I think I saw Jesus last week. Okay, that might be a slight exaggeration, but I did see the most radical new band I’ve seen play live since Mumford & Sons, and let’s just say, they blew my Sputnik sized cranium wide open.

If there were a musical equivalent to the combination of a gentle, yet firm hug from your BFF, a hot and heavy (over the clothes, cause you’ve decided to have standards in 2012) make out session with Jordan Catalano in the back of his Mustang, AND experiencing the Aha! moment when you finally understand that everything really WILL be alright…well, then said magical incarnation, in my humble opinion, would be: The Lumineers.

Forget about the fact that I first discovered their infectious single, Ho Hey, while watching an episode of one of my, ahem, many secret TV shames (the CW’s Hart of Dixie). And don’t even bother asking about my other “indiscretions.” After all, it’s taboo to discuss one’s “number,” so let’s not get caught up with details and just get on with our lives. Mmmkay?

Let’s talk folk rock! My Peruvian homeboy, Mitch, and I hit up the Hotel Cafe in Hollywood, which is a totally underrated venue. It’s got a great, unpretentious vibe and even sold out it wasn’t uncomfortably crowded. The Lumineers are a Denver trio of proper musicians (we were treated to a melodic menagerie of guitars, cello, mandolin, piano, and even a multi-colored xylophone, just to name a few), and it’s beyond refreshing to witness a REAL performance in a world overrun by pre-recorded vocals and Auto-Tune.

The kicker was their one song encore, which they performed acoustically, after hopping off stage and into the motherflippin’ crowd. Mitch and I bum rushed the center of the room like a pair of proper tune nerds, and were treated to an electric explosion of sound three feet away from us.

Total geek out: achieved.

It’s 11:39pm on a Saturday, I’m stone cold sober and after cleaning up the DVR for a solid 6 hours, I’ve migrated to Netflix Instant for a little Prom. As in the 2011 highly underrated Disney teen vehicle starring Julie from Friday Night Lights and some enchanting dark-haired hottie trying to pull off a dark and moody Heath Ledger (spoiler alert: he succeeds). And do you know what? I’m not even the least bit ashamed of myself, because this has been one of the best nights I’ve had in ages. No crowded bars, no depleting my checking account because 96% of the time I have to buy my own drinks in this messed up town, and no requirement to be anything other than a lazy bum perfecting an impressive butt dent on the couch while inhaling Popeyes.

I don’t even give a flying monkey turd that my own Senior Prom was severely marred by the fact that my date (a platonic man friend I’d known since 6th grade who only went with me in the first place to try and win his ex-girlfriend back) ditched me half way through via the guise that he was going outside to smoke a cigarette. Classy with a “K,” folks. I simply don’t care because saccharine sweet teen flicks where anything is possible at the end of approximately 90 minutes is what makes this country great. A stupidly optimistic hope that an organized celebration in a smelly gym will wipe your emotional/romantic/college rejection “rap sheet” clean with a healthy mix of chiffon, spiked punch, and if there is a God, a choreographed dance number…[please hold, there’s a dressing room montage that requires my full attention]. 

[Aaand, we’re back]

As I was saying, it didn’t matter when I was 16, socially awkward and hopelessly pining over…pretty much anyone who laughed at my jokes/gave me the time of day, and it certainly doesn’t matter now that I’m on the verge of 30, predominantly less awkward (at least I hope) and hopelessly pining over…yep, still pretty much anyone who laughs at my jokes/gives me the time of day. I will always believe in magic. Especially the kind that happens under a rotating disco ball while two crazy kids realize their-yet to be destroyed by the outside world-love for each other while a Band of Horses song plays them out.