ARTicles vol.5 i.2bc: Living Dolls

The arched trunk of a gargantuan wisteria vine that grows over the front steps of the building where Dresden Dolls singer, songwriter, and keyboardist Amanda Palmer lives forms the passageway to a Daliesque oasis. Inside this four-story artists’ collective, strangely-shaped holes cut into the floors and walls provide unexpected glimpses of neighbors and nature; mirrors reflect plants that seem to be growing out of the cracks in the ceilings; and antiques stare out at you from every nook. Palmer’s benevolent, white-bearded landlord calls this building the Cloud Club. From the airy top floor, where sunlight pours in through a geodesic glass dome and a hollowed-out corner of the back wall lets you gaze down on the lush backyard garden, it’s easy to forget you’re in the middle of Boston’s South End.

In her recently published songbook, The Dresden Dolls Companion, Palmer remembers walking into this artistic paradise the first time and thinking that “a Gaudi building had exploded in Wonderland and a vintage thrift-store on the Lower East side was selling the remnants.” The surreal structure is a fitting home for an artist who has spent much of her life creating spaces and events where people can have unexpected, transformative experiences. As a child growing up in Lexington she fantasized about hosting a fair in her parents’ backyard. As a college student at Wesleyan University, she imagined turning a forgotten storage room into a beatnik café. Neither of those plans came to fruition, but over the past six years Palmer and drummer Brian Viglione have combined street theatre, performance art, installations, carnival, and the Dresden Dolls’ songs to create some of the most inventive and dynamic events in the music world.

Palmer met Viglione at a salon-style art party she threw at the Cloud Club on Halloween night of 2000. Hours before her guests arrived, the hostess realized she didn’t have a costume. Rummaging through her closet, Palmer found a brown bag that she had labeled “Adult Clothes.” Inside the bag there was a blazer, a skirt, and a blouse – office clothes Palmer’s concerned mother had bought her in case she needed to interview for an adult job. Palmer never went for that interview, but now she finally had a chance to put the outfit to use. When her guests arrived, Palmer told everyone she was a temporary office worker. (The irony wasn’t lost on anyone.) Around midnight, she played a few of her songs for the group, which by that late hour included both friends and friends-of-friends whom Palmer had never met. At the end of the set, a severed head – Brian Viglione in disguise – approached the office temp, introduced himself, and invited her to jam sometime. They got together a week later. Halfway through the first song Palmer stopped playing and gave Viglione a strange look. It was clear they had one of those rare musical connections. Within five hours, they were jumping up and down and screaming with excitement. They had fallen in what Palmer describes as “rock love.”

By the end of their first jam session, Palmer and Viglione knew they were a band, but the duo was still nameless. For a short period they called themselves “Out of Arms,” but it didn’t stick. With the help of Palmer’s friend and mentor Anthony Martignetti, they eventually settled on The Dresden Dolls. “I thought it was the perfect name for a band like ours,” explains Palmer, who lived in Germany as an exchange student during her college years. “‘Dresden’ conjures up the World War II firebombing but ‘Dolls’ is the perfect word to offset that image. It’s an ideal name to capture the fractured beauty and lost-innocence feeling of the music. And the dolls really do exist – the city was famous for its china and dolls before it was destroyed during the war.”

A year after the fateful Halloween party, the Dresden Dolls were invited to perform at Boston’s Burlesque Revival Association. Appearing on a bill with a stripper troupe, the two decided to throw on some costumes for kicks. Palmer slipped on a pair of black-and-white-stripe stockings, a garter belt, and a short dress. Viglione, whose musical influences range from jazz to soul to the hair metal bands of the 1980’s, got into in a 1920’s-era suit. Then they painted their faces white with make-up that slowly melted off over the course of the show. Without transforming them into characters, the costumes made them more animated and playful than ever on the stage, and the band has kept the basic look, with some alterations, ever since. “The fun thing about costume,” says Viglione, “is that it can allow you to incorporate yourself even more wholly into an engagement. That’s what the Dresden Dolls costumes do. People ask if it’s a mask that hides us from the audience. For me the costume is a way to engage even more actively with the audience.”

With their distinctive look and sound, the Dresden Dolls have developed a style that Palmer describes as “Brechtian Punk Cabaret.” A reference to Bertolt Brecht’s confrontational performances that broke down the barriers between the actors and audience, “Brechtian Punk Cabaret” is also Palmer’s homage to one of her musical heroes: the composer Kurt Weill, who collaborated regularly with Brecht before fleeing Nazi Germany in 1933. “I remember hearing their music when I was a teenager and thinking, ‘Finally! Musical theatre that doesn’t make my stomach turn,’” says Palmer. “Weill and Brecht were able to write the unsentimental love song, which is really tough. Love isn’t usually sentimental! It’s real! And I like real, honest, complicated, and flawed.”

So do the Dresden Dolls fans – a group that’s been growing exponentially thanks to the release of two highly successful albums (“The Dresden Dolls” in 2003 and “Yes, Virginia” in 2006); the Dolls’ playful website (www.dresdendolls.com); the duo’s tireless attentiveness to their aficionados; extensive tours around the country and world; and the band’s legendary live performances. People don’t go to a Dresden Dolls concert just to hear the music. They go for the total experience of the event. Determined to immerse the audience in an experience where music is just one of the artistic components, Palmer enlists the support of the Dresden Dolls Brigade for almost all of their concerts. An ever-changing ensemble of performance artists, magicians, poets, belly dancers, musicians, street performers, and living statues, the Brigade transforms Dresden Dolls concerts into events where anything can happen. Their performances before, between, during and after the band’s songs create an environment where art surrounds the audience rather than keeping itself at a respectful distance. (At some concerts you’ll even encounter a violinist playing in the restroom.) A Dresden Dolls concert is a spectacular art party, thrown by two hosts who love to surprise their guests.

The Origins of The Onion Cellar

Two years ago, A.R.T. Artistic Director Robert Woodruff asked the Dresden Dolls if they were interested in creating a theatre piece. Palmer, who has been coming to the A.R.T since she was a teenager, immediately knew what she wanted to do. For years, she had been living with the idea of creating a theatre piece inspired by a chapter from Günter Grass’ 1959 novel The Tin Drum. In the chapter, Grass describes an underground club called The Onion Cellar where patrons cut onions, force themselves to cry, and purge their pent-up sorrows. Palmer proposed opening an Onion Club in the theatre, and creating a piece that would explore the role of catharsis in our daily lives, the ways people work through their personal tragedies, and the long-term effects of withholding truth – a theme that’s been prominent in some of her songs. Woodruff paired up the Dolls with director Marcus Stern, who engaged his longtime collaborator Christine Jones to design the set and transform the Zero Arrow Theatre into a club with cabaret-style seating and a stage area for the band.

Theatre and performance have always been a part of Palmer’s life. Before the meteoric rise of The Dresden Dolls, Palmer made most of her money by busking in Harvard Square. For years she played the Eight Foot Bride, a living statue who stood on a hidden pedestal wearing a wedding gown and holding a bouquet of flowers. As Palmer describes in her online diary (www.dresdendollsdiary.blogspot.com), “I would stand there completely motionless … until some passerby dropped money into a box at my feet. Then I would come to life and share a short moment with the person who had set me free. I would give them a flower, sometimes a kiss to go along with it … I was an art stripper. It was the most extraordinary job … Children would be terrified or enraptured. Countless marriage proposals. Lots of tears … I was free to fixate my gaze on anybody or anything I wanted, and it was perfectly acceptable. Nobody looked away. They would stare right back.” Over the past few years, Palmer has been too occupied with the band to perform the Bride, but just before the Dolls went on their international tour this fall, she went back to the Square and got into her old gown for a couple hours. Standing on the pedestal again and having unexpected encounters with strangers as they rounded the corner, Palmer realized what her true passion in life is: to surprise people.

Brian Viglione shares that love for surprise. When asked what he would be doing if he weren’t drumming, he responds without hesitation: “I would be a mascot. Or one of those people who goes to children’s birthday parties or street fairs in animal costumes. I’ve done several gigs like that and had so much fun. I’m attracted to it for some of the same reasons that Amanda enjoys doing street theatre. The surprise draws an innocent excitement out of people. When this giant furry animal comes up to people, they often revert to a child-like innocence. It’s a thrill for me.” Viglione recently surprised the local music world by showing up to the 2006 Boston Music Awards in a bear costume. Less surprising were the number of awards the Dresden Dolls won: Act of the Year and Best Pop Rock Act for the band, and Best Female Vocalist for Palmer.

In conceiving The Onion Cellar, the Dresden Dolls, director Marcus Stern, set designer Christine Jones, and writer Jonathan Marc Sherman are aiming to invent a space that is completely removed from the ordinary world – a space where unexpected scenes can transpire, and where audience members can immerse themselves in an event at a club, rather than just watch a scripted version of something unfold. “I want people to walk away thinking they had no idea they were going to see something quite like this,” reflects Palmer. “I want to create something that’s inexplicable, something that’s impossible to describe to someone the next day. And I want people to feel like they’re actually in a club where something truly unique and spontaneous is happening. They should know that whatever it is they are a part of won’t be the same tomorrow night.”

Ryan McKittrick is A.R.T.’s Associate Dramaturg.

5_2