The Dresden Dolls perform at Mohawk and give me hope for humanity
The “dark cabaret” duo may be the exact heroes this world needs
Amanda Palmer of The Dresden Dolls sings “The Port of Amsterdam.”
It’s late on a Friday at Mohawk and the crowd is hard to define. There’s people in burlesque outfits; people wearing top hats; a couple dressed in goth circus attire and standing on stilts like carnies from a steampunk novel – were they going to be part of the show? Or is this just what is the standard dress code for this sort of event?
To a stranger like me, it was unclear just what kind of show we were going for. Mohawk is a great venue for weird folks. I once saw local punk heroes Big Bill perform here and their lead singer explained to the audience that they were “banned” from the venue previously, but were graciously allowed back. Then he seemed to tempt the audience with the idea that he might jump from the second story banister and choke himself with the microphone wire. God only knows if they’re allowed back after that, but the venue became affiliated in my mind with a liveliness that danced so closely with unbridled chaos that it became a wee bit scary.
Anyway, the point is: I wasn’t sure what to expect with this audience and venue. See, Reader, I was just out trying to have a good time with my friends who actually are proper fans of this band. I was a fan of The Dresden Dolls by marriage in that way – I had only heard of them ‘cause my friends are really into them. I had no expectations of this evening. Critic speak for: I wasn’t on the clock, and I wasn’t expecting to lose my shit.
I’ve been vaguely aware of Amanda Palmer’s work for a few years. Not long after I moved back to Texas in 2021, my friend introduced me to “Ukulele Anthem” and it made it to one of my most played songs of the year on Spotify.
That’s how I knew Palmer was equal parts witty, clever, and authentic. But I hadn’t explored much of her discography beyond that, despite how, “Quit the bitching on your blog and stop pretending art is hard,” has been an ironic but motivating force behind this very website.
I don’t know why it took me so long to venture past “Ukulele Anthem.” Have you ever gone on a date with someone and realize you can’t go on a second because you’ll fall in love and it will derail your entire life? So you self-sabotage – clearly the only safe and sane choice? I guess it was kind of like that, but with music. If I explored much further into Amanda Palmer territory, I’d probably find myself in steampunk circus garb and stilts at one of these concerts. In hindsight, I guess it doesn’t really matter since I ended up there anyway. Just took the scenic route. Could’ve been more fun with stilts, now that I think about it.
The Dresden Dolls are provocative. Fun. Scary. So many odd things at the same time. It’s clear the talent between the two musicians in this duo, but as a wordsmith, what strikes me personally is Palmer’s talent as a lyricist. I knew I was done for – smitten – gone beyond all hope – when she belted out this line in “Good Day” – their opening song:
“God, it’s been a lovely day. Everything is going my way. I took out the trash today, and I’m on fire.”
This anthem of victory over small achievements hit me like a flu shot. If you don’t get it, I suppose you’ve never been so depressed where taking out the trash felt like a Herculean task. To which I ask: Are you sure you’re a conscious human being in the 21st century?
Friday night I realized my gut instinct about falling in love with this woman’s art was correct. It was one of their old ones, but “Coin Operated Boy” was a song I’m glad I was formally introduced to in a live performance.
The piano is a carnival; a soldier’s march; a spiral staircase leading to madness. Palmer’s voice is equal parts medicinal and manic. The last time I felt this profoundly seen and heard by another woman’s words was when I read Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar for the first time. The song – like much of Palmer’s lyrics – reach a striking absurdity that is balanced with an equally striking level of honesty. Most artists aren’t brave enough to fully commit to grasping for either, let alone both.
Palmer at one point made a wisecrack about artificial intelligence – saying that she’s not sure if she’s even real. I’m not sure either. Her work feels unparalleled except by maybe Monty Python, Plath, and Elton John. But she’s all of them in one person. And she’s only half of this duo.
Brian Viglione is the drummer of the band, as well as back up vocals and guitar. And I don’t mean to say he’s one of any of those things at a given point. I mean there were songs where Viglione played guitar, sang backup, and used the kickstands to continue as the band’s drummer, thus subjecting us all to a live instrumental ménage à trois. Ever seen a man in a rock band play multiple instruments at once? I haven’t. And I’ve been to some pretty weird corners of the internet.
The duo debuted several brand-new super exclusive unreleased songs that have yet to be recorded on an album.
Palmer urged us to grasp onto some future version of ourselves that has already heard and loved these songs; we collectively pretended to recognize the opening chords immediately. I appreciate that they leveled the playing field between me and the fans on stilts who knew all the words.
She spoke about her experiences since the pandemic, which most of these songs are muses of. She’s grieved many literal and metaphorical deaths. She started the pandemic believing she would be in New Zealand for a few weeks, but ended up staying for two years and having to suddenly find community in a new and strange place.
The experience became the inspiration for a Christmas song. It reminded me of John Lennon’s “Happy Xmas (War is Over)” because it was moody and sad; but of course balanced by Palmer’s optimism and candor. As a Beatlemaniac myself, this is a hard compliment to give: I think John would have been proud of this song, if not feeling a little bested. I know, how dare I. It makes me sick. That’s why I’m mentioning it. Mark your calendar for its release.
Palmer makes it clear she has experienced grief and loss since 2020. The entire world has, which makes The Dresden Dolls the artist heroes we need. Grief is a necessary process in returning to a sense of safety and equilibrium. It can’t happen if we’re too busy moving on to the next disaster before we’ve had time to process what has just happened to us.
This is why art — authentic human expression — is paramount if the world is going to heal instead of us all walking around like collectively traumatized zombies who know nothing about themselves or neighbors. People heal when they feel understood and recognized. And there is so much healing we need to catch up on. There is so much need for vulnerable, thoughtful, imperfect and honest human art in this world.
In this way, Palmer’s bold alchemization of her own grief helps us in our collective processes.
I won’t spoil the lyrics of any new songs, but there was one where I visibly winced. It hit a little too hard. Not so much a flu shot this time, but a bullet extracted from my stomach. The friend I was with recognized my agony – so she smiled and said, “Welcome to The Dresden Dolls.”
I think I need to pre-order the album and buy stilts now. It would be cool if they did a two-for-one deal with that on their Patreon, just saying.
The Dresden Dolls are mostly fan-sourced. Palmer made a point to say they don’t rely on promotional algorithms or the press – their success is directly from people saying, “We want this.”
Moving back to Texas was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done; there has been more than one gut-wrenching moment when I question whether or not this is a place I feel comfortable setting roots.
The fact that this proudly crowd-funded duo sold out two shows in my city was a moment where I remembered why I chose Austin, Texas to be my home. This community gets it, and I’m glad to be part of it.
