People, I just want to tell you that if you aren't listening to The Mountain Goats RIGHT THIS INSTANT, then you are nuts, because there's nothing better.
As for me, I was lucky enough to attend a Performance of Special Magnificence Thursday night at a Silverlake nightclub, along with espresso slingin' Michelle, Tara, who I hope took way better pictures than I did, and Mr. RCJohnso, who offered up some engineering help for the time when I record my reverent cover of The Island Garden Song. Watch for that, people, because maybe, one day, it will happen.
Now, I say that it was a Performance of Special Magnificence, and I mean that in the gooiest way possible, and without a single shred of ironic detachment: a truly gorgeous performance of the kind of excellent work that fills your heart up with something it needed, just like it always is whenever I've had the gigantic pleasure of seeing John Darnielle play guitar and sing his songs. I wish I could write about him with as much astute wit and charm as he does about all manner of other musical acts; but the thing is, I'm enjoying the way The Mountain Goats show just leaves me smiling so hard my cheeks ache, with nothing much to say except that it made me so happy, and like always, reminds me what glorious creatures human beings are. That's without even mentioning the special genuis of warmer-uppers Radiation4, from DIAMOND BAR, California, who ROCKED ASS. Nice work, all around.
MAN was I lucky to see that. I recommend that ALL OF YOU get on the bandwagon, here. You won't be sorry.
I think I took this one with Mr. Johnso's cell phone after an evening of observing the wildlife at the rooftop bar of The Standard in downtown Los Angeles.
We sat on these horribly awkward poolside loungers discussing our romantic angst - or, to be more accurate, my romantic angst and his action-packed dating schedule - and watched this shirtless muscle-guy do the lambada with a girl in hotpants at the end of the line for the toilets. I had a couple of cosmopolitans, and I'll bet Mr. Johnso was drinking Jameson, like usual.
Just look at that impish charm! Sweet Jesus, I love that guy!
Oh boy, people. It's not often you get to meet someone you already love to pieces for the first time, but that's exactly what happened last night when Los Angeles was graced with an appearance by international super-genius Nathan Johnson, in town for one night only. When you combine something that delicious with a performance of special birthday magnificence from the absolutely freaking awesome Jon Brion at Largo, that ended with the audience belting out the entirity of Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody at Mr. Brion's request, I really can't think how it really gets much better than that.
(For any of my Los Angeles compatriots who haven't seen that shit, it's rocking with, as Mr. Brion put it, "holy hardness" every Friday night, and you are NUTS not to get right down there.)
The verdict on Nathan Johnson? Hott! These two scrumptious Johnsons together? Nuclear weapons grade hott!
This may be kind of a "you had to be there" thing, and I do admit that there were cocktails involved, but seriously, people: doesn't Chris look like a midget in pictures?
In other news, I voted for future President John Kerry today, since I will be in Prague on SUPER TUESDAY, and I just want to say that the moment of casting my ballot was brilliant. In fact, it was positively orgasmic. I never wanted it to end. I wanted to vote for John Kerry over and over and over again.