With the release of their self-titled debut in early 2004, Boston duo the Dresden Dolls did not so much explode onto the national scene as shimmy up its rear fire escape, Irma Vep–style, with a bag of classic pop gems wrapped in one hand and a poisoned stiletto clenched firmly in their teeth. Supplementing their critical acclaim with near-constant touring through America and Europe and a grassroots multimedia online assault via a pair of brilliant independently produced videos, they amassed a growing legion of rabidly devoted fans and established themselves as one of the most original, and divisive acts in recent memory.
Comprising Amanda Palmer on piano and vocals and Brian Viglione on drums, the Dolls initially dropped the jaws of many jaded music fans with with "Girl Anachronism," proving they could generate more heart-racing intensity and paranoia as a two-piece than most full-scale hardcore bands. In many ways, the band's 2006 sophomore album, Yes, Virginia..., delivers on the promise of that song with its even more direct sonic slaps of "Brechtian punk cabaret," the genre the band chose to christen themselves before critics got a chance to label them.
Speaking from his New York hotel room on the eve of embarking on a national tour in support of the album, Viglione reflected on how the band's songwriting has changed. "[It's] a much more stripped-down, focused approach. Rather than try to compensate for the lack of instrumentation, which is basically what we were doing on the first record, we just tried to capture the raw essence of the band, saying, 'This is what the band really does sound like without all the extra trimmings.'"
"I think I definitely was drawing on my rock and metal roots [for Yes, Virginia]," continues Viglione, who is becoming recognized as a drummer's drummer in the music world. "I definitely heard a lot of Dave Grohl, there's a little Pantera... a little Black Flag, as well. I came to realize afterwards, the intro to [the song "Modern Moonlight"] was the same as 'My War.' I didn't realize until after the song was recorded, I was listening to Black Flag, and I was like 'Oh Shit!'"
On par with Viglione's nimble skin work, Palmer's devastating songwriting skills truly put the Dresden Dolls over the top. Combining acrobatic wordplay, sly double-entendres, stunning juxtaposition of personal and political relationships, bitter humor, sexual obsession, and unflinching venom (and wrapped up in unconventional, inescapably catchy melodies), the best of Palmer's songs call to mind Elvis Costello during his "Guilt and Revenge" masterpiece trilogy of This Year's Model, Armed Forces, and Get Happy!! These are the kinds of songs that slide a cyanide capsule under the door tucked into the pretty pink and black envelope of a classic hook.
"It was definitely one of the first things that attracted me to Amanda's music," recalls Viglione of encountering Palmer for the first time, singing her songs at a Halloween party in 2000. "The music was complementing the lyrical mood in that sort of idiosyncratic way of writing. I remember the first time I [read] the lyrics of 'Coin-Operated Boy' [the second hit off their debut album], it really did strike me how sad it is, and what a sort of serious message, wrapped up in this silly little song. I really like that kind of contrast... Otherwise things can get a bit spelled out, you can be sort of like Swans, where it sounds like you're standing at the gates of hell."
However cerebral Dresden Dolls appear, they are equally an undoubtedly visceral experience, especially in live settings. Palmer attacks her piano with such loving ferocity that it sometimes seems to be playing her back and Viglione, meanwhile, with his rubber-faced expressions and ever-present bowler hat, is the very essence of Keith Moon as played by Buster Keaton. The sloppy critical route seems to be to tag them as nouveau goth, and while there are undoubtedly flourishes of classic darkwave and new romanticism to be found in their whiteface makeup and heavy eye shadow, in substance they are far more indebted to their self-admitted alignment with the Weimar-era theater of Bertolt Brecht, presenting themselves as clowns in the concept's oldest meaning, purveyors of ironic laughter in the face of the absurd destruction that we bring upon ourselves.
It is perhaps because of this clownishness that they will most likely never be considered cool by anyone who assigns that label on a broad scale. As a result they have become a safe haven for the misfit mélange of theater queers, music geeks, and cosmic punks that flock to their highly interactive, communally theatrical live performances, turning the event into a creative outlet of their own. The band realized this sense of intense connection to their music and aesthetic among their audience early on and fostered the rise of the "Dirty Business Brigades," loosely organized troupes of fans who open the band's shows by bringing the punk-cabaret concept to life with a variety of vaudevillian set pieces including living marionettes, mime, interpretive dance, and general performance art.
It sounds dorky and it undoubtedly is, but that's the point. Perhaps the most special thing about the band is their utter fearlessness in the face of appearing to be uncool, and inviting their audience into a relationship where the very concept has little to no meaning or importance. The phrase one finds repeatedly on fan websites and message boards is "Punk Cabaret Is Freedom." Rather than a glib slogan, the Dresden Dolls seem to be taking this as a mission statement and, like all the best cabaret, creating a small space of joy and wonder as the world falls apart just outside the door.
editor@thestranger.com
