Go: Where to Go, What to Do & Why

By James P. Reza

Temperatures (and hemlines) are dropping, shopping centers are bustling and people are slowly emerging from the hibernation of summer. All of which means that fall (with its attendant new semester, the arrival of convention season and the commercial forcing of premature holiday preparations) are bearing down on us quickly. If you are a Vegas newbie, take note, for the best four months of the year are just ahead. In a city in which the phrase "today is `my Friday'" is perfectly understood, recognize this: Winter is over and spring is about to be sprung.

Last weekend, the Hard Rock Hotel got into the swing of our spring by hosting the Elite Model Look 2004, the national finals of a significant model search that culminates in the upcoming international finals in China. The contestants, who ranged in age from 13 to 19, were seen in various Vegas locations throughout the week. One day, all 42 of them poured from Hard Rock shuttles into Globe Salon (of which I am co-owner), where they received fab new hair; another day they were at The Attic being fitted for vintage clothing for Saturday's event. One wag, a bartender in the Hard Rock, remarked, "[The models] were all running around the hotel in their bikinis today. I have a young daughter at home," he reflected. "I'm living in my own personal hell." One does question the sensibility of having three-dozen-plus under-21 supermodels carousing around Sin City, but those are the kinds of questions that we have successfully avoided for decades, so why start now?

The 1980s

Ah, the '80s: Land of New Wave, home of the mullet. For polo shirts, and leather skirts and amber waves of hair...none of which applies to Phil Collins. Well, polo shirts maybe, but definitely not the hair. Question: Who ruined Genesis--Peter Gabriel by going solo, or Phil Collins by taking over vocals for 19 post-Peter years? Oh, that's just cruel. We're sorry. Really. We just never forgave the guy for "Su Su Sudio." If you have, then see him on his farewell tour (at least until the next one) at the MGM Grand Garden Arena on Saturday (Aug. 28; 891-1111).

Honestly, we've never forgiven rapper Biz Markie for that horribly sung joke-rap "Just a Friend" either. It wasn't funny, it was annoying, and it made us embarrassed to blast the music of any other rap artists out the window of our stylin' VW Rabbit (hey, we had an '80s rep to keep). Further, Markie always struck us as the kind of freestyle rapper who could drop great rhymes on stage but never translate them to recording success. Later, in the '90s, Markie's legacy improved when the Beastie Boys gave him props (and guest spots on their albums) for his genre-busting efforts, and just last year he released his first album in 10 years, Weekend Warrior. Check out Markie Wednesday at Tangerine (Sept. 1; 894-7111).

You may find yourself, in a hot desert city, with no beach nearby. And you may ask yourself, "How did I get here? This is not my beautiful Scotland..." The last time we saw David Byrne (at the Venetian in September 1999), he was a guest speaker at the national AIGA conference (for graphic artists; Byrne had been a student at the Rhode Island School of Design before pursuing music). Byrne presented a slide show of photographs he had taken on his travels around the world. Some of them he explained in terms of location, subject and the like. For others, Byrne merely giggled as he pressed the slide-advance button. Always trying to stay on the tip, the former vocalist for the Talking Heads has recently worked with members of Belle & Sebastian, and currently tours with the notable Tosca String Quartet and '80s contemporary vocalist Sam Phillips. Tuesday night at the House of Blues should be one to remember (Aug. 31; 632-7600).

The 1990s

Poetry slams, tattoos, Perry Farrell and "DJ tents." The '90s were to Generation X what the Summer of Love was to the baby boomers: a life-changing moment that in retrospect reads like so much superficial bullshit. Don't think so? Ask any 19-year-old today about Lollapalooza and the only thing that hurts more than "Are you really that old?" is the vacant stare they give you over their copy of (Vapid) People magazine. If the '90s were the '60s all over again, then we're smack in the center of the Second Coming of the Me Generation, a Roman Empire of self-absorption ready to crumble down after the next election.

But back to the music. Speaking of the '90s, Tempe's Gin Blossoms were an interesting lot. Formed in 1987, the roots-rocky quintet made college radio waves with the 1993 single "Hey Jealousy." Coincidentally, alt.rock was just hitting big, and the Gin Blossoms benefited from the spate of commercial alternative rock radio stations that began to pepper the U.S. (KEDG in Vegas). All good rock music stories reveal a tragedy, and for the Blossoms it came in the form of the December '93 suicide of founding guitarist-songwriter Doug Hopkins, who was fired months earlier for failing to control his alcoholism. Though disbanded in 1997, the band reformed in 2001, and has toured since 2002; see them Saturday at the Silverton (Aug. 28; 914-8557).

The roots

Jangly, guitar-based rock in the vein of R.E.M. A distinctly American sound that draws on regional, homegrown music--country, zydeco, gospel, blues--and emerges with a sound that not everyone can name, but that most can identify when they hear it. Not a lot of radio demand for the style, but plenty of grassroots fans, and fanatics, of the genre's various (and varied) purveyors. That's roots rock. The Subdudes are roots rock. Formed the same year as the Gin Blossoms, the critically acclaimed Subdudes are back after an eight-year hiatus with a well-received new album (Miracle Mile) and a tour. Check them out Saturday at the Clark County Amphitheater, downtown (Aug. 28; 455-8200).

Severely more polished--he often wears a mirrored suit, for chrissakes--and yet, still very much a roots rocker is Go fave Chris Isaak. You remember "Wicked Game" for its sexy black-and-white video roll on the beachside; we recall it for its perfect matchup to David Lynch's 1990 film Wild at Heart. Either way, Isaak does classic rockabilly in the Roy Orbison/Sun Records vein--a good-looking, personable fella with a distinct voice that plays patsy to no radio pigeonhole. This Saturday will mark the fifth time we've shaved and showered to go see this guy, the second at the House of Blues (Aug. 28; 632-7600), so if that's not a recommendation, we quit.

Native Las Vegan James P. Reza thinks David Byrne is a genius. He, Peter Gabriel and Chris Isaak should open a bar downtown. E-mail the author at jpreza@cox.net.