So I went to see Amanda Palmer play at the Highline Ballroom last week, and it blew my mind.  If you don’t know about Amanda and/or her band The Dresden Dolls, please get your azz over here and here and give it all a listen.  It’s punk plus rock plus cabaret plus chaos…amazing. 

    Story:

     I get to the venue all covered in rain and assorted city sludge; my roots are way overgrown; I’m all by myself and surrounded by arty types sucking face with their gfs and bfs.  Craptastic.

     But then I hear opener-for-the-opener Abby Ahmad sing her song “Solo Act,” which is about…doin’ it to yourself.  As soon as she wails out “I don’t need your rock/to make me ROLL,” I instantly feel great.  And agree with her.  Completely.

     Then openers The Lisps come out and do some really cool alt-folk with lots of yelping and shouting, beating of giant tribal drums, and one song that literally ends with “d-o-c-u-m-e-n-t-s-F*CK-YOU!”  The dude singer has a super geeky-hot ‘fro thing going on.  Hipsterpendous.

     BUT.  Suddenly, I see not one, but two gorgeous blonde Brooklynite loose-fitting-vintage-wearing chick singers in the Lisps.  I feel like I am going to pass out in the middle of the crowd.  I think “Wow, probs shouldn’t have had that beer with my girls”…usually I never say no to a 3-buck happy hour bottle, but I haven’t eaten since antiquity-o-clock.  What to do?!?!  I run upstairs to the v small balcony where they’re serving food.

    After some frantic bargaining with a patient waitress, I get a seat overlooking the stage…great view!!  I’m so short; I’d never have been able to see this much of the stage down there.  Granted, I do have to share a table with a mom and her daughter (who is sneezing and throwing her tissues and lozenges everywhere wtfffff?!), but it’s fine.  I order a big ol’ basket of fish n chips.

     I wait, and then the food comes.  I’m super-weak, and it looks amazing.  I go to put one huge delicious fish-n-chips chunk in my mouth…

    AND THEN I SEE AMANDA PALMER, 3 FEET AWAY FROM ME, ON THE BALCONY.

     A spotlight hits her, and she’s looking ON POINT.  Makeup that’s a hybrid of Drag Queen, Harlequin, and Edith Piaf?  Check.  Weird custom gloves with appliques and glitter?  Check.  Lucy Ricardo hairdo and lime green poofy skirt tucked into black bike shorts?  Check.  Just when you think it can’t get any better, there are also patterned leggings, combat boots, and a New York Times t-shirt involved.  PERFECTION.

    She sings her first song up there, right next to me, with a tiny little red guitar.  It’s a melancholy one.  I bawl.  Shit, I forgot my camera and I definitely do not have a tricked-out phone.

     Sadly, she ventures back downstairs for the rest of the show, but believe me, I was transfixed.  

     In the span of an hour and forty, she conducts an “Ask Amanda” Q&A session, passes around a huge birthday cake and starts a venue-wide cake fight, tells stories that go longer than some of her songs, plays alllll the good stuff, and then responds to a lame audience member’s cry of “rock out with yer c*ck out,” like this:  ”Ummm…I guess I could rock on with my smock on.  I don’t have a c*ck.  (pause, mischievous grin)  But I do have one at home.”  Palmer 1, lame-os none!

     She closes the show by bringing out all her openers to join in a femme-twisted version of The Coasters’ “Yakety Yak.”  Each girl takes a verse, putting a whole new spin on who exactly will be doing those chores and shutting his yapper!  The brilliantly-coiffed Lisps dude breaks out his sax and kills the solo.  And then they slow the tempo down until it’s quite seductive…”you ain’t got time to take a ride” never hurt so good!  Love it.

    Moral of the story:  Eat before you come.  But if you come before you eat, you might get lucky and see stars