"I'm not a diva, I've just got standards"

as we all know, Patrick Wolf is one of the most brilliant musicians of this day and age; hailing from southern london, this 25 year old musical genius captured my heart the first time i listened to him, but it wasn't until yesterday that i FINALLY got the chance to see him. i had been waiting, literally years to experience his live show, but of course, every time he was in new york, it wasn't all ages. thankfully, last night approached with open arms to minors.

we got there before 6, and the line was still ridiculous. everyone was decked out in glitter and sequins like there was no tomorrow, it was blinding, and not entirely necessary. it's not like pwolf is going to be your best friend just because you want to dress like him.

anyways, i was most definitely not prepared for the first three bands. i had never really given any of them a listen, so i was not completely aware that they would all be absolutely horrendous. the first band, (johnny whitney of the blood brothers' new band) jaguar love were the most tragic thing ever. the laptop beats left me short of amazed, and the incessant shrieking over the beats was just terrible. johnny whitney has most definitely gone off the deep end with his music career, aside from looking like he had been thrown up on by a 12 year old scenester.

moving on, the next band, plasticines. holy lord, they were bad too. just a bunch of scantily clad, french bitches with no musical talent, trying to act like we gave a shit about their dumb songs (which all sounded the same). i had such a headache after them.

with little hope for the next band, living things, four men, dressed in all black entered the stage. i could already tell by the weird high waisted pants and the bad haircuts that they were bad news. low and behold! they were bad as well! they were just a bunch of 30-something year old creeps trying to be cool and hip. no thank you.

by about 9:45 or so, it was finally time for patrick wolf. i was so antsy by this point, and my head was just pounding from the previous acts, oh and from being annoyed by the assholes next to me with the stick-on feather eyelashes, plastic birds tied to their heads, and glitter rubbed all over their arms and faces. clearly their lives had no validity.
patrick came out and the room exploded. he was dressed in an epic leather cape with fantastic feather-like paneling on the front.




the cape came off shortly after to reveal a satin jacket over a one piece grey, black and white and zip-up suit that looked like the british flag.











of course, it was too hot to keep that jacket on, so he took it off and unzipped his one-piece suit half way to show off his fantastic necklaces and glitter covered torso.
patrick wasn't very talkative, but when he did speak, it seemed like he was blowing out all of his anger. he lashed out on both the sound guy and some girl in the audience and exclaimed that he's not a diva, he's just got standards. you go, patrick! he's fierce, he's blunt, but goddamn, he's charming.
he basically played every song i could've asked for and more, plus a new song that he recorded in paris for the encore.
the crowd went especially insane for "tristan," "hard times," and "the magic position," but that was to be expected.
when he played "battle" though, oh my goodness. it was a rampage against all injustices. it was fantastic.
he played for over two hours. two blissful hours that i wish could've lasted longer.
patrick wolf is an undeniably fantastic human being.











yeah, the mic is down his pants:














so now i'm home, sore. i haven't danced that hard in quite a long time.
this is most definitely a candidate for top ten shows of the year.

til next time patrick wolf.