Non-Fandom Squee

I saw The Kills in concert last night. Alison Mosshart and Jamie Hince.

Oh god, so awesome. I had no idea what the band looked like, my only experience of them being a well loved bootlegged CD, and I can't tell you how the feminist in me cried for joy to see a mass of young girls swarming the floor to see a nearly six foot Amazon wearing non-revealing pants/boots/long sleeved (sequined!) jacket combo (and looking like sex on a stick) moan her way through one of the sexiest albums I've ever had the pleasure of stealing, rocking her hips to the beat like she was wearing an invisible strap-on and basically being a complete and utter goddess.

She looked like I imagine a young mistressace to have looked.

She did a cover of "I Put a Spell on You (And Now You're MIIIIIIIINE)." Seriously. Who does that?!?

And chainsmoked through the entire show.

And Hince was, like, her perfect musical soulmate. Hephaestion to her Emperor Alexander, only the fucking was a lot more metaphorical, in this case.

I was lucky enough to have arrived early, so got to be front and center. There was literally one person between me and the stage. At one point Alison Mosshart sat on the speaker at the edge of the stage, directly in front of me and leaned back over the crowd and one of my fingers briefly snagged on a tangle in her hair.

I got one of the posters that were being handed out at the end of the show. I think I shall have it mounted. On the wall, I mean. In a non-sexual way, I mean. Shut up, permetaform.