Amanda Palmer's album release party wasn't great, it sagged in the middle, it lost direction from time to time, it was too easily distracted and a detour off the setlist was probably a mistake. Yet by the penultimate song of the night, her earlier band the Dresden Dolls "Girl Anachronism", nearly two and a half hours later, I had gone from a lifetime of dislike to an immense fan of Amanda Palmer. I felt what I go to concerts to feel: something else, different, out of my head, and more, and this is really hard to figure out, but connected to the artist, and even more than that, as though I had experienced a timeline event: I wasn't the same as when it began. It was like an epic dream and when you wake up you can't shake it.
Or perhaps it felt like an event because it was an event. Palmer was born at Lenox Hospital and was raised in Massachusetts. Beginning her career as a product brander before switching to stripper and Dominatrix. All of which set her up nice for her career as half of multi-media, performing artists, the Bertolt Brecht influenced Dresden Dolls. Two solo albums later, Amanda was running out of choices when she joined kickerstarter to get funding for a new album, (her most direct, there isn't even a Ukulele in sight), form a band and hit the road. She raised $1.2M. Tonight, Palmer was celebrating all these achievements: a woman free of just about any musical constrictions through a relationship with her fanbase. "I am so happy" she exclaimed at one point. I bet.
Amanda played 13 out of 16 off Theater Of Evil, 2 Dresden Dolls covers,3 covers and Happy Birthday twice. She crowd surfed 3 times. Spoke consistently but not constantly. Thanked everybody in the world except her husband. And as master of ceremonies bought two opening bands, her entire crew and various members of her PR Agency, Girlie Action, out on stage. Hell, she even invited her former tour manager on stage. The vibe was of Team Palmer celebrating in no uncertain terms.
The show was being streamed on Youtube and began promptly at 10pm with a couple of songs by the two trumpet players know as Ronald Reagan, they specialize in 1980s instrumental covers and wowed the audience with a gigantic singalong to "Total Eclipse Of The Heart". next out was Surprise Guest Meow Meow just off the plane from Australia., she is the woman responsible for the "Introduction" (speaking into a megaphone) on the newbie. On stage the cabaret artist only played one song, but using a man out of the audience to be a human mic stand she was indelibly great from the get go. I would love to see this woman in performance, Meow Meow was magnificent.
With an instrumental intro which sounded like it had just emerged from Elton John's "Funeral for A Friend" being hit by a freight train, Amanda built to the first song proper off the newbie "Smile". Palmer is yet another woman behind a keyboard, though she loosens herself away all the night. And she is a sight to behold, the strap of her chicken yellow dress falling off her shoulder till within two songs, the top of the dress is around her waist and she is performing in black bra (not girdle). I don't like the haircut, which is a little transsexual with his wig off, and the tufts of hair under the arms I could have also done without. But Amanda is strong and smart and with a very good backing band behind her, she soon reaches the stop-start agitated syncopated "The Killing Type" -a song I loathed when it first came out but really love now. With microphone in hand, the woman seems to be trying to find her inner Siouxie Sue.
Unfortunately, there is immediately a problem with the sound and the show skids to a stop. Amanda had been planning a surprise for bassist (and string arranger) Jherek Bischoff, and with the unexpected break she did it early, playing a tinkling "Happy Birthday To You" while the fans at the tip of the stage belted Bischoff with socks they'd been handed earlier. the concept behind that is something of an in joke, I'm guessing, suggesting he has a sock fetish.
Amanda maneuvers past the bump in the set and nails a Dresden Doll masterpiece "Missed Me" which sounds like it could have been in "The Threepenny Opera" or at least "Cabaret". Brings the house down and for the first time since I've listened to Palmer (Helen Bach loves her, but Helen had proven unable to change my mind till now), I'm wondering if I have been missing the point. "Missed Me" is so Tom Waite-y, but really really good. It is a terrific song.
The vibes are so good, it allows her to deep album track for half an hour. That sinking feeling is my heart as she squanders my deepest feelings with "Want It back" and "Grown Man Cry" before one of the worst ideas imaginable unfurls. This is a problem with the Theater of Evil Orchestra, the set pieces slacken the pace and the improvisations can weaken the impact. With both pomp and circumstance, plus ceremony, Amanda brings a small vanity box on stage to read in a detached monotone, secrets written and dropped off for her. They are really dumb, three of them are about girls being molested by their father. Apparently, you don't have to have had an incestuous relationship to love Palmer… but it helps. A woman in the audience shouts, "Amanda, I want to open your box." "I think we are gonna be hearing that every night", Amanda mutters under her breath. Perhaps a warning to dump the segment.
It takes the set awhile to get back on track, but the use of stop motion is a real treat. Pictures sent by audience members are projected throughout the stage and connected to Michael McQuilken 's sticks so every time he beats his drums, the picture changes, in time to "Lost". From here to the end of the night, I keep on expecting Amanda to start rapping it up and she keeps on performing. She brings out a birthday cake for the bassist, and she reels off three covers, Yaz, Wham and, she promised them the day before in Philadelphia, "Call Me Maybe".
At the end of the Global Live Stream, she tells the world what we have kind of figured by now. Amanda doesn't need anybody but us. So when the New York Times calls her for comment about inviting horns to play at every date, for beer and high fives, instead of money, Amanda, who one certainly would assume can get nasty, couldn't care less. She doesn't need NYT's approval any more. For the record, she claims she can't afford to bring along her own horn section, and since the musicians get exposure and she gets to augment her sound, it is a win win. The problem is, the world sees that $1M and thinks to itself, hey, she can afford a lousy coupla hundred bucks a night.
I dunno if I agree. In the Huffington Post, Holly Cara Price wrote this about the recording of the album: "The new record was recorded in Melbourne, Australia with producer John Congleton (St. Vincent, Murder By Death, Modest Mouse, Xiu Xiu)". Yup, that costs money. And though Amanda claimed on the website "Oh No They Didn't": "Kickstarter is basically a way of doing giant preorders for content that needs to preexist – artists need to have credibility to get support and audiences. But it's not much different than in the old days, where you'd get out there, see what demand was and head off to the plant and print what you needed." That isn't what she said on stage, where she claims the entire band and the tour, is Kickstarter funded. For such a popular woman, she didn't sell out Webster Hall, it is a costly business touring (though sales at merchandize were three deep)
But none of this was annoying Amanda Tuesday night. For a former Dominatrix, she is sure friendly enough. First encore, the Dresden Dolls "Girl Anachronism" is as brutal as you'd expect, but her good nature disrupts the spastic enclave of sound: it is like Amanda is giving you a good whipping and putting balm on your wounds between strokes. The last song, from the entirely unmemorable not vaguely in the same league as Evil, Who Killed, "Leeds United" as an over the top round the corner, through the fields anthem, a blasting and great song which must have been completely buggered in the studio. Better still is the hard rocking "Do It With A Rockstar", overshadowed by "Melody Dean" and "Massachusettes Avenue" on the album, on stage it is a beautiful thing. It roars but it doesn't roar in anger.
People who know Palmer's work better than I do, or at least have seen her in concert before, claim this is her best band ever. I don't really see how they could be much better. From the scaley Berlin cabaret-y Dolls, to the weird music hall-y Evelyn Sisters, Palmer is a visual artist working in an aural medium, but with the Grand Theft Orchestra, she is changing idioms a little. Less about visual impact, the songs carry hidden blasts of words conveying deep inner lives. I called her a folk musician a couple of days ago. Perhaps I mean just a storyteller because folk is foremost a political sound and Palmer is foremost an emotional torrent. It helps, it concentrates her and allows this winding, fascinating set to maintain a forward momemtum. The tour proper starts now.
Grade: A