The context in and from which she appeared created a mesmerizing world, the sound was clear and spectacular. In addition to the harp, red roses growing up the microphone, a flat floral fabric set, and bulbs in birdcages giving small light to the purple black turquoise stage of intense contrast, she was relaxed like a Victorian pole…

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Miike Music is poppy cradling, a tad dark and then light again, distinct anthems of politics and warm hearts.The band should keep growing, gaining speed, but it’s like when the family owned cupcake shop down the street starts to get real popular, with lines out the door, gets mentioned on Jimmy Kimmel, and you don’t want the cupcakes to lack any yumminess due to all the hype and less time spent on the actual ingredients.

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Saint Motel was a fun gig. Their music feels fresh, like poppy seed indie rock and roll with a tenderness towards celery and cucumbers. And then some hot soup. And then a strange hand formed caffeinated cracker that you eat without remembering to chew.

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By eleven the place was packed with an interesting mix of fancy feminine (heels, short dresses, big earrings, small shirts), hippy trippys (dreadlocks, woven yarn hats, embroidered purses), and people in black, all swarming, dancing, prancing, making eye-contact contact, and then, not so much. I forgot my Molly and colorful lit fingertip gloves but there were enough people with both of these items that the crowd didn’t feel the lack.

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When he sang “On The Road Again” I was transported back to my childhood, singing that with my family in a wood paneled station wagon I’m not sure we ever actually had. Some of the show made the crowd want to dance around in hay, and some of it made us want to get frisky between dusty wool blankets. The Willie Nelson (and family) performance was a whiskey sippin tumble weed moonshine magical good ole time.

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She was pointing at us to sing and we sang. “Linger,” “Ode to My Family,” “Ridiculous Thoughts,” “Salvation,” “Free to Decide,” “ZOMBIE,” “Dreams.” All the classics transported the crowd back into our high school bedrooms, our empowered angst. I sang along my until my stomach was tense and my throat was raw, knowing way more lyrics than I remember knowing, and it seemed as if everybody else was in similar suit of sounding just like the Irish rockstar, of channeling her beauty, of being her fans, her sea, and, ultimately, her choir.

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We people packed together and watched the white masked members of Miike Snow take the stage. The attempt to haunt/confuse with anonymity was a touch a drop a sprinkle of abre su ojos meets Phantom of the Opera—until, after two deceivingly sparkly and infectious piano-pop electro indie hits, “Animal” being one of them (the one most of us sang along to), they revealed, resulting in a thunder rumble cheer. We liked their faces, and their matching fit shiny zip up jackets.

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Willy Porter, alone on stage for a few numbers, discussed with the audience everything from guzzling beers with Paul Simon and his enjoyment of naked women, to cleaning the gutters of a very tall house. It was as if we were all sitting and listening at the local bar, over sizey sips of brown liquor. He talked and sang of the profane, the mundane, and his fingers moved so fast on his strings, building a truly impressive layered illusion of multiple people performing.

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Eclectic tutued and tattooed teens, people in sparkly bikinis, tails, whisker painted faces, and 12-inch sole, stilt-esque boots swarmed the Hollywood Palladium to see Deadmau5 perform. In the first two hours, while the crowd thickened and peeled off their fabric layers, the Palladium was the site for a dance party, simply put, a “Rave,” reminiscent of the late ninetees. People with latex glove glowing fingertips bounced around and moved their hands in front of other mesmerized people who were sitting legs crossed in the middle of the oval dance floor. Out in the hall near one of the four bars, I heard a female security guard ask an off balanced male propped against the wall why he was sucking on a pacifier. He responded, “I’m rolling. Get with the fucking times, lady.”

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