I needed a band.
Not just any band, but a country-western band. And I didn’t know shit about country music. Didn’t know where to go. Didn’t know where to turn.
Just three days removed from the start of the 2003 National Finals Rodeo and 85,000 cowboys trucking into town, the transformation of Binion’s Horseshoe was nearly complete. Slot machines and gaming tables had been wheeled out. A dance floor the size of a full-length basketball court was in place. A brightly-lit elevated stage had been especially constructed for the occasion and made the Horseshoe suddenly appear as inviting as any real nightclub in the city with live music. Sixty-two cocktail tables were positioned around the dance floor’s perimeter. Candles were even found in the warehouse and were placed upon the tabletops, so smokers could light up easily (this was before many casinos instituted non-smoking policies). Giant metal tubs were set up about to be stacked with ice-cold longnecks. We smoked enough bar-be-cue to feed half of Las Vegas. The party was about to begin.
Only, we needed a band.Read More