In 2008, the Dresden Dolls would play Los Angeles for, seemingly, the last time. In 2008, I was 23 years old, still in college in the rural North of California, fairly isolated from the meccas of civilization and regular concerts of better-known bands. I missed it. After moving to Los Angeles the following year to attempt and fail at breaking into the film industry, I had all but lost hope of ever seeing the Dresden Dolls perform.
Amanda Palmer frees Edward Ka-spel from the bonds of his “artist” wrist band.
Sometimes, even though it seems like the odds are stacked against you, problems invariably sort themselves. At least, this is what I was telling myself to keep calm after discovering that a number of unforeseen circumstances were possibly going to have ended my night before it could begin. Luckily, as I waited in the increasingly cold and increasingly dark evening, this little mantra proved to be true, and all the tribulation was made worthwhile by an absolutely stunning performance that followed.
If there is one subject that art constantly draws its attention to, it is love. It is a beautiful and terrible thing, utterly perplexing and impossible to define or simplify, and poets, painters, writers and musicians the world over have attempted its expression for a long as human history can recall. It is a funny concept, because it often takes the joyful, numbing jitters one feels in moments of tender intimacy, and pairs them up with the glorious, whooping sensation of a fiery passion to run to rooftops and scream your newfound devotion to the world below. Artists who know and have felt these moments of indescribable sense have done their best to bring forth their craft and communicate both sides of that spectrum, and everything in between, in their chosen mediums. It stands to reason, therefore, that two artists, both experts at their craft and both devotedly, passionately in love with another, will craft some of the most fantastic, loud and rambunctious work, while also taking moments of elegant poise, and charmingly stumbling between the two along the way. Such a scene was set and displayed with jubilant wonder by the couple that graced San Francisco with their presence for two separate nights: literary and screen writer Neil Gaiman, author of American Gods, Stardust and Coraline; and his wife, mindbending songmistress Amanda Palmer, the frontwoman of The Dresden Dolls.
Forget what you thought you knew about how to celebrate for the beginning of a new year. Forget what you thought could happen with two Bostonians, a collective of YouTube musicians, a pile of balloons, two cannons of confetti, and two thousand lovers of punk cabaret. If you were not one of the aforementioned fans that filled San Francisco’s Warfield Theater to nigh-overflowing to see the triumphant Bay Area return of the Dresden Dolls, you missed one of the greatest shows in the band’s career, and one of the best shows of 2010, and, quite likely, 2011 as well.
If you look right above that dome, you can see the lake.
Sunday at the Wanderlust felt like one long, sad goodbye. The whole drive home to Oakland was hanging over my head the whole day. Can’t drink. Can’t party too hard. Must drink enough water so that I feel good enough to make the drive. Have to leave early enough to get home for work. All of these things can really bring a guy down as he heads up the funitel to another sun-soaked day of music. How long could this feeling last? Continue reading “Wanderlust Festival Diary: Part Three”
In 2008, the Dresden Dolls would play Los Angeles for, seemingly, the last time. In 2008, I was 23 years old, still in college in the rural North of California, fairly isolated from the meccas of civilization and regular concerts of better-known bands. I missed it. After moving to Los Angeles the following year to attempt and fail at breaking into the film industry, I had all but lost hope of ever seeing the Dresden Dolls perform.
