Posts Tagged ‘the strip’

Man, has it been three years since this picture was taken? Can that even be possible? I guess so. This time around we have me in possession of a mallet during “Gong Karaoke” at Mist Lounge inside the Treasure Island Hotel and Casino. On the right is Brian Henry, one of Las Vegas’ favorite visual artists, and one of the co-conspirators in the dead-but-never-forgotten techno-noise-hip-hop act Side Project 7. I believe I wrote about the entire experience here, and there may be some related video over here.

Holly Madison, Josh Strickland and Shoshana Bean will star in the sequel to Peepshow, "Threesome." Not really. (Photo by Erik Kabik | RETNA | erikkabik.com

Things you should know about Peepshow, the topless revue now playing at the CHI showroom inside Planet Hollywood:

• Despite the top-billing, advertising face time and press coverage given to Holly Madison, who replaced Kelly Monaco’s role in the show, the real star of Peepshow is Shoshana Bean, formerly of Broadway’s Wicked, currently occupying the lead singing/dancing role abandoned by former Spice Girl Mel B. Shoshana is funny, charming, spunky, cute and can sing the hell out of anything.
• Though the show’s title and sometimes-topless cast of dancing beauties would lead you to believe good ol’ fashioned boobies are the draw of the show (and, specifically, the artificial ones supported by Madison’s tiny frame), the surprising truth is that the singers steal the show. At least for me, they did. Led by Bean, a few non-stripping female singers, male lead Josh Strickland and the occasional topless rapping hottie belt out tunes with such chutzpah you’d swear you just hear a subway train rumble past.
• Aside from a few slow spots (notably the opening number featuring the show’s eponymous theme song), the 80-minute production buzzes by quickly with mercurial energy. It balances well the erotic, the humorous and the silly. A particularly creative number involves three nearly-nude women inside a giant glass vat filled with “milk”; another features a particularly buff dude performing slippery antics on a suspended cable above a bathtub.
• As with almost every other striptease-type show I’ve seen, an “audience participation” segment breaks up the bouncing bosoms of the show with some well-placed light comedy. I put that in quotes though because, like many “volunteer” situations, the audience participants are plants. I don’t have a problem with that practice, it’s entertaining, and I like comedy. Just sayin’.
• The biggest disappointment? Madison. I said it. Holly Madison is adorable. She is down-to-earth, unassuming and very considerate. The character she plays should be perfect: An innocent, shy girl looking for love. But Madison is completely uncomfortable on stage. Actually, you can tell she’s even a bit awkward in front of the camera, too, but that’s a discussion for another time. Madison distractingly plays with her hair, tugs at her robe and stumbles around for most of her limited appearances in the show. And when it’s time for her to come out of her shell, after being prodded by Bean’s character and seduced by buff bathtub guy, the excitement over her spotlight performance has nothing to do with her dancing or acting — it’s more like an elevated sigh of relief that FINALLY, HOLLY IS NAKED. But the odd thing is, despite her Barbie looks and perfectly crafted breasts, Madison is just not sexy. Especially not in comparison to the caramel beauty who rocked the hell out of “Brickhouse” or the cat-like redhead who practically made love to a car. No, Madison tries hard to shashay and work her fluffy, white boa, but especially put next to the professional entertainers surrounding her, she comes off looking as if she’s the lucky hottie drawn out of the crowd at random to join the cast on stage for one night.
• Given the last point, Peepshow still ain’t bad. It’s naughty enough to work well for a bachelor (or bachelorette) party, but polished enough for a guilt-free date night. And I didn’t fall asleep during the first 20 minutes, unlike a certain show starring Madison’s ex-boyfriend Criss Angel.

Photo by Erik Kabik | RETNA (www.erikkabik.com)

Last night was the opening film, opening party and opening ceremonies of the 2009 CineVegas Film Festival. The film, Saint John of Las Vegas, was also enjoying its world premiere at the CHI Showroom inside Planet Hollywood Resort, Hotel, Casino, Film Location and Mall. I won’t attempt a review of the Steve Buscemi-starring indie movie. It was good, funny in the right places, though not great, but my buddy Josh Bell can tell you more about what did and didn’t suck (though he may have missed the allusion in the story to Dante’s Inferno).

I was invited to the opening night festivities (including the after-party at Prive nightclub), but unlike the last few years, I opted not to get press credentials for the festival. This is no slight against CineVegas, but rather an indication of how limited my time is right now: I have just enough to maintain the level of output musically, journalistically and, uh, comic book .. er … y (?) as I have been for these past few months with a little wiggle room for TOP SECRET PROJECTS. But, y’know, that doesn’t mean I’m going to turn down an invite from my peeps at CineVegas.

The premiere of Saint John was attended by most of the cast, director Hue Rhodes, the usual crop of Vegas headliners (creepy-ass Carrot Top, future Peepshow star Holly Madison, a bunch of unrecognizable dudes presumably from song-and-dance shows featuring the music of the 1950s/60s), CineVegas royalty (i.e., Dennis Hopper) and, um, me. ME. And a lot of rubberneckers mobbing the velvet rope outside the red carpet.

I didn’t stay for the after-party. It’s been a long week and I wasn’t feeling it. Plus: I have another CineVegas party to attend on Friday, so I will gladly drink their free booze then. And I will also gladly eat and drink sin dinero at First Food & Bar on Friday for that grand opening. Oh, and maybe enjoy a Foster’s or two tonight at the Rio’s Voodoo Beach, where Cracker is playing one of those free show things. Yeesh.

Also, in between all the event moochery, I found time to write a new article for your consumption in this week’s Las Vegas Weekly. It’s about long-time local band Cherry Hill, which, in what is either marketing genius or idiocy, is releasing its brand-new album at a show this Saturday billed as the group’s “final performance.” I know, right? Read all about it, kids.

Would you trust this creep when he says "close your eyes?" I DON'T THINK SO, PALLY.

Thursday: Went to see Anthony Cools at the Paris Las Vegas Hotel & Casino, home of the world’s largest Eiffel Tower that isn’t the Eiffel Tower. Cools is one of those stage hypnotists whose shtick is making allegedly hypnotized audience members do lewd and ridiculous things on stage like disrobing, performing faux sex acts and generally acting like asses. However, despite the predictable and questionably authentic antics, I couldn’t help but actually enjoy myself. And worse, I believe I acquiesced to “going back” at some point after leaving the show Thursday night. What.

Friday: Opened escrow on a house. No biggie.

Saturday: Attended the Vegas Magazine Sixth Anniversary Party at Pure nightclub inside Caesars Palace. I have gone to the Vegas mag anniversary parties every year since 2006, and until this year, they were always held at large, outdoor venues: Green Valley Ranch Resort’s pool in 2006, Mandalay Bay Beach in 2007 and the Palazzo Hotel & Casino’s pool in 2008. These events were typically massive gatherings, involving (at alternating times) daredevil motorcyclists, a live scorpion pit, go-go dancers inside giant floating bubbles, a graffiti wall and, sadly, an American Idol finalist.

Pretty much all you need to know about Saturday night.

But perhaps as an indicator of our weak (but recovering? Right, Obama? Yeah?) economy, this year’s fete was scaled back considerably. First, it was in Pure, which I typically despise. But apparently it’s not such a horrible place when it’s filled with people you know and like as opposed to wall-to-wall d-bags. Secondly, there were no death-defying stunts, pools or annoying singers to be found anywhere. But there were models in fluffy pink wigs, Pussycat Dolls dancing and, supposedly, Vegas mag cover girl Heather Graham hiding somewhere among the masses.

Most importantly, thanks to an equally scaled-back guest list, there were plenty of easily accessible bars serving free drinks and, well, within a two-hour period I may have had more than my share. OK, so a few of us had more than our respective shares. And I may have stumbled out of the club, past the throng of waiting suckers–er, clubgoers–and had to be driven home due to a certain lack of brain-body coordination. But I guess that’s to say, “Thanks, Vegas Magazine for getting me sh*tfaced. Happy anniversary!”

Sunday: Band practice. Working on a cover of Helmet’s “Unsung.” Realizing how bad of a drummer I am. The rest of the band ran through the song without me and they sounded pretty good. Then I came in on the drums and OH MY GOD WHO LET THIS MAN JOIN A BAND DOING ANYTHING OTHER THAN PLAYING THE SKIN FLUTE MAKE THE NOISE STOP PLEASE HELP.

"Dios mio! My fingers are motherf*cking possessed!" Photo by Erik Kabik | Retna (www.erikkabik.com)

Later that night, as if to destroy my fragile musical ego even further, we headed to the new Joint inside the Hard Rock Hotel, Casino & Den of Debauchery Even On a Sunday to check out “Supernatural Santana: A Cash Grab on One Man’s Lifetime of Music Featuring Unknown Singers Performing his Greatest Hits.” Yes, Santana is the first rock band to hold a residency at the Hard Rock’s revamped venue, and … hell, it’s Santana. Carlos and his band churned out the songs we all know and love — “Oye Como Va,” “Black Magic Woman,” Maria Maria,” etc., etc.  — as well as a few lesser-known tunes that surely only hardcore Santana fans know from one of the man/band’s 36 albums. But despite the music — and band’s — age, Santana poured as much passion into this material as if the songs were days old and not decades old. Sure, the imagery of doves, pivotal moments of hope throughout the last century and the changing face of Carlos Santana was all a bit schmaltzy, but even Carlos’ occasional mini-speeches about love and God and whatnot couldn’t break the rockin’ vibe inside the Joint, even if at times it felt like a church revival.

Oh, and assuming last night wasn’t a lark, the verdict’s in: The new Joint is a goddamned better venue by leaps and bounds than its predecessor. I mean, I already reported on its improved visual appearance, but after actually experiencing a live performance there, I can honestly say that the Pearl (inside the Palms Resort & Whatever) has sonic competition — though the Pearl’s seating arrangements are still far superior.

Andy Warhol's "Flowers"

You might think that Las Vegas couldn’t justify the existence of two columnists covering fine arts for the same website, Examiner.com. You might be wrong.

Our territories tend not to overlap: the other Las Vegas Fine Arts Examiner focuses on more tourist- and family-friendly items, while I often stick to locally grown art, theater and performance. But today, both of us wrote about the Bellagio Gallery of Fine Art today, likely because that august institution is unveiling new additions from Andy Warhol and Roy Lichtenstein to its current “Classic Contemporary” exhibit. I dropped 500 words critiquing the relevance and impact of the pop art movement (while promoting the new works and other timely stuff).

What you may notice is I’ve only been writing about one story per week. But it’s not due to a dearth of fine arts activity in Las Vegas. Quite the opposite: It’s because there’s actually almost too much going on. I have an e-mail inbox overflowing with press releases and updates about thesis shows, ballet performances, philharmonic concerts, cultural heritage exhibits, poetry readings and so much more that I barely know where to start. And between my other freelance work, doing a weekly webcomic and keeping you fine people entertained, well, there are only so many hours of the week.

That being said, I’m trying. So feel free to tune in to my Las Vegas Fine Arts Examiner channel to stay on top of things, and if you come across any interesting fine arts-related news items or ideas, well, you know where to find me.

Andy Warhol's "Flowers"

You might think that Las Vegas couldn’t justify the existence of two columnists covering fine arts for the same website, Examiner.com. You might be wrong.

Our territories tend not to overlap: the other Las Vegas Fine Arts Examiner focuses on more tourist- and family-friendly items, while I often stick to locally grown art, theater and performance. But today, both of us wrote about the Bellagio Gallery of Fine Art today, likely because that august institution is unveiling new additions from Andy Warhol and Roy Lichtenstein to its current “Classic Contemporary” exhibit. I dropped 500 words critiquing the relevance and impact of the pop art movement (while promoting the new works and other timely stuff).

What you may notice is I’ve only been writing about one story per week. But it’s not due to a dearth of fine arts activity in Las Vegas. Quite the opposite: It’s because there’s actually almost too much going on. I have an e-mail inbox overflowing with press releases and updates about thesis shows, ballet performances, philharmonic concerts, cultural heritage exhibits, poetry readings and so much more that I barely know where to start. And between my other freelance work, doing a weekly webcomic and keeping you fine people entertained, well, there are only so many hours of the week.

That being said, I’m trying. So feel free to tune in to my Las Vegas Fine Arts Examiner channel to stay on top of things, and if you come across any interesting fine arts-related news items or ideas, well, you know where to find me.

In case there are any doubts of my ability to rock, LOOK AT THAT FACE.

You’d think it would be enough for me to play in a real rock band (As Yet Unbroken, for those not paying attention). But no, because of my insatiable appetite for filling my days with more stuff to do than time allots, I’ve signed on with my friends Scott and Cynthia and my brother Joshua to compete in a Harrah’s Entertainment-sponsored Rock Band competition. Our group, called SP7.3, will be performing Talking Heads’ “Psycho Killer” as well as whatever mystery track the judges choose for us on Tuesday, April 14, sometime around 9:30 p.m. at the Carnaval Court just outside the Harrah’s Las Vegas hotel & casino.

Why is the group called SP7.3? Well, Scott and I, along with Brian Henry, formed a group called Side Project Seven (SP7) a few years ago. After Brian dropped out, my former bandmate Ryan Couevas (guitarist in Rahne and keyboardist in Morgana Athena) temporarily joined, entering the genesis of SP7.2. So, logically, our latest endeavor — which is not really an endeavor at all — is verson 3.

Also, I haven’t owned or used a video game system since the late 1980s, when my family had a Sega Genesis. So I’m pretty out of touch with gaming in general. But Scott’s house (where I used to dwell as well) is something like a distraction wonderland, with multiple gaming systems, giant TV, pinball machines and plenty of liquor, so inevitably, if you’re hanging at Scott’s house, you’re playing games (and probably drinking). Thus my entry into the world of virtual music groups.

I’m not great on Rock Band guitar or bass (I have too short an attention span for matching colored dots), but adequate on drums (you know, like I am in AYU) and ABSOLUTELY PHENOMENAL on vocals. I will be ready for either. So come cheer us on, buy us drinks and sing along if you’re in Las Vegas next Tuesday. Or just laugh at our expense. It’s sure to be good times either way.