The Dresden Dolls have always been one of those bands on my radar that I consistently enjoyed, but never really put much effort into. Every song I’ve ever heard, whether it be through my former college radio roots, via friends’ recommendations, or on blogs – I’ve thought to myself, ‘Man, I really oughtta pick up their discs and give this a full go.’ But, alas, I have failed – and after last Wednesday night, I see how dire my failure to myself really truly was.
First off, it’s no secret that Amanda Fucking Palmer is a rock goddess. The woman is truly amazing. I don’t think words can really do justice to her impeccable showmanship and dedication to her craft. After I saw her at SXSW in 2009 when she was touring her solo debut, Who Killed Amanda Palmer, I was stricken stupid. Her solo album became one of my top releases for the year instantly. But still, I neglected my back research on DD. Fast forward to now, nearly two years later, and I’m finding myself speechless in my vain efforts to write a review of what could possibly be one of the top performances to grace a Chicago stage in 2010.
While specific song titles elude me, I will do my best to give an overall recap of what went down at Chicago’s Vic Theater on November 17th, a night I can best summarize as one of tantalizing magic, seductive mystery and cabaret triumph. From the moment Palmer and Brian Viglione took the stage, the crowd completely lost their shit. Screams, shrieks, desperate shouts and cries were only overtaken by the thunderous applause. Palmer strutted in a red cloak of sorts, tight black pants and a captain-esque cap as Viglione sported the token bowler cap and vest—both of which get ups didn’t remain on for long. After shredding and chucking a fan-given bouquet into the audience, the duo wasted no time to getting down to business.
The sold out venue was overflowing with positive energy and the crowd was one of the most diverse I’ve seen in ages – parents, LARPers, cabaret kids, and random dudes from the street you’d never guess in a million years knew, let alone adored, the Dresden Dolls made up the mix. Not a single soul ceased to be entertained. For the next 90 or so minutes, Palmer belted out a good majority of their catalogue as if her life depended on it. With her very articulate, yet powerful vocal delivery, it’s amazing how Palmer is so muti-faceted to concentrate on both singing and her intense piano pounding, and at other times, drumming. Viglione was an incredible yin to her yang, never once slowing down the energy levels on percussion and back-up vocals. I don’t think there was a single song in the set that didn’t involve crowd sing along participation.
The aroma of incense wafted amongst the front of the house, adding to the surrealism of the red, purple and blue illuminated stage. Whether I was at the top of the balcony area, back by the main bar or elbows propped on stage in the photo pit, the sights and sounds were pretty fantastic. After a couple whiskey cokes, I got swept away in the magic of it all and my notes transitioned from song titles and stage banter to scribbled notes of “Amanda Palmer is cooler than me,” and creepy illustrations of what I imagine a Coin Operated Boy would resemble.
As she crooned in “The Kill,” Amanda Palmer may be an anarchist, atheist, and even the Antichrist, but she sure as fuck knows how to put on a show; plagiarist, terrorist or not—one thing’s for sure, she’s one helluva entertainer. I feel down right humbled and extremely fortunate to have caught this show, especially considering the limited run and mark of the duo’s ten year mark.
