Let Us Now Praise Amanda Palmer

You can tell from the scars on my arms and the cracks in my hips and the dents in my car and the blisters on my lips that I'm not the carefullest of girls.  

So begins the frenetic "Girl Anachronism," one of the stand-out songs on the Dresden Dolls' self-titled album, a song that perfectly encapsulates the Bell Jar-siren, high school drama club queen, broken-doll persona that lead singer and pianist Amanda Palmer wears so excellently.  Palmer largely maintains this role in the songwriting and general aesthetics that comprise her debut solo album, "Who Killed Amanda Palmer?"  The cover art features her lying face-up on a wooden floor, wearing a tatty crimson Victorian frock with a prettily turned-up hem.  Although she lies horizontally, the album cover is oriented vertically so that Palmer appears to be floating upward, a goth Mary Poppins.  WKAP?'s songs range lyrically from the same mental health hysteria of "Girl Anachronism" ("Runs in the Family"), to a lush ballad about retaining one's sense of self while in a relationship ("Ampersand"), to a rollicking rocker ("Leeds United") that asks, "Who needs love when there's Southern Comfort?"  Oh, and the album also includes your standard, light-hearted abortion sing-along ("Oasis"), which, although firmly tongue-in-cheek, might still be Just a Bit Too Much.       

This post makes it pretty obvious that I adore Amanda Palmer's musical talents.  But what I have really come to admire about her is that, despite her compellingly unstable persona, Palmer has proven that she is the "carefullest of girls."  I do not mean to imply that her art and her stage presence are calculated in that they are in any way inauthentic.  However, Palmer is a master of self-promotion, and she has built a fantastic career largely from sheer ambition and hustle.  Her dramatic tiffs with her record label have been well-publicized, prompting Palmer to strike out on her own and email, text-message, and blog her way into her fans' hearts.  She tours and reaches out to her audiences tirelessly.  Following one of her concerts that I saw last fall at DC's 9:30 Club, Palmer left the stage and held an earnest little meet-and-greet with the concert attendees.  The energy and sweat that Palmer pours into her career make her stand out as an artist who both loves what she does and understands the effort she needs to log in order to keep on doing just that.

Palmer's birthday was a few days ago, and she mentioned in her blog that what she really wanted as a birthday gift was for each of her supporters to introduce her music to a friend.  Of course, never lacking in self-confidence, Palmer phrased this request: "please take this moment in time and think about one person . . . who does not have amanda fucking palmer in her life and might like her there."  So although I am a bit sheepish at the fan-girly direction this post has taken, I'll chalk it up as a present to Amanda.  Happy birthday Ms. Palmer, and may this year contain more of the same keyboard pounding, lyric cleverness, and damn-the-man bravado we have come to love from you.