“She’s the kind of girl who leaves out condoms on the bedroom table/to make you jealous of the men she fucked before you met her”
The Dresden Dolls have quickly become one of my most favorite new* bands. To prove, here’s a picture of me with Amanda Palmer. A little grainy, but it captures the moment. If you’ve only listened to their albums, let me tell you, they are even better live. Although at this point it may be a while before you get your chance. They just completed a tenth anniversary tour, but haven’t recorded in a couple of years, and if I understand what correctly aren’t about to due to some record company related snafu. As for the show…In this age of pyrotechnics, cinema-size telescreens, circe du soleil backup troupes and those nefarious pre-recorded backing tracks, still, never underestimate how much drama two people with a keyboard and a set of drums can create. I’ve been to a lot of concerts, and Brian Viglione is the best drummer I’ve ever seen. Most drummers, by default are heard but not seen, and most just keep their head down and play. Never have I seen anyone behind a drum kit perform to the audience with such flair – and that includes the dead weathered Jack White. The rapport with the audience was very touching too. Amanda actually played the whole show standing up, because she noticed that “all the short people in the audience looking unhappy because they can’t see.” Right on, Amanda! I couldn’t see naught but her hat bobbing about until she raised her keyboard. They played an absolute marathon, some three hours of all their most beloved songs (though they somehow missed Backstabber, unless I was in the ladies’ loo for that one). I gotta admit, I got a little misty eyed when they came on with Cosmic Dancer – and I never, ever get misty eyed for anything. On top of playing above and beyond the call of duty, the dearies stayed and hobnobbed with fans until the wee hours. I’m told they always do this, but it’s still very impressive. They didn’t leave until they’d talked to and hugged and signed and been photographed with every single fan lined up around the block. That’s graciousness. And yes, I got signed. On the arm. (Turns out Viggie can spell his own name but Amanda Palmer can’t – but it’s not her fault, she seemed a little tipsy by the end there.) The next day I went straight out and had it tattooed.
*by ‘new’ I mean ‘under fifty’.
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