Walking into the Palms on Friday night you could still see the marquee for DJ AM's appearance at the Rain nightclub that was scheduled for that night. In fact, his death in New York had been reported earlier in the day and at midnight, the time he would usually appear at Rain, a brief tribute was held for him.

The usually noisy nightclub was asked to go silent for a minute to remember him. A nightclub in Vegas is not the best way for a solemn tribute to be held and the occasional scream or drunken voice cut through the silence with disconcerting regularity. It was an uncomfortable fit, and one not helped by the fact that after the minute of attempted silence, the crowd was urged to party like rock stars. This was a strange if not tasteless way to urge on a crowd considering DJ AM's admitted long-term battle with drug addiction and the possible drug connections to his death.

Earlier in the evening at the Pearl theater at the Palms, a totally different group of fans in the same casino saw the band Steely Dan spend two hours entertaining a full house with their 1970s songs that for decades have slyly mocked the party-like-a-rock-star lifestyle and its attendant vices. Unlike DJ AM, who was 36,  the creative force of Steely Dan, Walter Becker and Donald Fagen, decades on in their careers, still live and still like no one else tell tales of excess to an excess. And, sadly the message remains as timely as ever. 

My friend George Lyons does a radio show on KUNV on Sunday nights that focuses on Dylan, avant-garde jazz and anything else he likes. It is my favorite radio show in Vegas. I don't talk to George that often but I am a regular listener to his show. 

Last night I was at the lounge at the center of the Palms having my mind blown by Santa Fe and the Fat City Horns. Actually, I was only there because of Clint Holmes. The Harrah's headliner had asked me to come personally and repeatedly. And while I have all the respect in the world for Holmes, the truth is that these are not the days of Louis Prima.

The lounge isn't exactly dead. For example, there is a small retro scene going at the Sahara's Casbar lounge. But mostly going to a lounge in Vegas now means having to listen to hacks knock out "My Sharona" with verve. I've seen countless versions of the song, and have put no thought into who does it best. (I also admit I arrived a bit jealous because photographer Sarah Gerke pointed out that this lounge act — unlike a certain blogger — has a Wikipedia entry.) But I left with their new CD/DVD in hand and will be back next Monday to see Santa Fe and the Fat City Horns at the Palms Lounge.

There are really only two ways to get started in Las Vegas. You can either try to create your best guess of what the town will buy or you can do what you love and then try to sell it. This can be infinitely frustrating because on many levels, Las Vegas tourists are not discriminating. Why should they be? The lounge is not meant for the musical connoisseur.

Nonetheless, there is a very sophisticated and musically discriminating scene here in Las Vegas if you are lucky enough to tap into it, locals. Las Vegas employs hundreds of professional musicians and, beyond that, especially in local's nightlife, you meet a lot of people with show business in their background. (Let's just say karaoke in Las Vegas can get ridiculously competitive.) It was on one such night, out on the town, checking out music, that Clint Holmes discovered Santa Fe.