Music

The concerts at Caesars Windsor casino are weird, awful and amazing

by Mark Teo

November 22, 2013

Here’s the thing about casinos—like Hank Williams III’s foray into rap, they’re always trying to be something they’re not. Sure, a casino’s marketing team might tell you, casinos are all about fun. But three types of people head to casinos: Discount-seekers who revel in the cheap food and booze, thrill-seekers who dabble tentatively in contraband, and addicts.

None go for fun. At least not exclusively.

Still, casinos have to maintain the illusion that they’re entertainment centres, and accordingly, most put a half-ass effort towards putting together musical programming. Caesars Windsor, the casino bordering Windsor, ON—known stateside as the place where underage Detroit residents go to drink—is no different. Indeed, their concerts make no sense: On one night, they’ll feature proto-Creed ’90s alt-trash. On another, they’ll feature a rising alt-country star. But then, they’ll revert to Christmas extravaganza hosted by washed-up Vegas stars.

Who books this stuff? We can only assume it’s this guy.

Here are a few of our favourite concert oddities from Caesar’s Windsor.

Collective Soul, featuring Ed Kowalczyk

Either secretly or ironically, most of us were stoked to see Smash Mouth and Sugar Ray perform on a cruise, because it was the concert equivalent of a frost-tipped nipple ring. And at least that’s fun. But who’d ever want to see Collective Soul and the dude from Live groan-duet over “The World I Know?” Time-travelling alt-rock youth pastors from 2006? People who write fanfic about angels? The guy who invented the bluetooth earpiece?

I alone declare:

Scotty McCreery

Scotty McCreery is a one-time winner of American Idol and, according to our one friend who listens to new country, a rising star in pop country. Why would he be performing in front of a crowd of drunken college kids, foreign businessmen, and slot-addicted grandmothers?

Donny and Marie’s Christmas

We know. Christmastime songs are annoying enough to make people renounce jazz, turkey, and peppermint candy. But when they’re performed by a musical duo who’s still best-remembered for a 30-year-old TV show—and who’ve managed to somehow linger around as pop-culture detritus, re-emerging to occasionally sing holiday specials—well, that’s a special ring of hell.

Styx

In 2013, it’s well-established that everything old will become hip again. It happened to obscure British post-punk. It happened to Giorgio Moroder. Heck, it even happened to elevator muzak. So Styx, don’t fret—you have like, a zillion top-40 singles waiting to be rediscovered. Styx, your time in the spot light will come again—we know it.

As it stands now, though, Styx are vinyl-bin discount section fodder. Who’s next, Caesar’s? Culture Club? Toronto the band?