Beck + Goldfrapp = Aural Awesomeness

Last Saturday and Sunday, Miguelito and I feasted on live tunes at two sold-out shows: Beck and Goldfrapp. Beck epitomized the local boy done good. Miguelito recalled the afternoon many years ago when he caught an impromptu acoustic performance by the crooning Angeleno near the Silverlake Dog Park. On Saturday, Beck had his homecoming as the main attraction at the Hollywood Bowl. Under the stars, with a cool breeze licking our brows, Miguelito and I spread our mushroom and sausage calzone and Three Bandits' gourmet wine in a box on a ledge in front of our seats. We sipped on our cocktails while listening to the first opening act, MGMT.

I was quite disappointed with MGMT's subdued look and vibe. They sported Ts and jeans, resembling jaded indie rockers (i.e., The Strokes), not much like the glam divas that they really are. Where was the tie-dye caftan that Andrew VanWyngarden had worn to entertain Mischa Barton, Adrian Grenier, Nicole Richie, Jena Malone and Nicky Hilton at Billabong's bash in June? MGMT's 30-minute set at the Bowl was fuzzy and apathetic.

The catchy performance by Spoon redeemed MGMT's laziness. Miguelito and his buddy Stan couldn't pinpoint where they had seen Spoon's frontman before. Did he resemble a young Richie Cunningham or a young Gary Busey? I couldn't figure out whether he actually had bedhead or convinced his stylist to use $50 worth of product to muss up his locks.

Stan, Xenia and Miguelito eagerly waited for Beck to step on the stage.

There is the halycon cherub himself. Look how long his hair is. I couldn't quite analyze his outfit. He paired a mint green T-shirt with an olive scarf and a black-and-white plaid shirt under a black blazer. Is this a hint of the direction that his fashion designer wife Marissa Ribisi is taking her fashion line Whitley Kros?

Beck and his four-member band jumped non-stop from hit to hit. After their phase with indie rock, they put down their instruments to slip headsets on. Then they geeked out with the electronic doodads. As they reminded the audience in a soothing monotone, "The beat is correct."

We were offered more treats with the arrival of the Los Angeles Philharmonic's string orchestra and a colorful light show glowing within the ribbed frame of the Hollywood Bowl.

Miguelito and I had oodles of fun!

Miguelito and I extended our good times to Sunday night, when we snacked on Japanese-style tapas with friends from San Diego. The four of us were lucky enough to score tickets to Goldfrapp's show at the historic Orpheum Theatre in downtown Los Angeles. Alison Goldfrapp underscored her Harlequin chic with a solo on what looked like a recorder.

Miguelito said Alison always has the perfect length for her dresses -- they're short enough to be sexy but long enough not to be slutty. I wanted to call her tailor because I was just amazed that her diamond-printed minidress, enhanced with a ruffle collar and giant puffballs running down the front, didn't rise much when she raised her batwing sleeves. From where we were sitting, we could barely spot the silver teardrop painted on her cheek.

After about five songs, Miguelito urged me to bumrush the stage with him. We boogied in the aisles with a bunch of happy strangers, including a tall fellow who snapped this great photo for me.

More goodwill was thrown my way when Miguelito bought a souvenir hoodie for me. Made of organic cotton sold under fair trade guidelines, my white hoodie's painted teardrop brought Harlequin chic to Los Feliz.

Miguelito was utterly exhausted by the weekend's sonic satisfaction.