Lessons in Lyrics
Jim Heath, also known as the Reverend Horton Heat, has thrown his hat in the ring as a writer of songs about Vegas.
His new tune, " 'Oh God!' Doesn't Work in Vegas," mocks people who pray in vain for God to help them at the gambling tables:
"They say, 'Oh God, I need a king, oh God I need a queen, please let me roll a 7.' Not a thing against you, but there's nothin' he will do, from his office up in heaven. ...
"'Oh God' doesn't work in Vegas. It doesn't work in Tahoe or Macau. ... Even if you win, it's probably a sin, and you'll pay a hefty price."
In real life, Heath, 50, may have prayed for help at blackjack tables and slot machines.
"I've probably said that, but believe it? No. I don't believe God will come down," he says and laughs.
"I believe in God. I believe he'll help you out if you genuinely have something to offer and you're willing to do your share."
Heath learned the hard way that the Almighty won't deliver casino miracles. Back in 1994 or so, when his band was making much less money than now, they played Tahoe, where he started doubling down on blackjack after every loss.
At first, he bet $5 and lost. Then he bet $10, figuring he'd win that $5 back. After that loss, he bet $30, then $60, and on and on.
He thought: "There's no way I can lose six or seven hands in a row."
"Well, wrong.
"I had the band fund money in my pocket, and I sat there and lost $600 or $800," he says. "I was out of money, and they were telling me, 'Sir, you better leave.' "
The next day, a band member asked Heath for money to pay rent.
"I said, 'Well, I've been meaning to tell you guys about something ...' "
That little episode led to Heath's writing and singing this next part of " 'Oh God' Doesn't Work in Vegas":
"I'm sittin' at the blackjack table, and each hand I double down, trying to win my money back, and I'm losin' every round. I say, 'Please God give me a 9, and turn this 12 into 21.' The dealer throws a 10, I'm busted again, put a fork in me I'm done."
After all that, Heath instituted a rule for his band:
"I'd go, 'OK, guys -- if anybody needs an advance, you better get it now, because once we're in Vegas, nobody's getting an advance.' "
Sure enough, band mates would still ask him in Vegas, 'Hey, can I get another $200 advance?' "
"I learned my lesson about gambling," he says.
Then again, he's lost less by gambling than betting the stock market.
"It's not near as big as I've lost in investments. Wall Street is as bad or worse!"
Contact Doug Elfman at delfman@reviewjournal.com. He blogs at reviewjournal.com/elfman.
Preview
Reverend Horton Heat
8 p.m. Tuesday
House of Blues at Mandalay Bay, 3950 Las Vegas Blvd. South
$23.50-$27.50 (632-7600)
Bonus Bits
Since Jim Heath is the Reverend, fans ask him to officiate weddings. He refuses.
"I've actually been in about 20 weddings. I've sung in weddings, been the ring bearer, best man, groomsman, candle lighter, usher -- and I never want to do weddings again!"
One young couple was insistent, asking him to marry them. He was firm.
"I told them: 'I'm thinking about changing the name of the band to Judge Horton Heat. If I do that, then I'll do your divorce.'
"They're like: 'Cynical old guy, we'll never get divorced!'
"I go, 'Statistically speaking ...' "
• Heath says America's groupie-sex scene is calmer than it was 20 or 30 years ago, suffering first because of a rise in STDs, then HIV, and then the dreaded Internet:
"Some girl would post everything she did with you on the Internet the next day or when she got mad at you six months or a year later!"
That's kept some rockers from sleeping with groupies, he says.
• He pulled songs out of his vault for the band's new album, "Laughin' and Cryin' with Reverend Horton Heat."
He wrote "Crazy Ex Boyfriend" and "River Ran Dry" in the mid-1980s, and he created the album's lead-off track "Drinkin' and Smokin' Cigarettes" in the late 1980s.
The reason he put those songs in the vault decades ago wasn't because he didn't like them. They just didn't fit albums back then.
For instance, "Crazy Ex Boyfriend" merely had the same beat as another song destined for an album he was working on at the time.
"You can't have two songs with the same beat on the same album," he says. "So it gets kicked to the curb, in this case for 20 years!"
-- By DOUG ELFMAN