I expected many things tonight as I made my way into Atlanta to catch Gnarls Barkley at the Variety Playhouse. I expected a spaceman costume or two, maybe a bunny suit, or even an impromptu wedding ceremony where Cee-Lo plays the role of the blushing, heavily-tattooed bride - all with a hip-hop/R&B-edged soundtrack to go along with it. Fair enough, right?

Out of all possible expectations, though, the one that came through in the end is the one I never saw coming: Gnarls Barkley may have been the best rock n roll concert I will ever see. But let me start at the beginning ...

I arrived at the venue very early, giving me the opportunity to get right up against the stage. So close I was propping myself up on the stage floor with my elbows, wondering how close I would get to Danger Mouse, and whether he would remove his sunglasses because, Jesus, we're indoors and it's nighttime. My internal musings weren't long for this world, though, because this world wasn't very long for itself. It was about to be shattered by the form of a petite young black woman, a local lady who clearly pledges allegiance to her own personal freak flag.

Janelle Monae. Holy shit. There is no simpler yet still appropriate description. Her intro and the story behind it would have made Heinlein proud: a female cyborg and a human male fall in love, which is strictly forbidden. The male's punishment is never mentioned, but the female's punishment is destruction. In order to carry out the punishment, they must locate her. Thus begins the story of the female's race against time and from her would-be executioners. And really, that isn't the freaky part. Nor is it when Monae takes the stage dressed as a maitre'd. It starts with the music, based on the aforementioned story, and runs frenetically along as Monae drags you further down the rabbit hole with her to a world full of Bjork-worthy levels of weirdness. Her band follows, and often takes on the tone of a spaced-out No Doubt who came from the future to warn you that some half-man/half-machine creature will try to kill you in 10 minutes and, look out!, he's invisible. Monae moans and warbles her way through the drama with a voice I suspect is actually classically trained. And when she's not at the mic, or not throwing the mic, or not performing oral sex on the mic-less mic stand, she is jumping erratically around the stage, dancing as if in a trance, moving in such a way as to give me the idea that she might be trying to create her own version of the Thriller. The Michael Jackson comparisons aren't too far off the mark, either. More than once she'll hit a note or her guitarist (resembling an octoroon Lestat) will play a lick that's reminiscent of early Michael, "Off The Wall" Michael. But that is where those similarities end, and she comes back down from the sky so that a huge guy front and center and pick her up and deposit her in the crowd, where she promptly starts a mosh pit, only to go right back on stage to engage directly in a little crowd surfing. This woman loves to touch and be touched, scare and be scared, give her all and be given respect. I've never seen anything like it. If you've never heard of Janelle Monae prior to now, expect her to soon show up on your doorstep demanding money that you will gleefully fork over. Her EP hits Best Buy and iTunes tomorrow. I cannot imagine a better opener for the all-bending duo, Gnarls Barkley.

Which brings me to just that. Gnarls Barkley. For those who don't know, Atlanta is Cee-Lo's hometown, and Danger Mouse went to high school and college in nearby towns. The audience was full of people who knew either one or both, and people who had been following their careers for years. These were not amateurs, not people whose introduction to either of them was through hearing "Crazy" on the radio. It was a crowd full of fans, die-hards, people who couldn't wait to finally be a part of what their hometown heroes had achieved. I've been to exciting concerts before, but I've never felt anything quite like this, this atomically-charged atmosphere, like fingers on triggers, all shoved into a sold-out venue that can't hold 700 people. Much laughter, many words, and boat loads of sweat were exchanged before the pair even took the stage.

And then they did. A dimming of the lights, a rolling out of a backdrop featuring the fictional city of St. Elsewhere, and there they were. One short and squat, one tall and bony, dressed in identical suits suggesting a horrific 70s prom, or at the very least the most horrific Vegas has to offer. My position against the stage left me roughly 6 - 7 feet from Danger Mouse sitting at the organ, with a xylophone at the other side, and three feet at the most from Cee-Lo. The depth of water in which most shark attacks occur, so musically this has to be a good vantage point. Cee-Lo surveyed the audience for a brief moment, and without much more regard he and his partner in crime, along with their band, launched into "Charity Case," from their new record, "The Odd Couple." Despite Janelle Monae's best efforts, this is where things really began to get weird for me. Not because it wasn't good, or because they were dressed kind of normal and I was wanting a wedding dress, but because this was rock. This was plain and simple a rock n roll song. I was so floored that I began dancing along and banging my head like a maniac before I even realized I was doing it. My palms quickly became bright red from slapping them against the stage floor in time to the music. That opening performance was so insanely everything I've ever wanted in a concert and more, and it was a complete bash upside the head. "Brilliant" doesn't do it justice, but "brilliant" will have to suffice. God damn.

They proceeded to tear through the 16-song set as if they themselves were ablaze. And the theme was apparent: rock n roll. They turned "Crazy" from a decidedly un-rock n roll song into an anthem for even any metal head who knows how to roll down the windows and crank it. Cee-Lo even asked the crowd, "Are you ready for some rock n roll?" No, I really wasn't, but you clearly got it so give it to me, baby.

One things that has always surprised me about Gnarls Barkley is their cover of the Violent Femmes' "Gone Daddy Gone," which they played. Call me old-fashioned, but essences of Danger Doom and the Goodie Mob covering the Violent Femmes is not something that seems terribly ordinary. And what about their cover of Radiohead's "Reckoner," which they also played tonight? I have a hard time imagining inner city kids (like many in Atlanta) blasting either band from their stereos. But you have to hand it to Cee-Lo and Danger Mouse: they took it and ran with with it, and now people who might not normally listen to the Violent Femmes or Radiohead are listening to the Violent Femmes and Radiohead. Somehow, Gnarls Barkley is making rock n roll accessible to everyone. When they do it, people get it. And when you can make music that speaks to everyone, that is music at its finest. Gnarls Barkley is performing rock n roll at its finest.

It's sort of breathtaking, really, to watch these two men give their creations to the world in such a manner. They're not afraid to play with image or sound. They're not afraid to do it in a way that seems to be, first and foremost, fun for them. They're not afraid to flat out rock. And even when they're rocking, they're not afraid to throw in elements of their lives and loves. Cee-Lo made a point of having the audience join in on "Going On," tonight a tribute to Bernie Mac. It was a somber moment, but no one let it dampen the electricity crackling through the air. We love, we lose, we go on, and so do they. Life is a series of travels, and we determine what we do until the final one.

The audience was in on this completely. There was a certain camaraderie between people who might not usually have reason to cross paths: old and young, male and female, one ethnicity to another to another. I spoke to people who might normally be invisible to me on the street, and I to them. We had fun together, and stayed amazingly courteous considering we were all scrunched up against the stage trying to get anyone's attention. (It worked with Cee-Lo. I was sandwiched in between two boys, and the three of us held our hands out to him at the end of a song. I can say that my right hand was one of only three taken by Cee-Lo. Danger Mouse was not so receptive, although after much nagging he did finally shake a hand and fist bump another.) At one point, during the song "Transformer," Cee-Lo removed his shirt and tossed it in my direction. It landed between me and one of the boys. We both had our hands on it, and gentleman that he must be, he let me have it. (A crew member stole it back from me at the end of the song. Seriously. Come on. Like Cee-Lo can't go to Wal-Mart and buy an identical short-sleeved, button-up black shirt for $10.)

The end came pretty quickly, likely because I could easily see Cee-Lo's set list from where I stood. I knew what was happening at each moment, and something like that always makes it go by more quickly. For the final song, "Smiley Face," Cee-Lo wanted to know if Atlanta was ready to rock. After a chorus of three "Fuck yeahs!" they gave us our last taste of getting the wind knocked out, our socks rocked off. It was somewhat bittersweet to know the evening was closing because, as I said, this was bona fide rock n roll, perhaps the best I've seen, and I've seen both McCartney and Clapton. But it was good to know that the younger generation, my generation, can indeed rock, and do it artfully. The fact that it reaches a nice cross section of society makes it more important in the grand scheme of things, as well. Cheers, Gnarls Barkley. Never be afraid to test your limits. You'll find they stretch further than you know.

P.S. There was a camera crew there filming the show. Taking lots of audience shots, too. When I caught Cee-Lo's shirt, the camera man immediately zoomed in on me, and the guy beside me told me to look at the camera. So I did. Moral: if you're watching a Gnarls Barkley film of some sort, and you see a skinny pale chick with long light brown hair wearing a tank top and holding up a sweaty black shirt ... well ... that might be yours truly. That thought really scares me.