Mogwai. At Bimbo's. Yes.

Beautiful, amazing, inspirational show.

And this was before the pot cookie kicked in.

Disclaimer: Last year, while rummaging around in my desk, I found a long-forgotten 1/8 of marijuana. It was very old and dried up. Just for kicks I decided to go ahead and make some pot butter. Then I made some chocolate chip cookies. I did not expect them to be strong or even at all effective. Au contraire, I learned after licking the batter from the bowl. Since I rarely have the time or energy to spend a whole day under the influence, I just wrapped the dough up in some Saran and threw it in the freezer. Then whenever I know that I'm going to a show that might benefit from some pleasant stonededness (!), I'll bake one up -- that's all you need. Generally, if I smoke pot in a party setting or when hanging out, I, nowadays, just get sleepy and paranoid. I have found that Diet Coke and one pot cookie, though, are the ideal formula for that open, receptive frame of mind that makes live music such an integral part of being alive.

The band starts out all minimal and low-fi, then the underlayers creep up from behind and blast your head off in enormous crashing waves of sound. Just tremendous. It literally blew through me like a fierce wind. I could not stand still. The crowd was mostly boys -- tall boys, so I didn't see much. But everyone was so siked to be there -- polite and reverential -- my irritation factor stayed in the low zone. Not the typical SF show. Mogwai answered my prayers and played the song Summer, which is the one that is all emancipatory and shit. Like seriously flying. (I can have my sentimental side.) Not to worry, they brought it back down with some heavy low rumbling and just kept the whole thing moving along. The encore was truly astonishing -- whispery tinkling prettiness all of a sudden exploded into huge blistering head-banging heavy metal. I could have stayed at that show all night.

One complaint: not long enough. They probably got on stage at 9:15 and we were walking out of there at 10:45 or so. And despite the loud clamoring for more and more, the lights went up after the first encore.

The lead guitarist has a cute little potbelly and a Scottish brogue so thick you could carpet your bedroom with it. But not my bedroom. I believe in hardwood flooring.