Saturday, 4 April 2009

Jason Mraz, I'm All Yours

*Tried Twitter out, but found it to be not my thing. I am most uninteresting. Also just got an email saying the 2 disc special edition Twilight DVD has been dispatched. There goes my life.*

Last night we saw Jason Mraz and he was most excellent. He had this horn section who looked like they had stepped straight out of the Latin Kings. Most gangsta. They did these choreographed moves which were pretty sweet - and it was probably the only show I have ever been to which featured a trombone solo. Phina wore her Mraz hat, which she complained a lot about, but ultimately loved. She just didn't express that love in words.

His bassist had the look of an albino about him and was skanking along nicely. His drummer had one of the most disturbing chin beards I have ever seen. And he had a guy playing the bongos who had sunglasses on inside, which led Chan to think that he was blind. He wasn't blind.

Mr Mraz himself looked a bit emaciated - probably thanks to his raw food only hippy-avocado-farmer diet. I didn't take an avocado to throw at him as I planned, because I can't afford to be arrested this week (or for the next 6-9 month probationary period). He had grown a goatee which was fairly unattractive and was wearing a v-neck tshirt - never a good look on a man in my, highly fashionable, opinion. He also, during an extended acoustic guitar solo freak out which, if I am being totally honest, was a bit yawnsome, exhibited some fairly sleazy winking techniques at various audience members. But he had a hat on!

But his voice. Oh, his voice.

As the above picture shows, the moons of Saturn had to align for me to be able to see anything. Despicable Couple Behaviour to the left. And an Absolute Penis stood directly in front of me. He was about a foot taller than everyone around him. He did not move once during the entire show. No clapping, no singing along - not even a head nod. What is the point of paying £20 to see a show and then go and not get involved? Dick.

If I were in charge if such things, and let's face it, I should be, there would be a height apartheid system going on. All the short people, like my good self, down the front. The freaks at the back. They'll still be able to see.

My case is not really helped by the fact that pretty much everyone, ever, is taller than me.

We exited past the traditional vomiting teenager [she types pretending that she wasn't once that vomiting teenager] and then went home and ate some cake.

A most excellent end to the evening.

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