Inside The Gossy Room at Caesars Palace, I couldn’t help but notice that while Matt Goss wore a wristwatch on his left hand, his left wrist was bare. My thinking is that someone who generates such
high levels of energy and exertion would want to record every calorie and footstep on a wearable fitness tracker. It’s what people do.
But then again, what real use are such electronic devices to Goss when the only information that truly matters is the engagement level of his audience after the lights dim and the performance begins? He can easily measure audience engagement through direct observation with the naked eye.
As can I. To say the audience wasn’t engaged and stimulated during this two-and-a-half hour performance in the intimate Gossy Room, is to overlook how capably and confidently he draws-in his audience. They reward him with signs of their appreciation: standing ovations, cheek kissing, handshakes, a woman extending her French red-soled heels toward him, and at least one a man-hug. And then, at the conclusion of the show around midnight, a heap of dedicated fans queueing-up to lavish more appreciation upon him.
I myself am particularly taken by his spontaneous, witty, and poetic conversations with the audience while milling about the room. At one point he playfully grabs a cell phone from someone unexpectedly caught text messaging, then reciting the real or imaged message before returning the device to the owner. He later hijacks a man’s wife for an on-stage dance while Goss’s sexy dancers distract the man with burlesque hijinks. Goss walked the entire room – golden mic in hand – to shake hands with as many audience members as he can comfortable reach. The entertainer orders drinks for an entire table then counts himself in on the rounds demonstrating that he can work a room and darn well sip Grand Marnier if he pleases.
But all of this says nothing about his music. From the stage he mentions he’s sold five million records and has toured the globe. He sings his hits including “When Will I Be Famous” and other thoughtful compositions and Sinatra standards. The mood is excitable. The audience appreciates the chicness of the well-attired Goss with his perfect fitting fedora, is captivated by the way he owns the stage, delights in his musical interpretations, and easily succumbs to his soft skills that bring them into the mood he creates. I start fantasizing about 1960s Las Vegas cool, specifically the Copa Room at the storied Sands where the Rat Pack held court.
And then, shortly after ditching the suit coat and cufflinks, he slings a Fender Telecaster around his back. He can play electric guitar too? This is when the Great American Songbook is closes and a more modern jam session begins. The bass and lead guitarists from his band move forward and kick-it up with Goss. They even step into the audience. At one point, we hear a remarkable rendition of “Hotel California.” Later, the horns join-in, singularly and together, filling the room with brass sound. Goss plays and sings, sweats, gyrates, spins around like a gunslinger, and continues to demonstrate his consummate capabilities. His tattooed forearms balance the Telecaster. The audience sings along, applauds. Another sip of Grand Marnier from his snifter handed to him from the front table. The Goss dancers appear – this time with showgirl headsets and boas – flaunting their sensuality as Goss works the fretboard. He isn’t wearing a fitness tracker, so it’s anyone’s guess as to just how many calories he’s burning during his two-and-a-half hour marathon. To most it doesn’t really matter.
As things draw to a close, the Englishman from London mentions he comes from rather humble beginnings, and that the four most important words to him are, “Please. Thank you. good morning, and good night.”
“Wow,” I think to myself. “Those words are important to me too,” as I contemplate the unexpected offering from Goss. I then glance at my Fitbit, noticing that I burned plenty of my own calories just watching him perform.