Simply gah-jus

from the Chronic-WHUT!-le. (yea, I said it.)

Found on Fillmore St:

Talk amongst yaselves.

On a related note, here's Regina Spektor wooing the crowd at the Fillmore--anti-folk hipster darling that she is. She had everyone eating out of the palm of her hand, not a dry seat in the house.

Pitchfork nails it, though they think her blushing modesty does her a disservice:

She reaches her audience's ears and heartstrings through feigned naivete. The I'm-just-a-wee-lass stance is apparent throughout Soviet Kitsch, as well as her live performances, where she's been known to pout and giggle and murmur and feed the crowd chocolates.

That coy bashful schtick she'd lay on thick between songs was likely part of the performance, though I found nothing ingenuine about it, and she was anything but self-important. It was endearing and disarming, not overbearing or put on--the whimsy she had on reserve for when she wasn't teasing the microphone with those bombshell ruby lips or mesmerizing us with the range and dexterity of that polished instrument she calls a voice. Cause let's be honest, who needs to be a concert pianist when you've got one of those?

Check out this live show only gem:

You know that statue
Yhat statue of baby jesus
In the window
In the window of the 99 cent store
Last night I saw the owner kiss it
And whisper in its ear
I was walking home from walgreen's
And he did not hear me see him
And on the
Very very next morning
All the subway cars were hallelu-leluing
Welcome back the baby king, the baby king
All the believers they were smiling
And winking at each other
I could honestly say I was scared for my life.

Followed by a howling refrain of "BELIEVE! BELIEVE! BELIEVE!" Sacrilicious.