A few months before I moved to San Francisco, I had become somewhat obsessed with Patrick Watson (check out my 5 Faves of him!). I have a thing for singer/songwriters. There's something about their ability to compose songs single handedly that makes me sit back and listen to their brilliance in awe. It's one thing when you have both Mick Jagger and Keith Richards, it's another when you can do it alone.

Anyways, when I moved to San Francisco, Patrick Watson had played two days prior (touring on his gorgeous Adventures In Your Own Backyard album from 2012 - "Lighthouse" remains to be one of those memorable first tracks on an album not only because of how great of a song it is, but because it sets the entire tone of the album) to the day I moved out here, and I was so disappointed I missed him, but I assumed he would be back shortly. I was wrong. The first chance I got to see him was Wednesday, over two years later, at The Chapel in the Mission in San Francisco, a teeny and intimate venue converted from (you guessed it) a chapel, so you guessed it, the acoustics in the place were pretty amazing.

The first thing that hits you with Patrick Watson, both live and on his albums, is his voice. Watson sounds like an angel in a choir, a falsetto so delicate yet substantial to rise above the fray of strings and keys. His vocals were astonishing live, even better than his albums. The crowd was completely absorbed and involved -

(and the crowd is such a key element to a memorable show - BUT ** TANGENT ALERT ** I really want to have a psychological study on the idiots and princesses that believe what they say to an artist during a show matters. Please, shut the hell up. I don't think an aritst gives a shit if you say, "I love you, Patrick!" in your annoyingly nasal tone while hiccuping on your (hopefully) last mojito. Or to the bro behind me that was whistling and hollering in the middle of a song because his goatee needed to let off a little steam while none of his friends were present because he most likely lost all of his friends acting in such a way for most of his adult life - to you both, I volunteer there should be some sort of psychological help at shows because this should not happen. Please, please, don't EVER, for the rest of your life, yell out something obnoxious at a show. Just listen to the beauty and brilliance of music and let it envelop you. Cheer and applaud when the song is over. Thanks. TANGENT OVER **)

- to the point where they started humming along to the beat of one song as Watson played maestro to the crowd. I have to say, San Francisco has some really great crowds at shows.

Watson was touring on his new album, Love Songs for Robots, another album in line with the four before him that are beyond comparison or peer. Watson's compositions sound nothing like anyone else out there. Though he has no comparable (another great quality of original singer/songwriters), I do think he has that cerebral quality like Andrew Bird (another one of my favorite singer/songwriters of the past decade). He played most of his new album, the highlights being "Good Morning Mr. Wolf," and "Bollywood," with close seconds being "Hearts," and "Long Songs for Robots." One of the most impressive aspects of the show was that Watson and the four other members of his band were able to recreate his orchestral thunderstorms of sound which I had my doubts could be done live. Listen to "Good Morning Mr. Wolf," and try to imagine that song live. It goes through highs and lows, loud and soft, acoustic guitar, strings, keyboards, it all just sounds like so much. Like it's overproduced or something. But no, it was all there.

It was definitely the best show I've seen this year, and it was all made the more memorable by the encore. Watson walked out, grabbed his piano bench and brought it out into the middle of the crowd, about 10 feet from me. The crowd came to a hush. Watson climbed up on the bench along with his guitarist and proceeded to play "Adventures In Your Own Backyard," with no microphone or amplification. All he used were the cups of his hands as he projected his majestic falsetto throughout the crowd. That moment was truly special and something I'll never forget. It was all the more appropriate that the song starts, "Twelve steps into your backyard," as he played inches away in a town I call my home.