DEAR AMANDA,
Please forgive me.
I’m afraid I fell a little out of love with you for a while and I want you to understand why.
I first became a fan of your punk-cabaret stylings in 2011 when I saw you perform on Australia Day at the Sydney Opera House.
I was instantly smitten by your talent, charismatic stage presence, beauty, OUTRAGEOUS CONDUCT and your incredible connection with your fans.
Yes, like so many others, I became an instant fan. I attended all your subsequent Sydney gigs over the years and bought the CDs, T-shirt, poster, book, etc,
Two years ago, I signed up to your Patreon because I BELIEVED in you and I believed in your right to be an artist without having a bullshit record company stifling your creativity.
And then you had a baby.
I was happy for you, but it felt like your priorities had changed, which was perfectly natural considering the dramatic change in your life.
I don’t know what I expected from Patreon, but it felt like the $10 I paid every time you created “a thing” seemed to be going towards podcasts (which would subsequently be posted for free on YouTube anyway) and some self-indulgent singles.
The Bowie covers album was fine, but I’d rather hear Bowie sing his own songs than hear someone else’s interpretations.
The record with your father was...nice.
The “thing” that hit me hardest was your latest release, Piano Is Evil, what I regarded as a pointless reworking of your raucous, flawed Theatre Is Evil album.
I’d had enough – I cancelled my Patreon. I felt my money could be better spent on other artists’ Kickstarter projects.
But I still had a ticket to last Saturday’s show, An Evening With Amanda Palmer, at the Sydney Opera House.
I went, but I felt like a fraud when I took my seat among the near-sell-out crowd. I wasn’t an Amanda Palmer fan anymore.
The show began shakily. Support act Brendan Maclean played one song, then introduced Amanda to a delirious audience.
The first few songs were fine, if a little predictable, including an inept rendition of The Killing Song from Piano Is Evil.
Amanda seemed relaxed, though, and was happy to chat at length between each song about the women’s march against Donald Trump in Sydney that day, motherhood, Nick Cave’s gig the previous night and so forth.
“I’m so glad I quit,” I thought to myself as she launched into a preamble about how she now had the freedom through Patreon to record “10-minute” songs with her friends.
“Bloody hell,” I thought.
And then Amanda sang A Mother’s Confession and I laughed. And I was moved.
I’m a dad and I understand the trials and tribulations of bringing up a baby – things go wrong, you constantly second-guess yourself and you’re terrified every other parent is judging you...and finding you wanting. You navigate on a sea of confusion and stress.
A Mother’s Confessiondetails every disaster – big and small – that befalls Amanda as the mum of a young baby.
But every mistake is forgiven because, as the chorus declares, “At least the baby didn’t die…”
Next came Amanda’s explanation why Harry Chapin’s Cat’s In The Cradle is the greatest song about bad parenting ever made, then proved it with her electrifying version.
After that, I was rapt and the show never let go of me.
The show’s joyousness was tempered by an air of melancholy, despair, anger and hope following Trump’s ascent to the POTUS. It added an edge to proceedings that I’d not felt at her previous shows.
Brendan returned to the stage for a humorous interlude that saw local artist Alli Sebastian Wolf invited on stage to show off her bejazzled sculpture of a clitoris, aka “Glitoris.”
I couldn’t help but laugh again.
Brendan was also there for the show’s most powerful moment when he introduced the next song with chilling examples of the homophobia he faces every day before they launched into the beautiful duet Glacier. It earned a standing ovation from the crowd, the first of three for this concert.
After Glacier came Neil Gaiman’s spoken word piece, a reading of Leonard Cohen’s Democracy, which was perfect for this day.
Amanda finished the show with a frenzied version of Coin-Operated Boy, earning her a second ovation. She quickly returned for a more light-hearted encore, with uke versions of Map Of Tasmania (with a guest appearance from Glitoris) and, obviously, Ukulele Anthem. Ovation No. 3.
I left the concert hall a’buzz – this had been an awe-inspiring gig, possibly the best I’ve ever seen from Amanda.
The next day I re-signed to her Patreon and you should, too.
AMANDA FUCKIN’ PALMER, I promise I will never leave you again. Your extraordinary talent is a beacon of light during a dark time in our history.
Continue to shine on.
And please forgive me.