|
Las Vegas Billboard Awards - December 1998
If Virginia is for lovers, then Las Vegas is for
suckers. This desert evilopolis slurps up rivers of precious water
to keep the sheets clean, hogs gridloads of power to keep the lights
on, all the while applying a giant vacuum-cleaner to the wallets
of its visitors. Walking down the strip through a canyon of gigantic
neon signs, you feel something draining from you -- your money,
your soul, or both.
You first feel that draining as you step onto the
plane. There you are among people from your home town making their
annual trip to Vegas, and they display no apparent ability to learn
from past mistakes. One by one, they trade stories of winning hundreds
and maybe thousands of dollars. The problem is, gambling actually
goes something like this:
1. You bet money
2. You watch
3. You lose
4. Repeat steps 1-3
As soon as you step off the plane, you hear the
sound of Vegas: slot machines binging, bonging, chinging and changing
out small bits of change and sounding alarms whenever someone wins
so much as a quarter.
Slot machines: Bing bong, ching chang, youloozayoulooza
bong, riiiiiiiiing
Vegas first-timer #1: Hey honey, look. Slot machines at the airport!
Vegas first-timer #2: Got a dollar?
Slot machines: Loozaloozalooza Riiiiiiiiiing!
We had rooms at a rock & roll theme hotel and
sauntered through the first floor casino, feeling above it all.
Three rockers who had bet years of their life on the remote odds
of success in the music business were laughing at tourists risking
a few dollars, but the irony was lost on us.
The hotel and casino designers have built Vegas
versions of cities from around the world, some reaching back into
ancient times. Thus the hotels are staffed by Pirates, Roman Centurions,
or Venetian Gondoliers. Recently, a miniature New York skyline appeared
on the strip -- a hotel where life in the Big Apple is reproduced
. . . faithfully, one presumes.
Patron: Excuse me.
Hotel employee: Yes?
Patron: Yes, where do they re-enact the bribing of city commissioners?
Hotel employee: Past "Park Mugging" on your left
you'll see "Police Brutality Musical Review," and it's
right across from that.
Patron: Thanks.
Hotel Employee: If you hit the "Runaway Greed of Real
Estate Developers"
exhibit, you've gone too far.
Patron: Thanks. (Dodging speeding taxi) It's so realistic!
Hotel employee: (Dodging gunfire) Yeah, it's something ain't
it?
We came to Vegas to perform on The Billboard Awards,
which was being broadcast from the MGM Grand. As instructed, we
showed up for rehearsal on Saturday, two days before the Monday
night show. Unfortunately by cooperating, we positioned ourselves
badly vis-a-vis the guys in charge. The squeaky wheel gets the grease,
and we were easy going and squeak free.
Stage guy #1: Do this!
Dan: OK
Stage guy #2: Stand there!
John: OK
Stage guy #3: Hurry up and wait!
Jake: OK
Technical guy in charge: Who's the cooperative band?
Assistant: Semisonic
Technical guy in charge: Hmmmm. Pretty cooperative. Better
make note of that. We may need someone to screw at some point.
All went smoothly. Back to the hotel for an evening
off. Since I don't like to drink, gamble, or watch drunken gamblers,
I spent the rest of Saturday and much of Sunday grinding through
a history book which made references to obscure geographical entities
(Austrasia, The Coast of Mint, etc.) of which I had never heard.
This confirmed my belief that learning history is like pouring sand
into a hat with no top. A few grains stick to the side, but most
of it falls right through to the floor.
Sunday afternoon we met in the lobby and rode in
a limo to the MGM to present an award on the VH1 pre-awards show.
We walked through the doors and into a ballroom packed with reporters
with microphones, photographers flashing cameras, video camera operators
shining bright lights, and a host of onlookers. A red carpet parted
this sea of chaos, and security guards held everyone back. Walking
through it all ranked among the more surreal experiences of our
music careers.
After stopping for several quick interviews with
reporters and posing for the cameras, we were escorted to the backstage
area. There we met several fellow performers including Everclear
and fellow Minneapolitans Next, as well as our guide for the awards.
It seems she might have used a guide herself, or perhaps a therapist.
Throughout our stay she exhausted us with her inability to decide
whether we should stop, go, turn left or right, wait or hurry. I
wondered if she had been traumatized as a child by stories of the
Donner Party and had chosen the career of a backstage guide in an
unsuccessful attempt to face her fears head on. Whatever the case,
after getting a glimpse of her anguished existence as a lost guide,
we let her shoo us through the backstage halls to the side of the
stage.
VH1 had invited us to present an award to Natalie
Imbruglia, the winner in the adult top forty category. Offstage,
with seconds to prepare, we tried our best to memorize two paragraphs
of lines attesting to the breadth of Natalie's success and a confusing
array of numbers concerning her record sales and chart positions
on various radio formats. Once on camera, however, we took some
liberties with the prepared text.
John: Hi, we're Semisonic
Jake: and the winner is . . .
Dan: Natalie Imbruglia!
Natalie walked out, the picture of poise, and displayed
great skills of memorization, extemporaneous speaking, and eye contact.
Somewhere in Australia, incumbent politicians were squirming. We
had the rest of the night off.
Monday, the day of the Billboard Awards show, we
had plenty of free time during the morning and afternoon. Dan went
to the art exhibit at the Belagio. John gambled. I did some more
"reading."
At two o'clock we piled into a van for the ride
over to dress rehearsal at the MGM Grand. Bette Midler was on stage
rehearsing an on-cameral bit with Carole King for their award presentation
to Celine Dion. Lady M was a non- stop riot, ad libbing about everything
from camera shots of her butt to Carole King's hair. We kept peaking
around the curtains from where we were waiting and cracking up,
unaware that in fact rehearsal was running far behind.
Technical guy in charge: We're running way
behind.
Assistant: Semisonic has arrived on time for their dress
rehearsal just as we asked.
Technical guy in charge: Right, that cooperative band from
the other day. OK, that settles it. Tell Semisonic they'll get no
dress rehearsal.
Dude was dispatched to break the news . . .
Dude: . . . and so we're running out of time,
but you guys should be fine because (smiling) you showed up on Saturday
for your rehearsal.
Dan: So no rehearsal today?
Dude: Unfortunately not.
John: We probably shouldn't complain, right?
Dude: Probably not.
Dan, Jake, and John: (Whispering among themselves)
Dan: OK then, whatever you say.
Dude returned to his superiors.
Dude: I told 'em no rehearsal, and they said
ok
Technical guy in charge: Hmmmm. I guess I'm not through with
them yet.
Assistant: Gonna screw them over again later tonight chief?
Technical guy in charge: Well I can't let a golden opportunity
like this slip away.
More surrealness awaited us. We walked out the back
door and got into a waiting limousine. The driver started the engine
and drove fifty feet up to a red carpet. Again, there were hundreds
of screaming fans and an even denser line of microphones and cameras.
Cameras and flashbulbs: Bigbigbigbig Huge!
bigbigbig Huge Huge Huge!!!
Gathered crowd: AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!
Guy in crowd: Who's that?
His girlfriend: It's either Isaac from Hanson or Kenny Wayne
Sheppard.
Someone else: Oh my god, it's Semisonic!!!
Guy in crowd: Semi who?
His girlfriend: Shut up and start yelling.
Every ten feet we stopped for a new firing squad
of photographers.
Photographers on left: Hey guys, look left
Photographers on right: Look right guys, that's it.
Photographers in middle: In the middle guys, right here.
Dan, sensing that we needed a united front for the
cameras, asked me to point in one direction or another so that we
could all look at the same lenses at the same time. This produced
twenty seconds worth of pictures where I was pointing and Dan and
John were doubled over laughing.
Ten steps ahead of us was future Australian Prime
Minister Imbruglia who would face right and slowly pan her visage
to the left across the field of flashing cameras. We copied this
technique but found that we turned our heads at different speeds,
so this proved to be the worst method of all. We discussed practicing
synchronized head-turning once back in Minneapolis.
Having survived the gauntlet of cameras and reporters,
we walked into the MGM Grand and found our way to the make-up room.
Waiting there was Hanson, that Mmm-Bopping threesome of brothers
whose aura of Florida sunshine strikes fear in the vampirical heart
of Marilyn Manson. Middle brother Taylor told us that he owned both
"Great Divide" and "Feeling Strangely Fine."
Zak, the youngest, bounced around in some army green sneakers, struck
a gun-firing pose and blasted an imaginary opponent with theater
quality gun sounds. As for the oldest Hanson brother, some wondered
whether he was Isaac Hanson or Kenny Wayne Sheppard. I don't know.
I have no idea who Kenny Wayne Sheppard is.
We walked out of make-up past Garth Brooks on his
way in. The hallway was lined with many of the other stars on the
show -- Jay-Z, K-Cee and Jo Jo, The Backstreet Boys, and others.
We made our ways to our seats. Magic Johnson was sitting three chairs
to my left. Many artists came over to pay him tribute.
We saw the first ninety minutes of the show. The
highlights included an amazing performance by Lauryn Hill and a
hilarious presentation by Stevie Wonder. Thirty minutes before our
performance we were summoned backstage. As we walked down the hall,
we heard some amazing harmonies and finger snaps. As we turned the
corner we saw Whitney Houston and two other women huddled in a circle,
sweating and singing up a storm. Only two feet away. Unbelievable.
The make-up crew gave us a touch-up, and our guide
took us to the green room. Cher was inside. An unknown official
stopped us at the door, reluctant to let us share the green room
with her, but we talked our way in. Once inside we could see that
Cher's facial expression control unit was switched to the "off"
position. We took our seats strategically -- out of her way but
with enough of an angle to peak and see if she had switched her
face on. No luck. Not, at least, until Drew Barrymore rushed in
to give her a big hug.
The time came and we were hustled to the stage.
We took our places during a commercial break With seconds to go,
the system was up, and we were introduced. This is it. This is the
moment when it all comes together. The house lights go down, spotlight
goes on, and all those years of learning how to focus pay off. You
forget about the backstage hassles, about the stars in the audience,
and you center your mind on what really counts.
Dan: Closing Time, open all the doors . .
.
Jake's brain: Don't forget to get the shampoo out of the
hotel room shower tonight. We've got an early morning flight. Damn
early morning flights. I'll bet there's a ten o'clock we could get.
I could call Northwest tonight.
Don't forget! Call Northwest.
Dan: You don't have to go home but you can't --- stay ----
here.
Jake's brain: Hey, we're playing pretty well!
On we rocked. Dan swinging his hips, John rocking
his headful of hair, and me estimating the number of frequent flier
miles on a round trip from Minneapolis to Vegas. We came to the
end of the second chorus in full swing and launched into the dreamy
bridge section. Suddenly, things seemed weird, as if we weren't
playing, as if the power to the stage had been turned off. They
pulled the f@#ing plug on us!
John: Huh?
Dan: What the?
Jake: Who the?
Slot machines somewhere: Bing bong theygotcha theygotcha
Back in the control room, however, there was no
confusion at all.
Assistant: Well, we pulled power from the
stage as soon as we went off air.
Technical guy in charge: So Semisonic was denied their chance
to rock 'til the end?
Assistant: Yup.
Technical guy in charge: Excellent. (Uncorking bottle of
Champagne) Gentlemen, (filling glasses) a toast. To screwing the
most agreeable band on the show.
Technical guys: Here here.
After being so damned cooperative during the whole
thing, what did we expect? Jim, our manager, and Jay, the President
of MCA Records, came backstage to check on us. Having watched the
performance from a television monitor, they hadn't known that the
stage power had been cut once we went off air.
Jim: Guys, it looked and sounded great.
John: F---! S---! F---ing S--- Ass F---!
Jim: What's wrong?
Dan: Those f---ing f---ers f---ing pulled the f---ing plug
on us.
Jay: They what?
John: While we were still f---ing playing!
Jay: They cut you guys off?!
Jim: That really blows. We'll find out who did this.
John: (Furrowing brow) Stevie Wonder was in the f---ing audience
Dan: (Tightening neck muscles) Stevie Wonder!
Jim: Wow. Well, what can I say. You really looked great on
TV. I'm sorry.
Jay: Guys, I'm really sorry. We'll find out what happened.
That sucks.
Jake?
Jake: (Turning red while telekinetically causing avalanche
on Mt. McKinley)
Jay: Jake?
Jake: (Turning purple while telekinetically causing earthquake
off the coast of Java)
Jay: Jake??
After cooling down, we left for our hotel, where
there was a reception for the performers. We snuck out, and Jay
took us to a nice Italian restaurant where we finished off the evening
with great food, fine red wine, and vows of revenge.
The next morning, we met at 5:45 am, an hour we
refer to as "quarter 'til buttkick," to catch our ride
to the airport and our early morning flight home. On board some
passengers were analyzing their experience ("Boy, the guys
who run those casinos are really smart" etc.) but for the most
part the plane ride out of Vegas is quieter than the plane ride
in.
Bing Bong Byeloozas byeloozas Comebacka Comebacka
Comebacka!
|
