Go: Where to Go, What to Do & Why

By James P. Reza

Spending a Friday night shepherding a National Public Radio host who is researching a book on American sin is one way to reignite our love of Las Vegas, and to remember why it commands the global attention it does. Our itinerary? Fairly typical: a tasty, reasonably priced dinner in a place where we could hear ourselves think (Tinoco's Bistro at the downtown Arts Factory, 868-0430), a stop at the city's in-the-moment ultralounge (Mix at THEhotel, 632-7777), a bit o' bump-and-grind at Sin City's latest foray into the PG-13 burlesque revival (Forty Deuce, 632-9442), and then, if our wills and wallets permitted, a sideways glance at a "real" topless club--all in the name of research, of course.

Before you conclude that, even with our itinerary, a Friday night in Vegas with an NPR host might be as exciting as watching a soufflé rise and fall, you must know that this particular host is (expectedly) witty and engaging, and, perhaps better still, not nearly as jaded as one might expect. With eyes (and mouths) wide open as we both criticized and complimented our experiences, here's a sampling of what we learned:

The comfortable lounge at Mix opens at 5 p.m.--the same time as the adjacent magnificent restaurant--but the velvet ropes and $20 cover don't offend until 10 p.m. So, for five hours, anyone dressed appropriately can walk straight onto the THEhotel's glass elevator, ascend the "64 floors" (yeah right!) and enjoy one of the numerous seating opportunities indoors and out, as well as drink in the view without the crowds that overrun the place by midnight. Of course, at 10 p.m., VIP hosts graciously yet firmly inform you that the tables must be cleared for bottle service (more on this in a coming installment of Go), so off you go with your $13 worth of bourbon to stand near a gas heater.

But who needs a heater when you're drinking bourbon? So it's off to Forty Deuce, Ivan Kane's intimate little old school strip joint (unfortunately) hidden under the Mandalay Place escalators. And though it's slowly striking the radar, it remains relatively easy for the well-rehearsed local to glide in without the pricey $25 cover if you arrive, say, between the 10 p.m. opening and the 11 p.m. crowd coming to enjoy the night's first shakedown at 11:30 p.m. It also helps if you have a gal or two in front, and the male/female ratio on this particular night was well in favor of the dolls--most of whom scream and whistle louder than the men.

And yet, as wonderful as Forty Deuce is, it imparts the sense that it could still be so much more. The promise of the design, decor and service is somewhat betrayed by the interim music (a typical Vegas rock/hip hop mix that repeated itself on Saturday night) and, ironically, by the burlesque performances. The dancers--immensely talented though they are--seem repressed by a format that permits them, at most, 15 minutes of stage time three times a night (four on weekends).

The live jazz trio--a skilled drummer, stand-up bassist and saxophonist--jam only uptempo songs. And while the "James Bond Theme" rubs our Gen X sensibilities the right way, to play only uptempo dumbs down what could be a sensual stage seduction to merely a repetitive frenzy of ass-shaking and flying sequins. All of which conspires to suggest that, despite the numerous implied promises, perhaps Forty Deuce is only meant to be, as KNPR cultural pundit Dayvid Figler said, a mere "tip of the hat to old school burlesque," and not the real thing we expect when we are seduced at the door.

To be fair, however, I cannot tell you which "real" strip club we made it to that night, as our National Public Radio guest was having far too much fun at Forty Deuce for it to matter--thereby, I suspect, proving a point I don't much want proved. And yet, with all of the new nightspots opening and vying for attention and plying, essentially, the same format, it would seem that impresario Ivan Kane is playing his cards a little too close on this one. Loosen up, Ivan, and let this joint breathe a little. We want you around a while.

Vegas, baby!

Tom Jones knows what Vegas is all about: Panties! Yeah, panties. And, despite his advancing age, he ain't afraid to shake that ass and show them what he's working with. Props to you, Tom. Maybe you should shake on down to Forty Deuce while you're in town performing at the MGM (Jan. 20-Feb. 2; 891-1111) and make it an equal opportunity joint. I hear the Olympic Garden does well with that format...

G. Love & Special Sauce doesn't have girls playing panty toss, at least not while on stage, but this alt.blues/rap Philly trio has spent more than a decade enrapturing the ears of hipsters. Balancing a sound that's a hybrid of Dr. John's laid back groove and the Beastie Boys' feedback-heavy retro production values, the band has found friends among the discerning set seeking something with style and skill but not too far afield. G. Love perform with The Southland Friday at the House of Blues (Jan. 21; 632-7600).

The next night at HOB, Snoop Dogg--who knows a bit about both G-thangs and G-strings--and is already sold out, so if you need tix to this, you'll have to hit up the brokers (Jan. 22; 632-7600). Which leaves us with the annual SnoCore tour at the Hard Rock's Joint, this year featuring angry young men Chevelle (Helmet Lite?), angry older men Helmet and Crossfade (Jan. 24; 693-5000). In other words, modern day burlesque music.

Native Las Vegan James P. Reza has a discerning eye toward burlesque and striptease, and yet will still glance at any naked woman. E-mail the author at jpreza@cox.net.