Mart is a last ditch effort to make mega-bucks on a new release while the mega-bucks can still be made. At least while Wal-Mart is "rolling back the prices" on items like toilet paper you can get the new AC/DC album used at Amoeba for a fraction of what they're flying off the shelves for in the 'burbs. This just in: New York Times reports that Wal-Mart now owns rights to the new AC/DC-themed Rock Band video game, "AC/DC Live: Rock Band Track Pack." I wonder what they'll own rights to next. 
Why lie, you know?
