Las Vegas, NV
Another day, another hotel room, the fifth in ten days. I'm feeling pretty shattered again having now worked 13 days straight without a day off, but there's no rest for the wicked. Am up at seven and start the day speaking to Caroline in our travel agents who is hopeful that light is at the end of the tunnel. Even as we speak the news is coming in that British airspace should open soon.
I spend a fair bit of time trying to rearrange the Corinne Bailey Rae feature to take place in Montreal next week although God bless Canada but I can't think of anything I’d rather less do than fly there right now. A quick chat with Paul in Los Angeles and a text or two to Lois in Chicago checks that they're both fine. There's still massive disruption to flight schedules so we're held on as many return flights as possible to ensure we make it home. Jacqui and I have seats booked to return direct from LA on both Thursday and Friday with a contingency flight for Sunday that travels LA-Philadelphia-Madrid with a train, ferry, car or plane from there to the UK. As a last resort I also manage to get us booked on a flight departing May 1st.
By the time all that's sorted I meet Jacqui for breakfast in the Rainforest Cafe downstairs. The clanging of the slot machines and the artificial lighting are harsh so early in the day, but even harsher is the sight of people who've yet to go to bed (or who have got up early) tempted by the lure of the big win, sat clasping a drink and dragging on a cigarette, some with their credit cards inserted directly into the gambling bandits, draining their life savings with every press of the button or yank of the lever.
Mobility scooters ferry the largest, wheezing addicts between their vices, while others just blankly stare forwards hypnotised by the repetition of the bet. We have breakfast and return to our rooms. I’ve now run out of clean clothes so a bit of hand-washing ensues before returning to the laptop which is frustratingly slow. It’s 5.45pm before I call it a day having been juggling a million things across pretty much every artist I work, in amongst trying to set up new press opportunities. We’ve all emailed each other updates as the day has progressed and not only does it seem more and more likely that we’ll be going home on Thursday but news has come through that we will be going to see Cher perform at Caesar’s Palace tonight!
Jacqui knocks on the door and by the time we get down to the lobby the sky is overcast. It's been a beautiful day all day, blazing sunshine outside my ninth floor window, but the three of us have just been sat inside, slaves to the machine. Apparently a storm has been lashing Los Angeles all day and is now heading for Vegas. It’s still warm outside but the wind is starting to pick up and the palm trees are swaying strongly in the breeze.
Sure enough, the tickets for Cher have been left at the box office by the US publicist for Caesar’s Palace. It’s a hefty blag as they’re priced at $175 meaning we’ve just wangled over $500 worth of free tickets. With signs everywhere saying all cameras and recording devices are banned, Jacqui and I resort to stuffing them into our underwear and as the evening progresses I sneak surreptitious snaps of the stage. The theatre is a pretty large auditorium, seating somewhere in the region of 3,000 people and is where Celine Dion and Elton John have done major residencies. Cher’s been here playing three or four shows a week since 2008. Kristy, the PR, finds us in our seats to say hi and tell us to enjoy the show. Oh, we will...
Like a proper diva, she’s pretty late to take to the stage. We’re under precise instructions that the performance starts at 7.30 but by 7.45 there’s still no sign. As Duff says, "she'll make us wait til 8 o'clock and then she's going to turn back time." Boom boom. Then he puts his head in his hands and says "I'm a heavy metal fan. I can't believe I'm at a Cher gig." Suddenly the screens on stage burst to life and a film takes us through a potted visual history of the five decades of Cher’s career.
From the heavens she descends on a glowing chariot, belting out U2’s 'I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For’, for no discernible reason, but it’s a damn good entrance nonetheless. And from there on in, it’s a whirl of big budget showstoppers with bizarre interludes for costume changes peppered within. A couple of Broadway-style Al Capone numbers are followed by a blast from the ‘60s. Monochrome stage sets and footage of Sonny & Cher accompany ‘The Beat Goes On’, followed by a psychedelic outfit for ‘All I Really Wanna Do’.
A Romany caravan and dancers appear for a ridiculously entertaining ‘Gypsies, Tramps And Thieves’ which soon becomes a red Indian segment complete with headdress. While Cher dons another outfit her dancers break into ‘Disco Inferno’ and ‘YMCA’ – it’s like something out of Pineapple Dance Studios.
Turquoise feathers, dry ice, a boat that glides across the stage with Cher in full flow, clips from the Sonny & Cher show; what more could you want from this camp spectacular?
Oh, of course! ‘If I Could Turn Back Time’ sung in a full body stocking and leather jacket which isn’t bad for a woman eligible for a free bus pass. We’ve had ‘Love Hurts’ and ‘Walking In Memphis’, we’ve been treated to clips of Cher’s formidable film career, there’s only one thing that can be left now and sure enough, down she comes again from the rafters, this time on a big silver hula hoop to blast out ‘Believe’ in its full vocoder glory. We end with glitter falling from the sky, as you do. Quite literally; amazing!
Duff’s face is a picture. He’s never seen anything like it and is transfixed. We applaud with due sincerity having had one of the most entertaining 90 minutes in quite some time. Who knew being exiled on the other side of the world could be such fun!? To round off the wonders of Cher we hotfoot it, along with the entire rest of the audience, into the Cher merchandising shop right outside the theatre and load up on CDs, mugs, blingtastic fridge magnets and more. Duff will never be the same.
By now it’s 10pm and so we wander through the Forum Shops, marvelling at the Roman theme. Unsurprisingly given the sudden extension of our stay, we need to do a bit of shopping, getting new underwear and t-shirts. Until we’re on that plane home, none of us is convinced we’re not stuck here for the long haul. And then, having grabbed some food, we take a cab back down the Strip. The temperature has dropped and the wind is blowing hard. Apparently the forecast is for heavy rain tomorrow. I'm sure there's an umbrella in my bag somewhere.
