Rain Dogs brings the gravel-voiced world of Tom Waits to the small stage at Piazza Lounge, the kind of room where a band and its audience are close enough to share the same ashtray smoke, metaphorically speaking, since this one's nonsmoking. Expect a set built around the clattering percussion, barroom piano, and growled storytelling that define Waits' catalog, filtered through a tribute act that leans into the junkyard-orchestra feel of the original records rather than polishing it up for a bigger room.

The lounge itself sits right off the entrance of the Tuscany, a low-key spot with cheap drinks and barstool seating close enough to the performers that you can watch fingers work the keys and hear the brush of a snare without a sound system doing much heavy lifting. It's the kind of casual, no-cover setup that still defines a certain strain of Vegas nightlife, where you wander in off the casino floor for one drink and end up staying for the whole set because the band is better than the room has any right to expect.