Last I saw Hawksley Workman perform was on a hot summer night two years back.

Earlier this evening, I watched him perform in The Bronson Centre (a high school auditorium which became home to myself and 799 others).

I would avoid discussing this if I could, but I can’t: He opened the show with three slow songs (one he appropriately referenced as being “for the birds”), pulled out a bullhorn and even tapped on a xylophone. I almost bit clear through my fist trying not to laugh out loud.

I won’t even get into the visual trauma inflicted by the BANDANA HE WORE BENEATH HIS FEDORA. Scandalous this, Hawksley.

Fortunately, song no. 4 brought Hawksley back to his audience and allowed me to forgive both his choice of opening songs and bandana. He is, after all, part Vaudeville show and part Opera singer and so severely melodramatic.

Listening to him perform live is like being slowly covered by drips of something hot, heavy and filmy. You will never want to take a shower again. Sexy this, Hawksley.

In this order, download:
Tarantulove
Smoke Baby
Anger As Beauty
Striptease
Jealous of Your Cigarette
No Sissies
We Will Still Need A Song

Good night, kittens.

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