Standing in the queue for the Amanda Palmer gig The Boyf turns to me and says “Last one to spot Neil Gaiman pays the bus fare”. Sounded like a plan. In the end I didn’t pay for the bus fare, the scraggly-haired writer was swiftly spotted while we were still in the same spot in the queue. We were both surprisingly restrained, neither of us ran after him shouting We luvz yoooo, instead we both just did a double triple quadruple take and probably stood about mouths agape. That wouldn’t be the last time we were to spot Scary Trousers that night, but first we had some music and nudey dancing to get through.
Last year I loved The Indelicates debut album, I think I ranked it my favourite album of oh-eight with good reason: they’re a slightly more politicised and orchestral version of Art Brut but with an extra girl on vocals. Simon was vitriolically, angrily bitter; Julia was gorgeous – as ever – and other three…well, the guitarist is more than reminiscent of Pete Wentz [which is not a good thing, the leaping, gurning fool], the drummer looks familiar [JJ72? Grange Hill?] and they’ve got a girl wielding a bass that’s nearly the same size as her.
Fall-Out-Boy-alike aside they were good, better than good, although I do fear I was that one weirdo at the gig who’s there for the support band. I have the album, I have another copy of the album on vinyl, I knew all the words, I was the one who geeked out when they played the b-side Waiting For Pete Doherty to Die.
Of course, if The Indelicates were good, then given Amanda Fuckin’ Palmer was still to come, the evening was only going to get better. But before then we had Zen Zen Zo who are a naked contemporary dance troop. I think they’re best summed up by the girl acting like a twelve year old boy standing behind us: “Boobies, boobies, boobies”. Maybe I’m just a contemporary dance philistine, but it didn’t do anything for me.
Amanda Fuckin’ Palmer: theatrical darlin’, cabaret punkette, legs to die for, att-i-tude and yet, still there’s something coyly sweet about her. Who Killed Amanda Palmer? is a bombastic album, from the thuddering in-your-face of Astronaut, Runs In The Family, Oasis and Leeds United to the melancholia of Have To Drive And Ampersand. It’s a hard line for a show to deliver the both grandeur and intimacy, but AFP did. The horn-section-led euphoria of the opening Missed Me, Astronaut and Runs In The Family almost seamlessly led into Amanda, alone at her keyboard lamenting.
Then Neil Gaiman showed up again to read us a story, which I shouldn’t say was the best thing about the whole show but it was pretty damn amazing: Neil Gaiman reading us a story which he’d written about Amanda Palmer. Awsum.
The round things off we came full circle bringing back The Indelicates and the horn section to blitz through Leeds United, Oasis and then finally Let The Sunshine In.
What more could you ask for from a show? I mean it had a ukulele two ukuleles. Let me reiterate: Awsum.
