Other than the psycho fan girls of The Weeknd next to our box (seriously, I feel old. Since when do bands like the Weeknd get ruined by SCREAMING teenagers? Isn't that reserved for the Biebs and Glee concerts?) all three sets were a treat. We lounged in our comfy cox chairs and chilled out (when we could actually hear him over the screaming) to The Weeknd. Then we jumped to our feet and hopped around (she asked us to) with Flo.
Florence is the kind of wild horse-tree nymph-seventies film goddess you want to be when you grow up. Or in your imagination if you can envision a world where you relinquish any and all Type A tendencies. Not to mention, a deep deep sense of what is inherently theatrical.
She skips everywhere she goes. I'd like to do that. She makes everyone hop around on the finale "Dog Days Are Over." She knows the importance of a harp. In many ways, The Hollywood Bowl is the venue she was born to play. She should set up residence there.
While my Dog Days I fear are far from over, this night was the first night where I felt like I lived in Hollywood. And for now, that'll do.
Special Thanks to Alex Tievy for the tix!