The pitch raised with the volume until it reached its apex then hovered there like a massive hummingbird in the horn of a flower. We added our voices to it, though no matter how loud we got we would never hear ourselves. From our vantage point, about ten rows back, we could not see her when she stepped on stage, but we knew she was there. Then, suddenly the light of a thousand electric candles reflected off her gold outfit and electrified her ten inch glittered heels. She stood there, iconic, all a’sparkle. As the roar of the crowd diminished, her voice rose up through it, like yin and yang changed places and created chi.
The spectacle was stunning, larger than life, but it was sweetly counterbalanced by the warmth of her personality. Celine Dion. Barbie doll thin, with liquid platinum hair floating down her back; she looked every bit the part of a woman who could command a sell-out audience of 4000 night after night; a single common-born human being for whom a whole incredible colosseum had been built. Thirty musicians backed her, all dressed in formal black, three back-up singers, two gigantic screens on either side to give close-ups, a grand piano, two glass enclosed drum and percussion chambers and the whole stage lined with additional screens just for effect. My puny human brain tried to figure out how much something like this must cost, and how much was made on an average sell-out night at hundreds of dollars a pop. All the while, she spun her voice up and around and back down the vocal scales.
Besides admiring her voice and her style, I was curious about a concert on this scale. So, when the burden of six full decades of earth life fell unapologetically at my feet last year, tickets to Celine’s Las Vegas show were at the top of my list. Dave accommodated, but just before we left to travel the seven hours south to Vegas, Celine fell ill and they cancelled her shows. Now, one year later, she is back on stage for one last hurrah before she retires the show in June, and so we found ourselves ten rows back, seated comfortably in our red velvet seats, clapping and whistling with four thousand other fans.
When part of one’s self-definition includes an occasional presence on stage, with a microphone, singing songs -- it’s inevitable that the little compare-devil will make an appearance. Though, seriously, who could in all honesty compare themselves to Celine Dion? Funny thing is, though, her easy manner, and her charming French accent brought her bouncing down toward us from the stratosphere and it sort of felt like we could meet each other for lunch tomorrow afternoon, though I would no doubt always be trying to pull my tummy in as I sipped Perrier when what I really wanted was a coke Slurpee and my favorite stretch cotton yoga pants. Still, it’s pretty stunning that she could emit that feeling of comfort and graciousness while sparkling like she did.
When the show ended, and we were all sufficiently exhausted just from watching, we shuffled over to a late dinner at Giada, then back through the maze of walkways to the dancing water show at the front of the Bellagio. The room Dave had arranged for us was spectacular. Our own private terrace overlooked the fountains. I laid there all through the night on a thick downy mattress, our door open to the warm Las Vegas night, and watched the famous strip of worldliness sparkle and shine; the Ferris wheel, which as far as we could tell never actually turned, and the throbbing lights on the imitation Eiffel Tower, behind the rainbow splashed globe just this side of the giant banner of Donny and Marie. Las Vegas strip is the perfect place to squint your eyes; the color and the light and the vibrant sparkle. But it is not, I might add, the place to look very closely. Not the place to pick up flyers on street corners, or even glance in the direction of neon advertisements. It reeks of liquor and cigarette smoke and chimes and grinds with slot machines and money changers. It is aptly named Sin City. I find it a little funny to have come here for the express purpose of witnessing a human use their most divine God-given gift-of-a-voice in the heart of Sin City. The most basal and the most heavenly – they both sure do know how to sparkle.
