If a double-decker bus crashed into us right now, we almost would be happy to die by your side -- not because we think vehicular slaughter is "such a heavenly way to die," but rather because the shock of seeing your face in this fair city of ours would be enough to bring on sudden death regardless. At the rate things are going, we just can't help but feel that the stages of San Francisco will never be graced with your miserable, warbling presence ever again. And honestly we kind of miss your sad little hound-dog face, dude. There's just something so darn comforting about it.
Let's be straight: Your history of making it to your San Francisco live dates is terrible. It's so insanely awful that the idea of you playing here is almost a joke at this point. In 2004, there was an eleventh-hour cancellation at Golden Gate Park because you weren't feeling well. Then there was 2009, when -- we're starting to see a pattern here -- you canceled your sold-out show at the Paramount in Oakland at the last minute, because you weren't feeling well. That incident really stung, because you were spotted out at the DNA Lounge that same night having a lovely time.
Then there was 2011, when, for once, it wasn't you that was under the weather, but rather your drummer who had an alleged eye injury. So you didn't play the Fox -- and you didn't even go to the DNA Lounge (probably a wise move after the last time). Then in November of last year, you canceled your entire American tour because your mum was ill -- we'll be delicate here because nobody likes sick mothers -- but helpfully rescheduled your Davies Symphony Hall show for this February 24.