Sunday night, Clarence Greenwood of Citizen Cope lifted hearts and spun souls round in an electrically poignant and prevailing double acoustic set in the cozy basement of La Boule Noire in Paris's Montmartre, minutes from the Moulin Rouge. Seeing him once before, at the 930 club in Washington DC in 2009, I knew the intimate room and enchanting city would be a captivating, if not a downright magical combination, for Mr. Greenwood. And I was right. Little did I know that I would end up hanging with the soft-spoken poet post show, while discussing the transcendent power of music in saving the world, his musicianship with Michael Franti, and introducing him to one of my favorite female singer songwriters, Beth Hart, by showing him Youtube clips. But this synchronous Citizen Cope journey began way before Sunday night. His songs have been an overarching and pertinent part of my musical experience ever since I first discovered him in 2002. And last night just reaffirmed the obvious; Clarence Greenwood is an authentic troubadour for our troubled times.

As he humbly walked onto the dimly lit suspended stage, guitar in hand, bowing with a quirked smile, his 200 or so faithful fans, settled into a sea of divinely acute spectators. Starting off with "200000 (In Counterfeit 50 Dollar Bills)" from his first self-titled album Citizen Cope released in 2002 and "Pablo Picasso" from his second album The Clarence Greenwood Recordings released two years later, we continued to hang on his every riff, word and wondrous message, giving the vibe that this musical man standing before us was not only making noise or music but rather recreating the very concept of music. And most importantly, he was touching and freeing souls.

Throughout the evening, it became clear that Clarence has constructed his own genre of music –a warm and conscious melding of R&B, jazz, reggae, blues, and smooth southern rock—while sharing personal intimacies that define a true singer/songwriter. During songs like "Hurricane Waters," the concert felt more like a guided mediation than a traditional club performance. And who better to guide us or carry us through the pinnacle of life, death, time, political strife, love, loss, and resurgence of human faith "through the hurricane waters" than a District of Columbia-born musical explorer?

The crowd rose to a frenzy for the globally familiar, "Bullet and a Target." "Mr. Dali Lamas/Another sister's shootin' heroin tomorrow/Amputees in Freetown." You could feel the building's ancient roof rise as the first signs of French and English mixed twitter were sent forth into the ether. And about a minute later, the resonation of Cope's credible creed exploded in transient power "But what you've done here/Is put yourself between a bullet and a target/And it won't be long before/You're pulling yourself away." The chorus's lyrical energy seduced the crowd into a dreamlike dialectical dissertation that bled emotion. "Sideways," "Fame," and "Son's Gonna Rise," from his second album, forced you to close your eyes and truly feel the emotionality of the beats as they flowed, weaved, and paused effortlessly. "Son's gonna rise in a mile/In a mile you'll be feeling fine." He sang and we believed.