illustration by Chris Sanchez

Is Mia Doi Todd better wrapped in scarves and knit socks or leopard print pants? She was a jungle cowgirl in these pants. Clothing is language and seeing her songs in denim spots and shiny animal face rather than the warm, soft cloak her music drapes around your ears, gave Todd a certain jungle cat ferocity—Playtime Mia if she were a Barbie. Surrounded by her friends, Becky Stark, Farmer Dave Scher, Jenny O, and Andres Renteria (percussion) and Hijikata Tatsumi (bass), and Michel Gondry—who watches, with a drink, smiling when he’s not corralling people to the stage or playing drums. By the end of night three, he’s drunker, wrangling his focus on the slit drums as the rhythm toyed with his pursuit. His nose makes him look curious all the time. Mia may have noticed his tipsiness, as she giggled watching him play. It’s Hallmark stuff. It’s best when someone like Mia Doi Todd is in love, as it fuels the nurturing instinct, and she pours her sweet stuff into songs of earth, morning bed touches, and world peace—her voice round as sunshine in a window turning from dark to light or light to dark—it’s sitting in the window staring at birds or the mailbox, very peaceful-like. The first time I heard Mia Doi Todd was at Tonalism, late on a cold, strange night, foggy with tea, after prolonged exposure to digital tones and wavering trees. Everything else had been about electronics, but Todd was there with bongos and a ukelele. Even in that strange setting, Big Sur mountainside at 1 am, she could take you out of your clothes for a dip in the “River Of Life.” A most epic song. Mia Doi Todd’s love song about world peace, and vice versa. All the rhymes with “ssion” at the end melt like oil to smooth on your soul ammunition, a call to arms for freedom (from oppression)…”Yes yes yes yes yes” whispered, mumbled, don’t know if she’s practicing mind control or meditating on justice, repeated until out of breath. It’s got a nice sound. She usually sings deep and low, as if speaking to whales, but tonight when she harmonized with Becky Stark, and two weeks ago when she sang in French—she filled her words with breath and scales, winding around notes on the path to a secret garden. About the guests: Becky Starks’ bangs reveal she’s whimsical but clever. She’s got lady power, swinging her gown, confident eyes. That’s what she gives off in her guitar songs. Jenny O harmonized with long shy bangs and raspy lisp softness. Farmer Dave Scher had the coolest instruments, a melodica, a lap guitar, and he held his microphone below his lips like a game show host. His music was casual yet epic, the way a surfer feels about the sea. He also evoked seals and seagulls, and The Police, David Byrne, and Beach Boys. He’s special, you can tell right away. And there was Aska. She plays how French pop feels and was backed by a dream team, Butchy Fuego (octopus, if we’re sticking to the sea theme) on drums and Corridor on bass and cello. Despite the rapture Mia Doi Todd and co. can inflict, the power of social wanking often clouds people’s better judgments. They pay money for a concert and spend the whole time trying to talk over the music. Someone’s got the music on loud, right? It’s not meant to hum in the background behind your cocktail party. So  a good old “Shut aaaaaaaahhhhp!” from Adanowsky can do it better than Mia Doi Todd trying to “shh, you guys…” She should have asked Adanowsky to stay near a mic for crowd control. The “Shut up!” command from this open-shirt-charm-popper seems to be something he enjoys when it comes from a sexy place, but not when the crowd sucks—when most are probably the bands’ friends. He didn’t twirl a lot at this show, but he did set up a makeshift cafe serenade using a rug as tablecloth and served wine to a lucky lady from the audience. Adanowsky’s appeared suddenly in all the cool places, demanding attention, and dancing, and sitting, and “quieeeeettt!,” speaking Spanish, French, English, and body language. I enjoy this kind of cocky entertainment, especially as it isn’t wearing a white jesus robe. Rather than starting a cult of the masses, Adanowsky seems like he’d happily take his conquests one on one, one night at a time. In the end, Mia Doi Todd’s residency was all about love, both in the bed and with the universe. —Daiana Feuer (words and photo)