My Globe and Mail colleague, Carl Wilson has a fascinating piece on Celine Dion and Las Vegas.
If there is a laboratory demonstration of the antagonism between economic and cultural capital, it is Las Vegas, a city of such pure commercialism that money is its entertainment, interrupted occasionally by a show. Nowhere else is it so palpable that art can be simply the green kid stepping in to give a brief break to the main greenback attraction. Alcohol and sex, too, are reduced to lubricants for or aftereffects of finance. In this non-stop carnival of social inversion, only money is purely beautiful, in Immanuel Kant's sense of being an end in itself. Vegas's fabled love of the ersatz, like its mini Eiffel Tower, is money giddily blaspheming culture's sacred icons.
It's just a taste of what's in his new book, Let's Talk About Love: A Journey to the End of Taste.