On a net listserve to which I subscribe (have for years), one of the other members, who generally tend to obtain to fairly decent taste, recently wrote the following somewhat shocking paen to Wayne Newton (he of the permanently frozen forehead):
:>> I have always liked him. He's an excellent performer
Chacun a son gout, I suppose. About 15 years ago I went to see Newton perform "live" in Las Vegas basically to find out if he was as charisma-less in person as he appeared to be on TV. He turned out to be all that and then some. Plus, his "look how versatile I am" schtick wore thin very quickly. Even his tribute to Noel Coward. . .. (Just checking, to see if you're paying attention.)
I was crammed in with a table full of approximately sixteen others. All of whom were good ole proles. Since I can feign egalitarianism with the best of 'em, I chatted them up a bit. I was somewhat surprised to discover that not a single one of them had actually ever even heard or seen Newton before. It was simply that he had so successfully branded himself, that for all of these fine folk, the idea of visiting Vegas without "'a goin' to see the Wayner" was pert nigh (see, I told you I can blend in) unthinkable. Sorta like the canine territorial act of peeing on a tree.