ON THE SCENE: Where’s All the Hot Fuss?

The Killers used to complain about their lack of local support, and it was tough to tell if conditions have changed much at last Wednesday's "secret" MySpace performance Downtown at Celebrity.

Sure, several dozen folks showed up before dinner time, hoping to breach the prestigious—and better yet, free—10:30 p.m. club show announced to most of the world—media, band friends and family and well-connected scenesters aside—just that day. But those early arrivals lined up in an orderly fashion behind a long barricade along Third Street, and when fans who'd collected guaranteed-entry wristbands at a Tower Records giveaway began appearing, they too organized neatly, stretching down Ogden Street away from the venue.

Not that anyone expected a re-enactment of A Hard Day's Night, throngs of young women mashing their faces against Celebrity's front glass doors, yearning to toss panties at Brandon Flowers or lob marriage proposals at Dave Keuning. The atmosphere of total civility seemed quite unbefitting for a quartet of sudden rock stars, however, particularly a foursome with international demi-godery squarely in their sights.

Do you suppose Seattleites calmly sipped coffee outside the Off-Ramp when Pearl Jam dropped in on the eve of its Vs. tour? Or that Minnesotans chatted about the weather as Prince prepared to play First Avenue at the height of Purple Rain mania? Hell, no. Rock lore tells us they yelped and hollered and pushed and shoved as if their very lives depended on seeing that act play that show on that night.

Should a Killers homecoming warrant such lofty comparisons? Considering triple-platinum debut Hot Fuss easily rates as the biggest album ever to come out of Las Vegas, and that the follow-up, Sam's Town (out October 3), stands a solid chance of debuting at No. 1 on the Billboard 200 (despite sharing its release date with new discs by evanescence and Beck), yeah, it pretty much does. Toss in the fact that this show marked the debut of the bulk of new material, and Wednesday's (virtual) ticket should have ranked among the most coveted in the history of local band-dom.

Depending on whom you ask, somewhere between 30 and a couple hundred hopefuls ultimately got shut out, going home with a grumble but hardly threatening to riot. Inside Celebrity, it sure seemed as though organizers could have accommodated dozens more, with large patches of carpet sitting empty even after The Killers took the stage shortly before 11. "My house parties are more crowded than this," one surprised attendee remarked.

The less-than-full sensation could partly be attributed to the setup for the 18-and-over event, which corralled the two-thirds or so consuming alcohol into about one-third of Celebrity's standing area. Regardless of how packed the room felt, the reported crowd of about 500 certainly should have raised more of a ruckus throughout the hour-long set, treating Flowers, Keuning, Mark Stoermer and Ronnie Vannucci more like royalty and less like the typical visiting buzz band that earns vociferous cheers early before the audience flags three songs in.

Props to George Maloof—whose Palms hotel hosted the Sam's Town recording sessions—for sensing the import of the event, working his way to the front and bouncing with friends while singing the lyrics to "All These Things That I've Done," one of six Hot Fuss cuts performed on the night. expectedly, those familiar numbers brought the loudest reactions, though diehard fans near the stage seemed most interested in new tunes: shimmering single "When You Were Young," power ballad "My List" and "Bling," a guitar-driven rocker with an anthemic end refrain ("Higher and higher, we're gonna take it/Down to the wire, we're gonna make it/Out of the fire, higher and higher").

If the four musicians were discouraged by the crowd's malaise, they didn't show it, particularly the Fu Manchu-moustached Vannucci, who seemed to beat harder on his skins every time a group of buddies near the stage shouted his name. A makeup-free Flowers eschewed the robotic dance moves of his past, though his range of motion was limited by a modestly sized stage hedged off, oddly enough, by glowing Christmas lights. And if you weren't looking for him, it was easy to miss new touring multi-instrumentalist Ted Sablay altogether, with the member of local Irish rock outfit Darby O'Gill and the Little People mostly draped in shadows near the back.

Exiting Celebrity around midnight, everyone received a numbered, limited-edition Killers poster, along with a $5 coupon for secret show sponsor Chili's. "Awesome!" one concert-goer shouted to another, one of the night's most jarring displays of enthusiasm. "Think Chili's is open this late?"

Midnight in the ruins of the record industry

On Monday there were only a handful of people at Zia Records on eastern as the clock pushed toward midnight—the time at which the store would begin selling the week's new releases. I wandered, spending egregiously (Tumbleweed Connection, The Best of Sly and Robbie in Dub and, oh cool, a reissue of Sebadoh 3), wondering why Las Vegans were not eager to be among the first to purchase the new Bob Dylan disc, Modern Times. The greatest songwriter to ever live is now well into his sixties, this is his first disc in five years, and if you check the media and the reviews, all the oracles agree, the release of Modern Times is a legitimate occasion, like a new Thomas Pynchon novel. (Rolling Stone: five stars.) Would Las Vegas represent for that? Probably not.

Apparently not even old hippies feel the need to turn out at midnight to hear the latest pronouncements from the onetime Voice of a Generation.

But one of the clerks was excited. She modeled a Bob Dylan T-shirt that comes free with the purchase of Modern Times: It shows a Columbia Records label with the name "Bob Dylan" rounding the disc. Neither of us was alive when Dylan recorded his first album for Columbia Records, in 1962. He still records for Columbia. And each night when he goes onstage, a canned voice proclaims: "Columbia Recording artist Bob Dylan." I've heard that tape introducing him twice at the Aladdin and once at the Hard Rock. At each concert, Dylan filled the room with people who were not now at Zia. So maybe this has less to do with Dylan's appeal than the industry he works in: even the hippies download now.

There was no Zia in Las Vegas when the last Dylan disc came out. Yet, while Zia may be new, as a retail record store it is old-style, like Dylan, going against the tide of the times. Back in the day, the release of a new Dylan disc was exciting because it meant the first chance to hear Dylan's latest songs. But I, and every other fanboy, already know the songs on Modern Times.

This is recent. I had to be one of the first people in Las Vegas to hear Love and Theft, Dylan's last disc. I was slipped a promotional copy in August 2001, though the official release was not until September 11. Back then, that meant something. Now there is no music that can be hidden from the public until the moment a label decides to release it. especially Dylan's. He was the literal start of the bootleg-record industry, and in that sense, interest in Dylan has not dimmed for Modern Times. The songs (and outtakes not on it) have been available on the illegal download exchanges for weeks. Internet radio also offered free and legal premieres in the days leading up to the release. And, of course, there are legal downloads, which allow a release to be purchased without going into a store at all.

Still, the clerks are very strict about not selling any new release even a moment before midnight. The walls of the music industry may have been breached, but the guard still changes and marches in front of its ruins with all pomp and circumstance. That is fine. I was at Zia for the ceremony of a record release, for the cutout display and for the Bob Dylan T-shirt.

"Who is here for Bob Dylan?"

"Ugh," said one tattooed guy.

"Not me," said another.

Those two, and a handful of others, were at Zia for the new Hatebreed album. I was the lone person waiting for Modern Times. No one was there for the Paris Hilton disc. For a town that never sleeps, this can be a sleepy town.