I found myself talking like Andrew Dice Clay (“Crass Course”) this week. A lot. There’s something infectious about him that you can’t deny. Hate him if you want (and plenty have), but the Brooklyn bad boy has carved out a niche that’s as indisputable as he is controversial. He’s opened a rapport with his fans—he’s active on Twitter and talks to them during his show (especially if you’re blonde and happen to be sitting in the front row), and they often talk back, too, reciting his signature “poems” in his now-common set-closing barrage of adult nursery rhymes that would make Mother Goose blush.
But you can see why he’s been such a lightning rod all these years. In person, he’s an intimidating presence. Not overwhelmingly tall, and not as hefty as you’d like to believe, he’s got swagger, and when he shoots that look—you know the one—you better have a good explanation. “Let me handle things,” he told the crowd on opening night at the Riviera, as hoots and catcalls rained down as he lit the first in a steady line of cigarettes. It’s a word to the wise when dealing with Dice: just let him handle things. He’ll take you where you need to go.
If Dice has a successor in Las Vegas, it might be the Gazillionaire, emcee of Absinthe (“Spirit of the Times”) at Caesars Palace and a rabble rouser in his own right. Like Dice, Gaz plays the audience for laughs, mining themes of race and sexual orientation to verbally assault the unsuspecting patrons. It’s something that would have been unthinkable 20 years ago at the height of Dicemania, but these days, it’s par for the course. Audiences want to be stars just as much as the performers, and any brush with spontaneous notoriety comes with certain undeniable cachet. Without Gaz and his equally inappropriate sidekick Penny, Absinthe wouldn’t be nearly as shocking, and none of it would be possible without a guy like Dice paving the way.
So maybe Dice should move closer to the top of your Vegas wish list. Admit it, you always wanted to let loose one of his trademark ohhs, no?
