"I love you, Paul."

"I couldn't agree more," the elfin Paul Simon replied, looking a bit like a balding Einstein, hair a flame of dirtied white recession. Simon's arms, flailing about above his head and muscular as hell, were the most striking of his anomaly of features: short, squat, perfectly manicured yet completely disheveled, vein-stretched arms, taught face, beer gut. Before he proceeded to tear into "Gumboots," he corrected himself, "If you could hear the voices in my head, you'd know that's far from true."

For two hours, last night, Paul Simon and a band of unequaled talent performed their third and final performance of songs from his albums Graceland and The Rhythm of the Saints. As part of an unheardof month-long residency at The Brooklyn Academy of Music, this week was devoted to spending some time "Under African Skies."

Ladysmith Black Mambazo, the men's choral group from South Africa featured on Graceland, started off the evening with "Nomathemba," with heart-murmuring harmonies and frenetic dance moves that nodded equally to the Temptations and the Rockettes. Vusi Mahlasela followed with a stunted version of "The Boy in the Bubble," forgetting the words at one point. Nevertheless, his vocal quality and range were so stirring, it made the memory of his early stumbling melt with the coo cooing of his scat-filled rendition. By the time Paul Simon strolled on stage, the audience was so firmly engaged, his walk was followed with the intensity of a tennis ball at a Grand Slam final. The reverence with which he addressed the audience humbles me still. He seemed so at ease, though, at times, it appeared as though his fourth wall was actually some garage door window in Queens, and I was the lucky onlooker standing at tiptoe, peering through a tiny window at the rehearsal of a would-be great band, if only that lead singer could punch up the stage presence.

That said, this was Paul Simon's night. His music shone like the African sun. Those who performed with him seemed giddy with the opportunity, as we who watched trembled with excitement at the unique experience of seeing these songs come to life before our eyes. His rhythm section looked like they'd been created by Jim Henson. His own guitars seemed to want to swallow him whole. With pin drop acoustics the BAM made for an excellent venue for this, at times, 21-piece band to throw every sound from wee bird calls to what appeared to be an emptied fire extinguisher ratamat with drum sticks the size of sledgehammers.

The mostly static audience sat through performances by the beautiful Cameroon singer Kaissa and the equally beautiful and five-months pregnant Luciana Souza. It wouldn't last long though, David Byrne, iconic frontman of the Talking Heads, delivered "I Know What I Know" and "You Can Call Me Al" as thought they'd been tailored specifically for him. No one could resist the sheer jubilation of his and the band's performance. Clapping, dancing, and singing along, everyone was upended like puppets on strings by the magnetic grooviness of it all. Ladysmith's return was quick to quell the heartbeats. Their "Homeless" was tear-inducing, never more pertinent as images of those affected by the Tsunamis and Katrina floated to the surface of every last bass note. So drowned was I by this point, I was certain there'd be no respite. That is, until Simon rejoined LBM for those first notes of "Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes." Everyone was on their feet, dancing, singin' and swingin.' He finished us off with rousing renditions of "Graceland" and "That Was Your Mother."

Standing there, legs numb, maybe from the dancing, maybe from the experience of having some of the world's best musicians perform mere feet from my own feet, I was awash with thought and so excited to have been part of something I'll surely never see again. Not like this. This was truly a once in a lifetime experience and a night I will remember the rest of my life.