I had the unexpected pleasure of seeing Regina Spektor last night at the Greek Theatre. I’m not a fan of Spektor, in that I’ve never really sat down to listen to her music and every time it’s been recommended to me or that I’ve ran into someone who was a fan, it was usually someone whose taste was questionable and, to expose myself a little, some crazy woman I was dating whose taste was also questionable. I’m even guilty of speaking negatively of Spektor in order to mock a girlfriend or two, without having actually sat down to listen to any of her music.

In short, I’m a douche, and the last person you’d probably expect to show up to a Spektor concert. Hell, I was the last person I’d expect to wind up at one of her shows, but when my girlfriend (or pseudo-girlfriend, or soon-to-be-girlfriend-again, or special lady, or ‘just that girl who’s the only girl I’m supposed to put my penis in’) wound up with two tickets thanks to a spurned suitor and invited me, I couldn’t help but say yes. At the very least I’d spend an hour or so with a pretty lady I’d get to put my lips all over and, maybe, just maybe, listen to some tunes that don’t disgust me.

We got to the show a little late, probably missing a song or two. Regina Spektor was set up in front of piano, wearing an outfit that’d be best described as “over-sized black and white Alice in Wonderland attire” complete with a flat drawn bow at her breast and big puffy sleeves. She was backed by a string quartet and a drummer, used to great effect throughout the set but especially when they busted into a refrain from Guns ‘N Roses November Rain, at which point the strings soared, Regina’s hair went all over the place head bangin’ while pounding the keys, and I kind of shit myself over how incredible it was to hear one of the most emotive songs played live by a full string quartet and an obviously talented girl on piano. They didn’t play the whole song, just the important part, and with so much bombast that it made the hairs on my arm stand on end.

Even before I had a chance to listen to anything she was doing the crowd around me was exclaiming to each other, “She’s so adorable!” “OMFG she’s so cute!” These statements persisted throughout her entire set. Every time she opened her mouth the crowd erupted into cheers of jubilation, as if Regina Spektor was the most precious thing they’d ever witnessed in their entire lives.

…and it’s true, Regina Spektor is the most precious thing I’ve ever witnessed in my life. The first time I heard her speak she said, “I hope all our love up here is keeping you warm,” eliciting cheers from the audience. We were freezing, though I use the term freezing loosely because to us Los Angelinos anything below 68 is freezing cold. As it was, her love wasn’t keeping us warm, but judging by the general demeanor of the people around us, alcohol seemed to be doing the trick.

Speaking of: good lord drunk people are annoying. I don’t know what possesses people to go to a concert, get ridiculously drunk, and then try to carry on conversations as loudly as possible while such an obviously talented musician deserving of rapt attention is playing, but whatever it is should fuck off and die. The worst culprit was this drunk guy, who I’m pretty sure was gay or he was just so drunk that everything he said sounded gay, who insisted on shouting at the stage every 30 seconds and then turning to his uncomfortable looking female companion to yell something unintelligible at her. Eventually he got up and stood in the aisle behind us so he could be as drunk and loud as he wanted without pissing off everyone around him.

Down the aisle seated from us were two guys who also figured there was no better place to loudly carry on a conversation than at a Regina Spektor concert. I don’t know what they were saying, but one guy spent about 10 minutes shouting long strings of dialog at the guy next to him. Behind us was a group of women and gay men, including one guy who was probably in his early twenties who said that this was his first concert ever. (Proven, at the end of the show, when one of his female companions had to explain the encore process to him.) This group was guilty more than anyone else of repeatedly shouting, “She’s so adorable!” and “She’s so cute I just want to take her home with me!”

As a non-fan I owe it to Regina Spektor to say that she is pretty much incredible. I don’t see myself sitting around listening to her albums (unless I’m locking lips with my special lady) but to witness her play live was definitely one of the happiest accidents I’ve wandered into this year. Her ability to sing rapid-fire and bang on a chair with a drumstick (on “Poor Little Rich Boy”, a song that I felt was written vindictively at me by any number of ex-girlfriends) left me pretty much speechless. Her songwriting, when accessible, left me feeling kind of like I was entirely in love with her (on “That Time”, which she strummed on a guitar all alone on stage). The song “Blue Lips” left me feeling like I might burst into tears at any moment. She even sang a number that made several people get up and dance, though the name of that one I can’t locate—needless to say it had a good beat to it, find it on your own.

In short, Spektor ran the gamut. Sometimes her voice soared, sometimes it ran all the words together so quickly it could make your head spin, and sometimes she sounded meek and small, like a tiny mouse hiding in a corner waiting for the hammer to fall, but most of all her voice sold every single word sung by it. Someone behind me in the audience, one of the drunk women or gay men, spoke this idea aloud: she’s so damn sincere. Even when the words themselves don’t connect to you personally, the way she sings them pulls on your heart and mind. Not counting chair drumming, this is the thing that leaves the greatest impression on my mind and finds me wanting to see her live again.

The last thing I expected from Regina Spektor was that I’d leave the Greek Theatre with her voice in my head and in my heart, but I did. (Just writing this sentence and thinking about how moved I was at times makes me teary-eyed.) I might not run out and buy every single one of her records (because, to be honest, a couple of her slow songs/ballads left me a little cold) but I’d be cheating everyone if I didn’t say that you should go see her live if you have a chance. Even if you’re not a fan, Regina Spektor is an impeccable performer who seems to ooze talent out of every pore.

In short: boys, go with your girls.

(The first words out of my mouth at the show: “She’s like Amanda Palmer if Amanda Palmer had a vagina.”

To which my special lady replied, “That’s not nice, Amanda Palmer is boning Neil Gaiman after all.”

“Yeah, with her penis.”)