I've spent most of today, among irregularly surfacing bouts of work, thinking of a graceful way to introduce a post about my weekend. I'm a little skittish about blogging, you see. I like the words to sound good, and, like, stuff. So here I sit, in a dry patch between workish activities — mind you, I've got things I could be doing, but I don't feel like doing them — and the proper introductory sounds came and whispered themselves into my ear. I've got a cup of tea (my kidneys are already quailing at the prospect of more caffeine) and I'm ready to say my piece.

I had a fine weekend. I awoke Saturday to a vague feeling of unease, and wondered what I was forgetting to remember. Of course! The KCRW concert! My two tickets (one for me, one for an as-yet-undetermined guest) had been purchased and waiting since September. It's actually kind of a miracle I remembered at all. The concert was supposed to be in November, see, but then Chris Martin (who would have been performing unaccompanied) asked the station to postpone the show until March, with the promise that all of Coldplay would be there. He had unfinished album business.

So I called the Lorax, but I couldn't get in touch with her, so I called Lil Bro and asked if he wanted to see "Robots." He said the Lorax had just asked him the same question on IM, and was on her way. So I jumped in my car and flew up to Culver City to intercept them. Lil Bro remembered too late that the Lorax had said she had other things to do in L.A., and would not be by until later. So we hung out for a while. The Lorax finally showed up and I shanghied her off to the Universal Amphitheatre, where I had two seats waaaaay up high and to the left of the stage waiting for us.

The show was great, which was what I expected, really. Coldplay blew everyone away, which was what we all expected, I'm sure. I had no idea Chris Martin was so personable and buoyant while he sings. He skipped and twirled all over the stage, and clearly knew how to handle a crowd of thousands, all singing along. They played "Yellow" as the last encore, and it was amazing. Everyone was standing, and Chris demanded the crew turn up the theater lights, and we all sang along, bathed in yellow light from the stage. Yee ha. I must must must see them do a whole show next time.

Anyway, that is not the point of my story. As the Lorax and I entered the building, we saw the merchandise booth, and there were shirts that said "Aqualung." Aqualung? He hee! The crazy band names kids come up with these days. But here's the thing: Aqualung is a British dude who plays piano and sings, and he's brilliant. I mean, really. You know how it is when you hear a great song for the first time, that feeling that's part flying and part falling in love? It was like that. Astounding. Watching him play was like watching something deeply personal, the way he leans so near the mic with sleepy, half-lidded eyes. And then they'd run out of CDs by the time I made it down to the merch booth. Stupid merch booth.

BUT

Monday morning, still kind of dreamy and wistful for the weekend of awesome, I turned on my radio and there was Aqualung! They (piano dude Matt and his equally hot brother Ben) were doing a live set on Morning Becomes Eclectic. Sweet. And then Nic Harcourt, in that mellow British way of his, mentioned that they'd be playing another show at the Hotel Cafe that night before heading to Austin for SXSW. And I thought: Ooh.

Then, in a totally un-Meggish move, I went out. Yes, folks, I was actually moved to go somewhere I'd never been before, on a weeknight, in the dark, by myself. Well, I invited Jason G. along, and he met me there, but I drove there alone. The Hotel Cafe is neither a hotel nor a cafe. It's kind of a coffeshop/bar in an alley, actually. It is long and narrow, like a hallway with a stage at one end. There are no windows. Anyway we were early (Aqualung was on at 9) but there was a line out the door, and we waited for about fifteen minutes with a growing sense of unease. Word along the line was that the record label had a list of 80-odd people, and the place was packed. The doorman said not to hope, but we hung on. We'd been talking to a very hip girl named Tracy (with fancy turquoise-striped hair that matched her jacket exactly), who said that she'd been there an hour and a half early for the show in January but never got in. The line gradually shrank as people gave up and left, and then the opening tinkling of "Tongue-Tied" (streaming link) started and I was sad.

But then! Then the door guy must have taken pity on us fools out there in the cold (there were very few of us by then) and said "Okay, fifteen in." So we got in! I couldn't see a thing over people's heads, but I could hear, and that was the important part. We folded ourselves against the wall of the very, very narrow spot we were in, and had beers and listened to the wonderful, beautiful, soaring music. Jason seemed impressed, which gratified me. We then wandered a bit and had late-night pizza and dissed Green Day, but that is a story for another time.

I had an adventure, and it was awesome. I should be wild more often — clearly all I need is inspiration.