The worst came first. Recycled Saturday Night Live clips of the Boss, greasy burgers and greasier fries (ah, yes, dinner theater!) and, most disturbing, actors playing characters "Sonny and Rosie"—yelling out in accents that owe less to Jersey than to Piscopo—who are celebrating their 25th anniversary in a small nightclub. The house band, of course, being Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band. This is the conceit, anyway, of Bruce in the USA, a new tribute show at the Aladdin.
As a true fan of the one and only Bruce Springsteen, you already understand that the situation is hopelessly compromised. You ask: Is a dream a lie if it don't come true? Or is it something worse? But, for the sake of the music, you are really committed to tabling the absurdities of seeing the Boss imitated. Yet it isn't easy, especially after you walk past the lifeguard chair (in da club? Oh, yeah, greetings, dude, you're in Asbury Park, Vegas). As the lights dim and the band takes the stage, you grit your teeth and focus on the reasons to believe that Springsteen's songs alone are enough to bring integrity and beauty into even the cheesiest room.
Then two simple yet hopelessly familiar sentences are sung out. "The screen door slams. Mary's dress waves." Matt Ryan as Springsteen has the vocal inflections down pat and, though at times a bit sterile and clinical, this band of Vegas pros sure knows how to replicate Springsteen's arrangements. Ryan really does look like Springsteen, and it helps that he doesn't take himself too seriously. I especially like his Springsteen-esque story about how he arrived at his destiny to imitate the Boss, which sounds re-written from a '70s Springsteen bootleg.
The rest of the band members have at most a talisman of the E Street band member they're imitating: a head scarf on the guitarist to replicate Steve Van Zandt's. On the bonus side, the imitation Mrs. Bruce is way hotter than the real thing and is just as good at adding that very essential E Street element: the tambourine. I don't really care about how the band looks, though I decide to help the magic a bit by not wearing my glasses.
It probably says something that the people in the room who seem to enjoy the show the most were the diehard Springsteen fans, like the guy who could sing along with every word in the Shark vs. Jet tale of "Jungleland." Oh, wait—that's me. Anyway, what matters here is that with songs like "Jungleland" and "10th Avenue Freezeout" in the mix, Ryan doesn't just offer obvious hits, even if this still is Vegas and there's no escaping "Hungry Heart" and "Dancing in the Dark."
At around 70 minutes, Bruce in the USA doesn't even pretend to offer the epic grandeur of the E Street band's sprawling and famously eclectic adventures through the Springsteen catalogue. More troubling is that Matt Ryan's Springsteen is all classic rock with no jagged edges. He promises Springsteen's charm, music and geniality without ever beseeching fans to give to charity or chastising them about politics or challenging anyone by playing that new song about the police brutality thing. There is no greatness here, just fun. But if you are a fan, hey, even a fake Springsteen has more authenticity than the real Celine Dion.
Plays November 26-December 1 at 5 p.m., and Tuesdays and Wednesdays at 5 p.m. thereafter. Tickets are $22-$59.