one night only! The Fifth Dimension now appearing in the fourth dimension

Next to the almighty dollar, implosion has a lot of sway on the Las Vegas Strip. Virtually all of the vintage hotels and casinos have been blown to smithereens; their usefulness deemed over & done, the dynamite dispensed in an all-in kind of way. Vegas moves on to the next shiny-new concept, doomed to become dated, and the implosion countdown-clock starts ticking. Along with these vanished buildings goes their unique legacy. Kitschy, quaint and sometimes swanky landmarks are literally dispatched to the dustbin of history. With eerie sentimentality, some of the original splendid neon signs are saved as curiosities. The signs, flashing on and off, portray a majestic disconnect like a big game trophy- a mounted, disembodied electronic head. The rule of the Las Vegas jungle: Once a property or person or thing ceases to make money, it is o-v-e-r.

For a place that is perpetually reinventing its image like a brick-and-mortar celebrity, Las Vegas features a steady influx of bygone talent. In fact, the marquees and billboards read like obituaries. But wait, these performers aren’t dead. Google tells me so. Believe me, my most oft-repeated phrase is: “Isn’t _________________ dead?!”. (Insert the name of a forgotten entertainer). Recently, Jerry Lee Lewis played here (presumably he was alive). His first hit was in 1957. If I were a wiseguy I’d have bet the bankroll Lewis was dead. This might just be my gambling niche: The Six-Feet Over/Under Bet. The Dead Celebrity Book. All bets aside, the parade of possibly dead performers marches on.

My suspicion is that Las Vegas may be a time machine. The powers that be simply reverse the linear progression of time, hire deceased performers from the past and proceed to fill the seats. Booking moneymaking talent can’t be hindered by a little detail like mortality. Deadliners as headliners. Cash is king, the dimensions of time are just a thing, and the show must go on.