MADE OF GOLD AND SILK AND ARABIAN THREAD

I'm getting quite excited, as after work I'm to head off to see The Decemberists play at the Henry Fonda. I believe that the last time I was this "stoked" to see a show was when I saw The Arcade Fire, which was of course ruined by the preposterously unenthusiastic Los Angeles crowd. At times, it's hard to tell if you're in the country's second largest city, watching a rock and roll band, or whether you're in a classroom in Boise, Idaho watching the county spelling bee.

Pssst. Los Angeles. Yeah, you. Come here. Hey, music is fun. Really, it is. Watch me - you ready? See, I'm dancing. Try it. Go ahead. Good job! Really, it's all about having a good time. It's ok, seriously. No one will judge. Actually, scratch that. Everyone will judge. But - and here's the thing - it doesn't matter. Just take a look around. See, they're all penisfaces, just like you! Isn't that comforting? That guy next to you wants to direct music videos, the girl in front of you wants to be an actress, and you want to be a graphic designer. See! Penisfaces all around!! Now that we've got that cleared up, all is sexcellent and the rocking can proceed. Balls - watch yourself! I don't want you skittering off, now, hear! Yeeeaaaoowwwhwhaahaaa!!

I've got to say, I'm really impressed with this new album. It's - and I know this is getting close to parody, but it's true - what I've always hoped a Decemberists album would be. There are no songs (or 3 or 4) that I skip over, and this morning driving into work I almost cried as I listened to From My Own True Love (Lost at Sea). They write great lyrics, and great songs, and the lead singer has a great voice, but most importantly, they write about things like churches and the sea and concentration camps and architects and other things I find interesting.

You come from parents wanton
A childhood rough and rotten
I come from wealth and beauty
Untouched by work or duty

I found you, a tattooed tramp
A dirty daugher from the labour camp
I laid you down on the grass of a clearing
You wept but your soul was willing