Fuck shit damn fuck. Last night was such a ridiculous experience. I saw Spritualized play in San Diego. Acoustic. 4 strings, 3 gals, and a couple of god damned gentleman. It was beautiful. Like shockingly beautiful and perfect. I usually can't watch a show for more than 35 minutes, but this one had me completely engaged for all 90 plus. When they played "Ladies And Gentlemen We Are Floating In Space", I literally got chills. And when I stood outside for a cigarette, I actually felt high (I wasn't).
I wish there was video to document it. I just can't find the right words for it. I'm not a big reviewer type cat.
Now that all the respect was offered to our dear Jason Pierce, let's talk about the tools. Douche bags like Spritualized? I was really surprised. Who the fuck yells and grunts after a beautifully quiet and delicate love song? This guy standing in front of me was like all arms stretched out and screaming like he was at a System Of A Down gig. Fucking guy. Oh, and when he wasn't doing that he was man handling his girlfriends butt cheek. You know what I mean? Like the "this is my property" type butt squish? Knead the butt like dough so all the suitors go away. Ok how about the pecker that yelled out "Jeepster!". Uhhh, news flash fuck face that's not Marc Bolan and this is not T.Rex. The man who sang Jeepster is dead, buried and gone. Fuckface.
But I'm thankful for these memories actually because a car ride has never been filled with more laughter than the one leaving that show.