Excerpt from 'Dusty Carr - eveything new is old again', April 15, 2000, The Las Vegas Sun, with Tony Carson, staff writer.

T.C.: Dusty, how would you characterize your music?

D.C.: My music is… is a celebration of life... and death. Something like that.

T.C.: Today, everyone is talking about the 'new Vegas', the Disney Vegas, fun for the family. I assume you prefer the old Vegas

D.C.: Do you know what happened on December 26, 1946?

T.C.: No.

D.C.: Duh… Do you know your own name? Give your head a shake junior. Every American with half a brain should know that date. Jesus H. Christ, that was the day the Flamingo Hotel opened! That marked the beginning of the greatest city on earth, Las Vegas, Nevada. People think it was Bugsy Siegel who started it all, but it wasn't. Vegas really began in 1941 when the El Rancho opened, but I can tell from the expression on your flat face that you don't give a crap about this - because you're young and naïve and your notion of history begins somewhere with Vietnam. Basically, you're a moron.

T.C.: Did you know Bugsy Siegel?

D.C.: No, I was too young. But I met his woman, Virginia Hill, once or twice in the mid-50s… Virginia - a real gangster that would rip the hair out of these so-called bad girls like Madonna and Cheryl Crow.

T.C.: Why does the old Vegas appeal to you?

D.C.: The same reasons that it appeals to any man with normal testicles - it was full of beautiful women and cars and casinos and food and booze. Those are the core essentials of life, and I'm not goddam kidding… You didn't have to think all of the time. You didn't have to worry about offending someone all of the time. Nobody told where you couldn't smoke for christ's sake. It was like a huge, lovely locker room where they'd let in the girls only after the game was over. Today, Vegas sickens me. I've got nothing against kids, but when I see them wander by my roulette table picking their noses, I get this queasy feeling in my gut. They're like midget cops… And today, Americans are so fat it is truly revolting. And they roll around the casino floor like shrieking, wounded pigs. And nobody knows how to dress anymore. Can you imagine Frank Sinatra in a Speedo? Look, Vegas is totally air-conditioned. You don't have to pack your lard ass into crotch-gripping shorts! Try wearing a suit or a tux. And ladies, pants were made for men; they fit men, they look good on men. So stop trying to join the YMCA and start trying to be feminine, beautiful women! Is that so goddam difficult?

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