In my way to the Tropicana, this was the first thing I heard (“is Johnny Mathis still alive?”) from the woman right beside me in the shuttle van from the airport to the hotel, in Las Vegas.
The little-close-to-nothing-that-I-know-and-saw in Las Vegas is a city of dead alive.
At the Tropicana, built in 1956, when Vegas looked just like the Warren Beatty film “Bugsy”*, decadence is all over. Bear in mind this hotel is far from being in the list of the most degrading hotels. Immense stages with some poor miserable gloomy lonely artists singing night and day long. A band of 50-yeard oldies dressing lousy old outfits and disgusting make-up, dancing and jumping up and down in a hopeless effort to look the athletic youngsters of the past. Horror!
