After checking into the MGM Grand Wednesday, I made a bee-line to the concierge and was ready to plunk down a chunk of change to see Donny and Marie.
They’re on vacation.
I was bummed.
Of course said concierge tried to steer me to KA, the Cirque du Soleil show at the Grand. I’d have none of that. She pushed Brad Garrett’s Comedy Club next, also in the hotel, and since I think I’m funnier than most comics, again, I said no.
I asked about music acts.
Shania – on vacation.
Celine Dion, out of town.
So, I said, “What about the Rat Pack?”
There were seats available, so I picked one UP.
I’m glad I did.
In the 1960s, four men from different ethnic backgrounds came to the Strip and turned Las Vegas into the entertainment capital of the world.
They’re all gone. Sinatra, Bishop, Davis, and Martin are all dead, but their legend lives on.
I suppose I was just born ten years too late. I love crooners, real music, Sinatra and his ilk.
Sure, the four men playing the parts of Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Joey Bishop, and Sammy Davis, Jr. aren’t perfect, but they are amazingly close. It’s at the very least, the next best thing to seeing the real thing in person. Granted, it’s a tribute band, so like the group calling themselves Lynyrd Skynyrd and presently touring, it didn’t always nail it, but it came very, very close.
So close, that if you closed your eyes, there were times when you heard Sinatra, Martin, and Davis. And with Martin, when you opened them, well, the man just looks exactly like Dino!
The Martin character was the best, he’s an A++ in the impersonation of Dino, his quirks, his jokes, his drinking, and his timing.
The other three are terrific, and do a near perfect job when it comes to the little nuances that were so special to the stars who turned Vegas on its ear back in the day. I was surprised to see little kicks, dance moves, hand gestures, and expressions I remember from black and white TV when I was a kid.
The show is like 1960 all over again. Political correctness – out the window, jokes – bawdy, tawdry, and in some cases so stereotypical as to border on racist.
And they were funny.
It reminded me of the old Dean Martin Show, you know, the ones with the Golddiggers, that made us laugh and poke fun at the frailties of the age.
It reminded me that music can be great, really great. Luck Be a Lady Tonight, The Lady Is A Tramp, What Kind of Fool Am I, Volare, Amore, and more, much more.
85 minutes later when the lights came UP, I was of course transported back into a world of rap and crap, and vulgarity. But, for 85 minutes on Wednesday, the world was a place I remember. Everyone dressed UP to go out. JFK was in the White House, cars had fins, Marilyn was the ideal woman, and music was real music.
And it didn’t hurt a bit that I was the youngest person in the crowd.