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Nice night in Vegas-ville. Night started with a Rufus Wainwright concert at the Beacon. I will write my brief review here as I can't figure out how to write a review under the "Review" tab on this otherwise glorious site. (Note: Mr. Miller: A $5 payment is due for that shameless piece of nyc.com shillery/pluggery.) Anyhow, Rufus was in fine form, although his voice was a bit less rich and full than usual (a fact upon which he commented a few times saying “I hope it’s ok that my voice is a little imperfect tonight. I sort of like it. I’m so unused to being imperfect.”) He seemed to attribute his descent into vocal mortality to a month spent lounging on the beach. Maybe he stripped his throat shouting "ooo-la-la!!" at all those hot young cabana boys. Highlights included two Leonard Cohen covers (“Chelsea Hotel” and the gorgeous “Hallelujah”) and some strange cross-dressing Jesus on the Cross theatrical number whose name I did not know and whose lyrics I couldn’t understand. One noteworthy item: In a savvy act of performative narcissism, the sensitive thinking man’s diva (and fag hag heartthrob) surrounded himself with 2 female back up singers whose voices and looks compared unfavorably with his own.
As for the rendition of "Hallelujah" that he performed with his female lessers: Quite beautiful but, for my money, not quite as transcendent as the John Cale or Jeff Buckley
versions.
I returned from the Rufus show to the equally glorious if somewhat more masculine spectacle of NBA hoops on TNT. Like the sparrows to Capistrano, comes the Vegas annually and faithfully to the inaugural broadcast of the new NBA season. And, of course to pretty much every NBA broadcast to follow. A rite, a ritual, a cursed addiction. (Granted: I don't think there were any binocular-sporting Vegas watchers camped out on my window sill for the annual sighting but, truth be told, I forgot to look). In any event, the beautiful melodic offerings of Mr, Wainwright' were quickly upstaged in the theater of my consciousness by the beautiful hoopic offerings of Mr, Stevie Nash, as the diminuitive Canadian playmaker and reigning MVP carved up the Dallas (so-called) Defense for 16 first half points and a half dozen -often spectacular-assists. (For the hoop challenged: Mr. Nash is also the only member of the NBA to be either romantically linked to Elizabeth Hurley or spotted reading a book by Che Guevara.) And then little Stevie's sublime hoopic offerings gave way to Kenny Smith and Charles's Barkely's glorious analytic offerings..as the former observed that the injury to Amare Stoudamire puts the pressure on Nash to justify his status as an MVP and Barkely ragged repeatedly (and with obvious relish) on the Dallas Defense. Oh, Stevie, Shawn, Dirk, Kenny, Charles...What a rich and abundant universe!!!! Strange to see Reggie Miller out there with Ernie and Kenny and Charles. Based on last night's broadcast, he appears to have no more clear or major a role on that team than he did with the Pacers last year. But I'm sure his famous jaw will soon loosen up and he'll start flapping his gums with the rest of them. Or he'll do something else he's famous for: Flop.
As for the game. Dallas actually ends up defying Barkely's dismissive prognostications of perpetual porousness and playing exceptional D in the fourth quarter--sparked by a hyped-up Daryl Armstrong hounding Nash and refusing to let him run people off on his beloved high screen and rolls. Behind the unconscious 3 point shooting of Nowitzky, they send the game into one OT, then another. For once, Nash's late game magic fails him (as he uncharacteristically misses his last 5 shots) and Dirk and Co. exorcise the demon's of last year's playoff humiliation at the hands of Phoenix with a thrilling double OT victory. The game ends at 2:10 a.m. eastern time. I try desperately to stay awake to hear the blessed post game commentary -- But I awaken in the morning, realizing I have failed.
NET NET: I am reminded that the TNT guys are just about the only professional sports commentators worth watching. Informed, smart controversial. Never the dumb jock corporate yes men vapidities of a Fran Healy. Never the pompous thick tongued inanities of a Bill Walton. Just good, smart exchanges beween guys who know what they're talking about. You'd think that wouldn't be such a rarity.
Also realize that Dallas could be tough if they continue to buy into Avery Johnson's Defense first team philosophy.
Also realize that if I expect to be taken seriously as a basketbal pundit, I should probably wash this glitter and mascara off from the Rufus concert.
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Posted on 11/2/2005
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