By Tyson Evans

Tue, Oct 31, 2006 (7:26 a.m.)

Las Vegas needs a music festival in much the same way it needs a replica of the Eiffel Tower or a glass pyramid. Nevertheless, we have Vegoose, which just completed its second year.

But unlike the architectural imitations, this copycat music festival may eclipse the original - and that's good news for all involved.

Vegoose's forefather, the Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival in Indio, Calif., just turned seven. And on paper, it beats its Sin City brethren: more stages (six to four), more performances (96 to 38), more tickets sold (roughly 120,000 to 60,000) and most importantly, more credibility (it was host to the Pixies reunion and has attracted reluctant acts such as Massive Attack, Tool and Nine Inch Nails).

Vegas can overcome issues of scale and aggressiveness. Coachella - in Indio, in April - will always be plagued by unbearable heat, too few hotel rooms and an apparent unwillingness to match Las Vegas' laissez-faire take on morality.

Because at the intersection of Las Vegas, Halloween costumes and great music is an unparalleled nexus of escapism. Vegoose is exactly the breed of absurd revelry this city should embrace.

Case in point - a few of the scenes from last weekend:

Jesus on a cell phone, lost in the crowd and searching for friends, while Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers riff on stage. An overweight Elvis in flip-flops, jamming to Galactic.

On-site mock weddings where cross-dressing couples kneeled below a facade of a chapel, listening to a winded Janet Jackson impersonator finish a medley of hits.

At one wedding, a guest rose to request a song - unfortunately it was "Proud Mary."

"Did you think I was Tina Turner this whole time, hon?" the singer said, mildly offended. "Even with this Janet Jackson wig? Don't worry, you'll get some 'rolling on the river' later."

As the ceremony continued on the faux-altar, the faux-Rastafarian told the faux-groom, "Kiss your wife, mon. More tongue, mon, more tongue." Meanwhile, in the back row, a celebratory joint was lit.

And all of this nestled between a sun-washed mountain range and endless tract housing.

It's Woodstock meets Levittown, just 15 minutes off the Strip.

Coachella's biggest downfall, other than the 100-plus-degree temperatures, is that it's rather unfestive for a festival. Attendees are treated like children with pat-downs before entry, corralled into tiny fenced-off beer gardens that create an inhumane distance between alcohol and music, and forced to spend time in Indio - a town not otherwise known for its entertainment.

If Vegoose can maintain its communal vibe and jocular atmosphere, and add a few more quality performers to the mix, there's no reason it can't become the country's de facto festival.

It's already stocked with more beer (five varieties, plus cocktails), more plasma TVs (at the immaculately conceived sports-bar tent) and more playfulness than its California counterpart.

Plus, there were plenty of musical highlights for such a young festival:

The Killers rocked, just four miles down Boulder Highway from Sam's Town for which their latest album was titled. The Yard Dogs' vaudeville spectacle was apropos. Fiona Apple's tour-ending show was spectacular.

And a surprise hit, judging by the crowd: Jenny Lewis, the oft-overlooked local who fronts indie rock band Rilo Kiley, performed solidly.

"We were all born somewhere," Lewis told the crowd, sitting behind a keyboard and sipping a beer. "I happened to be born here in Las Vegas in a hospital named after the sun."

Sure, it could use more restrooms - the woman dressed as a Girl Scout waiting 20 minutes for a portable toilet did not seem pleased.

More space wouldn't hurt, either, considering how often sound spilled over from nearby shows - an issue that some performers even noted.

"Man, I can't think with all that ... bass from the other stage," said Ben Folds, stopping midsong. "It makes me nervous."

But, at least Vegoose's nervous energy has potential.