Grace Jones Plays L.A. for First Time in 20 Years

One of my earliest memories of Grace Jones was living in New Jersey and watching in wonder as visions of this mannish woman, slightly menacing and utterly fascinating, danced across the screen. I didn’t understand her as an eight-year-old, and I never would have guessed that many years later, sometime in my 20s, sometime around five or six in the morning, Grace Jones would pick me up against a wall and kiss me.

I don’t think I’ll be so lucky this weekend when she storms the Hollywood Bowl on Sunday (part of KCRW’s World Festival), with a collection of trusty openers including station regular Henry Rollins on hosting duties, and Of Montreal and Dengue Fever. Tickets on sale here.

Per the kiss: It’s a long story, but we were at an afterparty thrown in her honor, at a defunct club in Seattle called Needless to say everyone was inebriated, and I said something about how she looked so amazing and ageless, and how she was much shorter than I anticipated, when she stopped, took a look at me, and lifted me up. It was quite a thrill, if obviously in jest. I still have to remind myself I didn’t imagine it.

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