Engelbert Humperdinck At The Orleans: Croon On!

It seems that everyone plays Las Vegas. From comics of every vintage to cutting edge music to singers who have been around for a year or two. Some of the latter come in as legacy (the polite way to indicate “oldies”) acts; others are still taking steps to evolve as musicians, trying new things.

Planted firmly in the former group is Engelbert Humperdinck.

In town for one of his several-times-a-year four-day runs at the Orleans Hotel and Casino, Enge (as his fans call him) is all classic crooner. Cuando, Cuando, Cuando — one of his hits — was about as uptempo as he gets. But, with ballads, the guy is a master.

He’s here in Las Vegas for a four-day run but had to cancel his Thursday night show due to illness. On Friday, when I saw him, the crooner’s voice was not up to par. He noted he was having some troubles as he “wasn’t feeling well.”

Ill or not, his fans were there to adore him. Even the elderly man behind us sang every single word to every single song. Loudly. (Don’t you just love that?) With a six-piece band  and two female backup singers under the leadership of musical director and pianist Alex Navarro, Engelbert did his thing as he’s done it for the 41 years since his biggest hit — and show finale — Release Me made him a household name.

I last saw him in the early 1980s and, while the pitch black hair is gone, replaced with an oddly blondish mane, his act is essentially the same. There are the sexual comments (no innuendo, he just says things like “Humpy’s dickie got in the way” when he tried to do a particular move a lá Elvis) and he still brings a woman from the audience up onstage to, apparently, serve as a fantasy-becomes-reality surrogate for his fans in the audience. He sat the woman on a chair and, at one point, straddled her.

With barely a trace of his British accent, he said he’d been “home in Beverly Hills seeing old friends with new faces,” told an old joke about “a Jewish couple named Hymie and Becky” and desecrated Heartbreak Hotel. Actually, no one except Elvis himself, should attempt that song, even in tribute to the King. It is really never good, as the original is always recalled when anyone else sings it and the newer version inevitably suffers.

But if the point is the music, Engelbert was fine. He gave the audience 90 minutes of smooth crooning, covering all his hits and some nice-to-hear chestnuts (Smile, Love Is A Many-Splendored Thing).

The audience for the 73 year-old performer skewed older than any I’ve ever seen, but there’s nothing wrong with that. Engelbert Humperdinck is the last remaining singer who just gets up and croons the old ballads. It’s something worth seeing because it will likely never be seen again.