Coming off the high of Macca’s show at MGM Grand—what can I say—just another 33-song epic tour through pop’s greatest songbook—he fucking opened with “Magical Mystery Tour”—I’ll just say that much—I figured a “W” was already in the night’s win column, so why not gamble on a quick jaunt over to The Cosmopolitan and catch Young The Giant’s second set at the Book & Stage bar. Maybe get an idea of what Morrissey sees in this O.C. 5-piece that so moved him to post a rare encomium over on his online mouthpiece. Also, I’ll maybe get to the bottom of this distressing trend of bands with names configured as [blank] the [blank]. Foster The People. Portugal. The Man. And… uh… Damn. Thought I had more. Moving on. Hell, it was either this or McLovin’s birthday party at Gallery.

»continue reading Young the Giant at the Book & Stage in The Cosmopolitan Las Vegas

Walking north on the east side of Las Vegas Blvd, it was a bit surreal to happen upon the newish Las Vegas outpost of Pink’s Hot Dogs. Something like a funhouse mirror of our own local institution, Pink’s LV is basically a door on the front facade of Planet Hollywood. However, there is a nice sized self-seating area, right on the boulevard, welcome on this stretch of busy street.

There is a line to place your order, but it is short, moves fast and–crucially–does not run parallel to the food preparation itself, as it does here on La Brea, denying you that anticipatory glimpse for personal reckoning prior to ordering. How many of our orders have been altered at the last minute (for the better or for the worse) as we peer through the glass as the workers slap that together an order for those ahead of us on that final stretch to the cashier.

»continue reading Los Angeles in Las Vegas: Pink’s Hot Dogs