It was answer time baby, and as me and my sweetheart cruised past billboards plugging upcoming appearances by Johnny Mathis, Connie Francis, the Wild West revue, Wahoo Baby!, Bill Cosby, Regis and Kathie Lee and a behemoth of structural propaganda hyping The Sands' Epic Buffet ("10,000 feet of culinary delights!"), I was confident that the Steve and Eydie conundrum would soon be solved.
Emerging from the parking garage escalator to the casino and ballroom level of Trump Castle, we were immediately overwhelmed by a fusillade of stimulation for sight and smell. From ceiling to floor, multi-hued neon signs, spit-shined mirrors, effulgent brass accents and thousands of minute, dancing pin bulbs informed us that the grail of thrills we sought had been discovered. The motif was about as subtle as a phone call from Alanis Morissette to a recently married ex-boyfriend.
We drifted into an intoxicating cumulus of disparate scents, including thick, slow motion wafts of cigarette smoke, perfume, roasting meats and liquor. This ambrosia performed delicate pirouettes in our nasal passages, inviting us to contravene all taboos the outside world rebukes. Adherents of healthy living or sanctimonious mindthink would be hard-pressed to break a smile in this luscious lair of life-shortening, politically incorrect behavior. I couldn't imagine a more appropriate venue in which to experience Steve and Eydie's dazzling musical oeuvre.
The curtain rose at 8:00 PM, exactly as scheduled. Dick Capri, star of the 1991 hit "Catskills on Broadway," opened the evening with an irresistable mix of matrimonial mockery, sexual satire, gambling gags and racial revelry ("I see there are some Japanese people in the audience tonight. Hello! Welcome to your country!"). Suddenly, the house lights dimmed, the timpani rolled and the orchestra kicked in with a quick fanfare to introduce the headliners. Spotlights onto stage right -- here come Steve and Eydie!
Now, at the point in the evening, I could have kicked up my scuffed, unlaced, black Converse high tops and settled in to amuse myself with sarcastic barbs and caustic put-downs of Steve and Eydie's show. Yeah, I could have gone on and on and on, chuckling cynically as I cleverly out-assholed myself with each new barb.
I could have, but I didn't. Because Steve and Eydie's performance was okay. In fact, it was a helluva lot of fun.
In all candor, I was seriously expecting a rote shmaltzfest of slick Bill Murray-esque crooning. But from standards (As Time Goes By), to ballads (You Go To My Head) to show tunes (Luck Be A Lady Tonight), the compositions that Steve and Eydie performed represented the work of the twentieth century's foremost songwriters, including George Gershwin, Cole Porter and Frank Loesser. The pair's renditions of these classics of American popular music were faithful, sincere and respectful.
Eydie's performance of her Grammy-winning ode to female insecurity, "If He Walked Into My Life Today," demonstrated a surprising forte for torch song drama (the original mid-Sixties recording is a lip-synching standard for boozy, bee-hived, boa and sequin-adorned transvestites in drag bars from coast to coast). Her exquisite phrasing, tender sensitivity and appropriately meted belting ability were better showcased in her ballad work than in the more shamelessly Caucasian duets sung with Steve.
Steve looked as if he thoroughly and utterly loved being up there and couldn't wait to launch into the next tune. His infectious charisma, enthusiasm and vocal stamina were highlighted in his executions of the self-motivating guy anthem, "I Gotta Be Me" and the swaggeringly ebullient "The Good Life."
