By Jacob Katel
By Karli Evans
By Jose D. Duran
By Pablo Chacon Alvarez
By Kat Bein
By Abel Folgar
By Laurie Charles
But back at Marino's Warren has other things on his mind. It would be easy to just throw in the towel, turn in a perfunctory performance, get paid, and go home. But giving up isn't Second Coming's style. They've played Churchill's in front of five people. They've played UM parties where drunken frat boys shouted requests for "Back in Black," "Blister in the Sun," and "Ride the Donkey" over the band's originals. They've played a barn, for crying out loud.
"I haven't had a hard life," repeats Warren. "Neither has the band. But I think we've paid our dues. We don't want to be a local band forever." And for tonight, at least, the road out of Miami runs through Marino's.
Tommy Lasorda grabs his crotch. The sorority girl in the khaki shorts and plaid cotton shirt gingerly grips a Rolling Rock in her delicate, braceleted hand. A couple of guys whose shot-making ineptitude belies their serious expressions hover over one of the pool tables. Second Coming dives into "Love is 4 Punks," one of their signature tunes, and slowly but surely, Marino's starts to come around. The male bartenders bob their heads, the female bartenders and waitresses throw some hip into it. The girl with the Rolling Rock bends at the knee in something approximating time to the music. A few patrons at the other end of the bar inch closer to the band.
It's a small step from the toe-tapping, head-bobbing phase to the call-and-response phase, and soon Warren has the audience shouting back at him with gusto. When he brings the volume down and says, "We like to start this off slow and soft, then get aggressive like --"
"-- Sex!" screams a guy in the audience.
Warren smiles. The transformation is complete. Dan Marino's is no longer just another yuppie sports bar. Second Coming's in the house.
Second Coming performs Saturday at Churchill's Hideaway, 5501 NE 2nd Ave, 757-1807. Admission costs $3.