Columnist John Katsilometes: Retracing a Martin classic

Monday, April 16, 2001 | 8:22 a.m.

John Katsilometes is the Sun features editor. His column appears Mondays. Reach him at kats@lasvegassun.com or 259-2327.

Bellagio isn't the only place to enjoy Steve Martin's art in Las Vegas. A single piece -- a classic -- was tucked away in a bin at Borders Books Music & Cafe up on North Rainbow Boulevard last week.

Its title: "Let's Get Small."

Don't go looking for it. I bought the last one, at the laughably low cost of $10. Mere pittance for such a priceless work.

The CD finally replaces a 24-year-old album I bought when I was 11. At the time I was collecting all sorts of comedy albums. There was a lot out there, especially Richard Pryor and George Carlin, which I sneakily played at a barely audible volume level. I first listened to Carlin's infamous seven sinful words with my ear pressed into the sponge of a speaker.

I had a couple of Bill Cosby records -- not all that appealing because we got our fill of him every Saturday on "Fat Albert" -- as well as recordings by Robert Klein and Bob Newhart. But Martin had yet to distinguish himself as a top-level comedian; he was no different than Kelly Montieth or Bruce Baum or Gary Mule Deer. In fact, when I bought my original "Let's Get Small" album for $5, I errantly assumed it was a Steve Allen record. I was happily mistaken.

Seemingly out of nowhere, "Let's Get Small" propelled Martin to the superstar status he still commands. The gags and props that became Martin trademarks -- as recognizable as Groucho's moustache and cigar -- as were introduced on that record.

The cover photo is of Martin wearing his arrow-through-the- head, along with a hat made of balloons and, prophetically, a Groucho fake nose and moustache. Just moments into the recording, from a 1977 show at the Boarding House in San Francisco, Martin starts in on the banjo. It served as such an integral part of that show, even a crutch at times, but Martin hardly plays it anymore. Doesn't need the crutch, I guess.

Originally the selling points of the album were two Martin staples. The title routine played off the drug culture of the '70s -- "getting small" was the equivalent of getting high, and as Martin said, "It's very dangerous for kids, because they get really small." He recites his version of "I get no respect," with "Excuuuuuse me!," which, along with the banjo and arrow-through-the-head, is stored in Martin's intellectual attic.

Martin frequently mocks the cultural climate in San Francisco, particularly funny material considering his own eventual foray into fine art. Today Martin wouldn't be able to pull off jokes about visiting the Turd Museum ("I guess some of that crap is worth a lot of money") or being approached by a "bi" couple ("I studied a little Spanish in high school, but not enough to really be bi.") A man whose art collection merits national attention couldn't pretend to be that naive.

Among the bits on "Let's Get Small" is Martin's take on late-'70s Las Vegas. He jokes that it costs just $4 (unbelievably) to get into his San Francisco show and notes, "In Las Vegas it's $15 to get in. It's worth it because there's a million people onstage and everything's moving real fast and you can't understand a word they say but it doesn't matter and you sit there and go, 'Wow, look at the (breasts)! I'll bet there's 57 (breasts) up there!' "

Martin has since matured, as has the city harboring his famed art. But both are rooted in a wild-and-crazy past.