this address has been changed to http://dresdendollsdiary.blogspot.com, you will be re-directed momentarily |
|
November 15th, 2004
Portland, Oregon.
We had a rainy day off and I spent a majority of it losing myself in the best bookstore I've ever seen (www.powells.com ).
I picked up what I am pretty sure is my new favorite book - "Girl Culture" by Lauren Greenfield - an unvelievably beautiful and terrifying photo collection. Nothing like the real thing, but I found some online images from the book at www.digitaljournalist.org/issue0301/lg_index.html . Girls at weight-loss camp. Prom queens. Anorexics. Three-year olds in lipstick. Amanda Heaven. Look closely at the captions.
Then I joined forces with some of the folks from Fran Sanchez (the name we've finally settled on for the tour bus) and headed to Mary's Club, Portland's first topless bar, which is now a full-on nekkid strip joint. Not that I'm a massive connoisseur, but I've been to my fair share of tit bars and strip joints and this one was a classic. No cover, very cheap drinks, and decor that resmebled a cross between a 50's family Italian restaurant, a rec room and a FunWorld.
There were only three girls working there, rotating every three songs. There was no DJ, which was also a first for me...the girls just selected tunes from a jukebox that was nailed to the wall next to the stage. One girl was insanely thin, blond and boring. The second girl had complete control over the muscles in her tits (we spent all night trying to figure out whether they were faux or not) and did a wonderful trick of pretending to tug them into the air with invisible strings. But our favorite was girl number three, Carmen, who was tattooed from head to toe and looked like full-on suicide girl material, buddy holly glasses and all.
I've had two bizarre dreams lately.
In the first one, I was eight months pregnant. This was one of those intensely vivid dreams, in which I could feel every detail down to the scratchy pinch of my maternity-pants waistband being ever-so-slightly too tight. I refused to name a father. I'd say it was more of a nightmare, actually.
The next night made up for it. I dreamt that John Lennon wound up at my apartment and I tried to get him to cuddle. To my amazement, he was up for it. I was clumsily messing around with my cd player, putting on some mood music - specifically, I was checking to see which disc tray my Cathode "Sleeping and Breathing" cd was in, because I was sure he'd like it - but I wound up accidentally blasting the beginning of the White Album instead. John sort of tried to be nice about it, but his expression read: "Oh Please, Anything But This." After apologizing and trying to laugh about it, I switched discs again and what should come on but....the fucking White Album again. God, how embarrissing. I suppose this has some sort of traceable interpretation having to do with typical musician anxiety. When you're not the sort of girl who cares if the whole class sees a big bloody splotch on the back of your white skirt, you end up having fears like this instead.
I did wind up cuddling with John Lennon, and all was well.
November 4th 2004
Back in the USA
We were in Montreal on election day. We played at the Cabaret Music Hall and then dashed back out to the bus to sit and wait and listen to a faint radio signal as state by state the results came in. We barely spoke. The mood was pretty somber. When the prospects started to get really dim, we seperated. There was nothing to talk about, really. Some went for walks, some stayed up and drank, toasting to the new dark ages.
I went to my bunk and thought about what it really meant that Bush was going to be the president. The damage to the environment, the lives that will be lost, the progress twisted. I cried for a little while.
I'll admit it outright. A part of me is looking forward to the challenge. Might as well embrace the new dark ages for what they'll provide us: fuel. This band, though not overtly political, did what it could in a very small way. We registered people to vote at shows. We voted ourselves. Could we have done more? Certainly. Is that our responsibility? Yes. And no.
We will do what we do best: express ourselves however we like, make art we love, be kind to each other and those around us, support creativity in all shapes and sizes....and try to infect others with the urge to do likewise. That, I believe, is the most powerful asset we, and all artists, have. More so than waving a flag for a candidate or a cause.
It's a time-tested fact.
In dark and oppressive political times the artistic kilns of revolution and expression are set ablaze.
Let it begin here, my friends.
October 21, 2004
we're stuck in florida, and it's only about 12 days to the election. is it a sign? maybe we'll stay here and count ballots. anything to help the cause. "one for bush, one for kerry, one for bush....um, two for kerry, three for kerry....one for brian, one for amanda, one for noam chomsky...."
the tour has been wonderful and hard so far. touring in a bus for the first time has been a huge relief (no more schlepping our shit every which way every night and morning) but it leaves one with a feeling of complete impermenance. as if we're heading somewhere and never actually arrive.
there's also very little space to spead out and make a mess, which i tend to need. at least every few days.
the local shows in the south have been pretty well attended and the people we've been meeting have been inspiring and beautiful. performers have just begun to emerge from the woodwork in different places and the brigade is gaining momentum. kansas city was a trip and a half...we flew in for one show to support pj harvey and sonic youth at a large theater. since we'd been getting radio play (a lot of it) we were astounded to actually play to a captive audience of about 2000 folks who were familiar with the album and completely into the show.....we'd expected to feel like an opener (with everybody sort of milling in and curiosly checking us out, at best). it felt incredible, quite a step up for our wee band. pj harvey cancelled (something having to do with a missed flight or a canadian border holdup). i was disappointed not to be able to meet her, but we did get to play a longer set. the folks from sonic youth were plenty friendly and had very kind things to say and share.
the baby porcupines that were vigorously mating in my throat region have called a truce and seem to be huddling together for warmth but threaten to get it on at little prompting (lack of sleep and lots of talking seems to get the little buggers going at it). i soothe them with herbal teas and try to keep my stress level at a minimum, which is difficult as that often requires ignoring everyone and everything around me to keep my head on straight.
staying out of everybody's headtrips and problems while living in close quarters is not an easy task, and can feel downright insensitive at times, but it's pretty necessary to maintain your own sanity and protect yourself. my mom taught me that. hi mom! i love you!
i also was intrigued at somebody's post on the dolls' forum about the current meaning of cabaret, and thought i'd cross-post my musings here.
good morning, eveybody........
........................
i don't claim to be any sort of expert on cabaret or the weimar era. in fact, i probably hold my romantic views as fast as the average citizen...i associate the cabaret with a fantasy of an era that we can only be familiar with through books, films and other seond-hand impressions (and therefore, the romanticising of others) of a time that is now gone. however, the cabaret as an idea did not begin and end with weimar germany, even though that's the "classic" cabaret. christopher isherwood's novels and berlin stories, which were turned into a play, which were in turn turned into the musical "cabaret", which in turn was made into the joel gray/liza minelli film is a beautiful example of how post-modern this all gets....the story which feds the fantasy which feeds the story which feeds the artform which feeds the fantasy, etc etc ad infinitum. but there was also the cabaret of paris, the cabarets in new orleans, the vaudleville everywhere, the dadists, the beat culture of the fifties....the spirit of what cabaret means keeps getting captured again and again in different generations and places, it just gets tagged with a different label. for me, the concept of "cabaret" isn't the particular musical styling, it's the spirit in which it is created and brought into the world.
so when i answer these questions, i must be honest: i'm not trying to re-create the weimar berlin cabaret, i'm not trying to start a cult, i'm not trying to do anything excpet kick-start in other people the romantic fantasy which i've always had and i know many others share....to create a space, even just an hour or two, in which everybody and anybody can take part: a spot in a dull world which keeps getting more and more frightening where everybody bands together and makes alot of meaningful noise, where self-expression is demanded, where risk-taking is honored, where art is god and where the rules of everyday life and coduct are forgotten for a while.
some of us will read up on it, take all the christpoher isherwood books out of the libabry and study the dissonant chord changes of kurt weill, some of us will lock ourselves in out rooms and try to memorize the Dada Almanac, some of us will rent "blue angel" and watch it countless times" and write essays about dietrich's influence on the transgendered community, and others will simply come for the show. let posterity show that a very valiant attempt was made at some point in the early 2000's by a group of people, musicians, aritsts, performers and common folk to fight against the overwhelming ennui of the cultural climate. the folks a few decades down the road may find the same inspiration from our efforts.
October 5, 2004
HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK
things are wonderful despite the fact that i have a cough and throat infection and feel like two baby porcupines are making love behind my mouth each time i breathe.
the european tour was magnificent. i hope to learn how to post the digital pictures i took while we're on the US leg of tour. London, Berlin, Brussels and Paris were all sold out and the euorpean people seemed to take quite a shine to the dresden dolls. the NME is already gossiping about us (surely a sign of imminent downfall), we've gotten rave reviews in the german, dutch and UK press and i'm generally feeling wonderful(except for the fucking porcupines. right now they are dry-humping).
Brian sliced his neck open with a broken umbrella handle in Berlin during a TV-shoot for a cultural show called Polylux. He was dueling the cameraman. We have it all on film. Six stitches, and a very sexy looking scar.
We've had a matter of hours, it seems, to come home and regroup and get our shit washed and good to go for our US tour, which is kicking off in Austin, TX this friday (go, porcupines, go! fly far, far, away!).
The schedule is pretty grueling but we have a new convenience of modern rock touring: the TOUR BUS, in which The Dresden Dolls and Count Zero (and after the NYC show: The Ditty Bops) will all sleep in little pods like larvae and get on ech other's nerves with our personal grooming habits. It's like camp, except people are hungover.
Wednesday September 15, 2004
"Father snores as his wife gets into her dressing gown........."
The idea of leaving my home for about three months of touring has me feeling miserable and ecstatic at the same time. While touring is wonderful in so many ways.....clubs, people, performing, ahhh, the limelight, ahhhh, the change of scenery, I have to admit it....it can feel like torture sometimes. Not because I don't enjoy it, but because it prevents me from doing the things that I want....writing, thinking and being alone. I am a homebody. I like to drink tea and read the paper and take walks and write music. I can't write on the road. Even if there was physical space and time carved out, I can't imagine plugging a keyboard into a socket in an empty room and thinking "ok. I have an hour." The only way I've ever written is spontaneously. Ride bike to store, have idea, ride bike home, cancel plans, write song instead. Taking that idea, jotting it down and returning to it the next day is about as effective as ligthing a cigarette you plan on smoking sometime next week. Once that shit it lit, you smoke it.
Then again, what am I writing for? Why am I being so fucking hard on myself? We have scads of material, plenty to fill up another record, or two, or three (well, the third record would probably sound like schlager)....so why can't I just let it go? I suppose in my own selfish way I just can't stand the restraint involved in touring life. there's almost no room for spontonaeity, which is the fabric of my existence at home. Seriously, I try to plan nothing. That way, if I am hungry, I eat. If I want to go for a walk, I go. If a song hits, I can write it. On tour, freedom of choice is narrowed down to what flavor sugared beverage this particular gas station has to offer. Splendid.
The other compoudning issue is this one: most of what I write is an outgrowth of the breadth of experince of my day-to-day existance. For a person like me, touring in close quarters with a bunch of friends and aquaintances and being surrounded by people 99% of any given day requires a certain level of patience that takes up a lot of energy. My mind doesn't spend time wandering creativly, it spends time trying to socially balance with the other humans. Even around people who I know very well, people who I love....it doesn't happen. My mind just doesn't function the way it does when it's alone.
Saturday, August 28, 2004
BACK FROM TOUR - AUGUST 2004
This one was more head-spinning than the last. I honestly had little idea what to expect this time round, and most everything exceeded what little I had expected. Chicago and all of the California shows sold out. All of the other shows were packed. Where are these people coming from? Did my mom send them all secretly?
Watching our fanbase start to organically grow without teeth-pulling is astounding. Seeing an audience so genuinely excited (about ANYTHING these days for christs sake) is about all I can ask for. I simply offer up my prayers to whatever gods are above (John? George? Nina? Janis? Klaus?) that my fragile little voice hold out as well as it has. The constant talking is killing it. After the San Fransisco show I had Pope design a tasteful "I WOULD ABSOLUTLEY LOVE TO TALK TO YOU BUT I'VE MOSTLY LOST MY VOICE PLEASE ACCEPT SIGN LANGUAGE AS AN ERSATZ FORM OF COMMUNICATION AND GRATITUDE" message on my forehead. (well, it wasn't QUITE that long).
The performers that joined us across the land were beyond amazing.
It started with Cirque Eloize www.cirque-eloize.com in Montreal doing some amazing acts with a huge aluminum wheel called the "Cyr Wheel" and some sketch acts (a sad note: Krin, the beautfiul girl who played the "Bald Ballerina" in the Wig-Juggling act had a terrible fall from a high wire in rehearsal last week. She broke both wrists and her jaw. We're all bummed).
Beautiful statues and strip-tease in Toronto (I especially loved the "White Wedding" strip). Excellent man-lying-on-nails-and-walking-on-glass acts in Detroit, handmade shirts in Minneapolis, and coin-operated hula-hoopers in San Diego.
San Fransisco and LA were tied for first.
LA produced a Puppet-Theater-Hoopskirt that housed Brian-and-Amanda marionettes, Swing dancers, Nothings-Shockingesque belly-dancers and an impromptu stage-crashing girl dressed as Holly Hobby On Acid who nearly caused us all death by flinging snake-stuffing-beads in all directions during "Coin-Operated Boy". Brian attempted to eject her by launching her face-first into the front row, old school style, after which she did not take the hint and bounced back onto stage....continuing to spray us all with snake-stuffing. Finally a bouncer came to the rescue and removed strange Snake-Twirling-Stuffing-Spraying-Girl from the stage forever. Brian and I stopped the song, shook the snake-stuffing out of my keyboard and did a small rain dance to dispell the rest of the bad mojo. We later heard her protests and declarations of "But it's ART, man!!!" Yes, it is art. It is also art if I shoot you in the arm. Remember the sixties?
San Fransisco boasted an entire puppet theater on stage, a group of three Serbian sisters singing the most haunting a cappella music I've ever heard, and an army of living statues. And enough flowers to bury a whole village with. It was a beautiful sight.
Portland was a pro-choice benefit and Brian performed an astonishing feat: Drumming with No Neck. He pulled it off splendidly and no-one ever noticed the difference. Seattle was awash in yet more living statues and performance artists and a beautiful hand-made backdrop of the Dresden skyline at night.
All of the performers were magnificent, and are now Honorary Members of The Good Patient Club. Congratulations, ladies and gentlemen.
The bands we played with were also unparalleled, especially Devotchka (with whom we played in Detroit, Chicago and Minneapolis). Fans of Wolrd/Inferno Friendship Society and The Dresden Dolls will cream over these guys. They have a hot chick playing Sousaphone...come on, now: www.devotchka.net.
If you have any photos from the tour, post them on the forum: www.shadowbox.net, we would love to see.
Meanwhile, how is Amanda? Amanda is tired and having an unusually difficult time kick-starting herself into action on this particular tour hiatus. I'm really started to dread the feeling that life is going to become a series of hiatuses (?) between endless touring and that real life will not resume for a long time. It usually takes me at least four days to unpack and clear out the shit from my head and floor and inbox. After that, it feels like a constant game of catch-up and I have almost no disclipline to carve out time to sit at the piano and re-connect with the self that writes songs. Although I did begin a lovesong for eminem last night. It sounds like one of those old blondie raps. I love blondie. I'm just bitching. I have my period.
Being recognized everywhere is also starting to make me wonder what life is going to feel like if we keep getting more and more well-known, which sort of seems inevitable at this point. I daily find it a shame that there is no published book entitled "How To Be a Moderately Burgeoning Boston and/or National Success in the Music Business". In fact, I am thinking about penning it myself. Chapters will include: "Boston Massacre: Facing the Hatred of the Boston Rock Scene", "That's Entertainment: Is Your Public Self-consciousness Running Your Life?", "We Hate It When Our Friends Become Successful: Is Everybody Treating You Differenty, Or Are You Just Paranoid?" and "Mother Should I Build A Wall?: Helping Your Mom Face The Fact That You Are an Actually Legitimate Successful Adult and Don't Need Her Advice About What To Post On Your Web Diary". There will be an entire chapter devoted to working through the collision of Pride and Guilt when walking by a beautiful girl or boy wearing a Dresden Dolls Shirt and not wanting to seem full of myself (...so not saying a word and hiding behind a car).
Which reminds me of a hilarious story. A few months ago, before our big show at the Paradise, I was walking my bicycle past Newbury Comics on Newbury Street and a friendly-looking bloke in a patagonia fleece and a baseball cap shoved a handbill in my direction. Expecting a flyer for an in-store appearance by John Mayer, I was shocked that to see that it was for my own show the next night. He was a comrade! I looked him straight in the face (assuming that the eyebrows on the flyer he was holding and the real deal might click) and said "I'm actually planning on going." Didn't register. He went on about how great the band was and I stood there listening, feeling like I was in some bizarre twilight zone christmas past. Then I biked on, thinking: "Amanda, your life is most certainly about to get even stranger."
(and)
PUNK CABARET IS FREEDOM.
love
amanda
Tuesday, July 13, 2004
we're headed into the studio today (camp street, with sean slade) to put "war pigs" onto magentic tape for posterity. there's been talk of using it on the next Rock Against Bush compilation...though i think a better idea would be to rent a red white and blue hearse during the Republican National Convention and blast it through speakers from the roof while driving around NYC. so many ideas, so little time.
the video for "coin-operated boy" is finished and it looks absolutely ridiculous, in the lovliest way.
it will probably be seeing the light of day on the site and in the world within the next few months.
it was an exhausting four days of shooting and the crew were just fucking heaven-sent...it was really an honour to be around so many people working such long, arduous hours for the glory of art. we couldn't thank these people enough, from the lighting crew to the extras to the people who just flew in to lend a hand with art and costumes or slather some make-up on or donate food...what an expereince. we're humbled.
favorite new music of mine.....
i've recently discovered Muse and it's love at first listen.
I've also been listening to Yann Tiersen. he's the composer of the "amelie" soundtrack
and has some great stuff up his sleeve: www.yanntiersen.com
i'm also re-re-discovering the smiths. i do this every few years. what an incredible band.
i recommmend "the queen is dead" or "meat is murder" for the uninitiated. the more i listen
to this stuff the more i realize that it must have had extreme subconscious workings
on my own writing when i was a teenager.
...............................................................
Monday, July 05, 2004
here is my haiku for the day
making video
for coin-operated boy
is fucking tiring
Friday, July 02, 2004
i wonder how much of myself i'm really entitled or expected to reveal.
everybody sees something different, desires something different, everybody including my own various incarnations from day to day.
perhaps these posts would be more satisfying if they self-destructed within fifteen minutes of creation.
The truth changes the moment we utter it....we edit, we rethink, we press 3 and erase and record again...trying to find the perfect words.
sometimes i feel like a complete paradox. some people assume that i am this self-confident woman full of purposeful direction. but it's all relative. some of the most convincing arguments are borne of clever
overcompensation.
i have the sinking feeling that the more people know about me and my life (and the more fulfilled my little narcissistic fantasy becomes)the more danger i am in; yet the more opportunity i have to take it all and knead it like bread and pound it into something good, something worthwhile, something....useful...?
Sunday, June 27, 2004
Mystery Animal
i've been packing deep into the night (we leave for paris in the morning) and out of the blue, this scrawny little little siamese kitten comes walking into my aprtment. how the hell this happened i don't know, but it must be a sign from god. .
I have no clue where she came from, but sh'es been hanging out with me, playing with all my underwear and banging into my feet for the past half hour. she has a sick meoul, very tortured.
I've named her Rattina Von Arnim. She looks like an albino rat.
oi
(she just stepped onto the keyboard and that's what she wrote. awesome!)
Saturday, June 26, 2004
Los Angeles, Avril Lavigne and 50 Cent
We had a schedule from hell: 48 hours packed with three shows and not enough naps for my taste.
After our show at The Viper Room (which was excellent - wonderful club) i headed around the block to collect myself. Towards the end of the night I went down to the little hotel bar with our manger for a nightcap (Brian was already in LaLaLand). I bumped into Avril Lavigne in the bathroom. Every single one of my mothering insticnts (coupled with my meglomaniacal insticts) kicked in and I started wondering....what could I possibly say to this girl that would be meaningful? I wanted to reach down her throat, grab her soul and give it a sound shaking.
She was trashed, however, and we instead talked about my eyebrows. I told her about the band. We wound up sitting across a table from each other and I swear to god, I couldn't keep my eyes off her. Here is this young pop starlet, only 19, and I feel like she represents the past and the future all at once. I wanted, at her age, to be in her position so bady...making records, being seen and heard, the focus of everyone's attention...but instead I was hiding out, more or less, stewing and fermenting.
And thank god I didn't get my wish, I think nowadays...if I had been in her position when I was 19 I'd be fucked right now. I wouldn't have learned anything about anything. I wouldn't have had a chance to live life, have "normal" relationships (hilarious, isn't that) scrape together rent, and generally fuck around trying to figure it all out. But I see here, in these mascara-heavy eyes peering at me through their purple cosmo: is she the future i've set in store for myself? This girl can't walk into a bar without everyone taking note and acting excited or desperatley non-chalant. She's famous.
And what are we? We just sold out our first show in LA, we're getting rotation on MTV, we're getting known...is this what I'm in store for? Avril looks so desperate in a way, sprawling across that armchair on her girlfriend's lap, screaming pop songs at the top of her lungs, knowing that the world and the bar is her audience, whether they like it or not. She's only 19. I was certainly drunk nearly every night back then. Good night, Avril...I hope real life comes to you in the form of a smashed cosmopolitan.
On another, even more ridiculous, note....50 Cent was on our plane back from LA.
I met him briefly and gave him our disc, which he seemed moderatly fascinated by.
I addressed him as "Mr. Cent" and he told me very graciosuly that I could call him "Fitty".
Apparently he has some new porn flicks in the works, and I will be strongly considered
if he is in need of an "intellectual, suburban white girl".
Onto Paris.
Sunday, May 23, 2004
i found a new piano, finally......a yamaha. we're still getting to know each other, it's awkward, but going well.
things have been going along at an oddly calm pace, what for all that's been happening.
Lollapalooza has been confirmed, the "girl a" video is being aired on MTV2, and wait a second...
so we spend our days pondering what all this means. not being in any rush to be rich and/or famous, it's all a very interesting learning experience if nothing else. it's certainly a little strange, sometimes nice, and sometimes disconcerting to watch how people change. they glaze you with a faint air of celebrity and treat you differently. sometimes it's nice, sometimes it's just ridiculous. but we have each other, thank god, so hopefully no-one's head will get lost in this process.
i began working, finally, on a song i've had in my head for months. it's almost a play in itself....with lots of back-and-forth diologue.
it's a breakfast meeting between me, tori amos, courtney love, avril lavigne, bjork, pink, and liz phair.
it's hilarious.
i've been organizing...tyring to organize....tapes and minidiscs and thousands of hours and ideas and papers and unfinished songs galore, there's not alot of hope yet but i'm working on it.
i have the feeling the next record will be even odler stuff thatn the first record...and i'll just keep reaching back....by the time we make our sixth record we'll be arranging the songs i wrote when i was 12. then nobody will like us anymore.
i am in love with Regina Spektor:
http://www.petermu.net/spektor/
i haven't found a musician i am quite so excited about in years.
her disc "Soviet Kitsch" has been stuck in my head for two weeks.
Tuesday, April 27, 2004
something happened today that was horrible enough to write about.
so, in the wonderful time off i'd had of late, i've been shopping for a new piano-friend.
the old piano-friend is not a friend at all, it's a clunky old brambach grand piano from the forties (if you're on the mailing list, you'll soon get a post that i am selling it for very very cheap, i think). it makes sounds like a piano only with the greatest amount of convincing. and with a few months home before we go away for tour all summer, i finally have some time to write.
so i have been hopping all over topwn, going to this store and that, answering want ads, following sheisty leads on craig's list, looking for a new friend.
today i was driving down the street in brookline and passed a little piano store.
"o look!", amanda thought, "a little piano store! how nice! i'll go in there and look at their pianos, and maybe one will be my new friend!!!"
so i went in. and they had lots of pianos and i started tinkling about on them (as one does when one is testing out pianos). and the salesman came over.
i asked him, how much is this piano? and this one? is it new? is it old? and he answered my questions and then went back to surfing internet porn while i kept tinkling around and testing, looking for the friend.
and then i found a nice one, it was bright and loud the way i think a piano should be and i sat down to play it in earnest.
and i played it the way i have played in 12 other piano stores and places in the past few weeks: some loud, some soft, some very loud, some pounding bass to see if it reverberates nicely, the ending of truce to see if it rings, and so forth. and after i had been playing for a minute the man came back.
he said "you are playing this piano way too loud." and he wanted me to leave.
i was so shocked that i didn't even think to say "are you out of your mind, moron? I am here to buy a piano, let me play whatever the hell i want!"
but i was just humiliated, and walked out. and was pondering all these things in my heart when a moment later my cellular phone rang and it was the producer of our next record, who has been helping me to find a new piano by listening to some of them, and all of a sudden i burst into tears and couldn't stop crying for a few minutes. i was amazed. i hadn't really thought it was all that upsetting. but it was. it hit that old nerve, that deep old wound of childhood carved out when i was never taken seriously and told that the so-called music i was banging out of the household piano wasn't music at all, it was just...noise.
but then a wonderful thing happened.
my loving and kind friend brian viglione was driving by the area and saw my blue car parked and stopped to look for me. and i told him my sad tale of the mean man that made me leave the store.
and while i sat across the street and spied through the large picture window in the front of the store, brian walked in and did his best impersonation of Hunter S. Thompson trying to buy a piano, acid-flashback nervous twitch and all.
He completely freaked the guy out. And got his card.
i posted the address to send friendly hate mail, but have taken it off.
the poor guy got inundated and i think the point got made.
Wednesday, February 25, 2004
with less than 24 hours to spend in my apartment between trips, it's very amusing to see what happens when i open the front door at 8 pm at night.
first i delete spam. i don't answer anything, i just delete the spam and leave everything else. it's like squeezing an overripe pimple.
i put on a bowie cd very loud and started running around yipping and putting clothes that were piled three feet high from the photoshoot we did the morning we left for tourm while simlulataneously
sorting out the real mail and throwing away pieces of trash on the floor and putting objects in places closer to their natural habitats while cleaning a dish or two while replacing bedding tour items to the bed and putting tour tea back on the kitchen shelf (i don't know why i have to do that, i'm just going to pack it again tomorrow).
i like running while doing this, not walking, it makes it seem like more fun somehow.
about a year ago i misplaced my favorite fountain pen, it was small and green and belonged to my mother once.
also about a year ago, i recieved a very strange gift from a friend of my landlord's who swept in for a visit; he had been in some tropical country and brought me a collection of long little plastic bags with different exotic spices. i do not cook. but these were not in jars, and i couldnt just THROW THEM AWAY so i bundled them up in a rubber band and put them on the shelf in the kitchen.
about a half hour ago i found that the bundle had fallen onto the counter and when i picked it up it leaked white and i found that a small mouse friend had decided that the coconut powder was a tasty dinenr and that's why it must have fallen and that is why it was leaking white.
and the green fountain pen was lodged into the bundle of spices.
i really love nights like these.
this last tour was astounding....people in all different cities love our band. i am constantly amazed how the word of mouth is getting people out of their living rooms and into clubs in the middle of nowhere.
Saturday, February 21, 2004
head.......is.........imploding.
please god, let me remember why i am doing this in the first place.......
make....music.......
make......music.........
must...make.....music......
not to answer phone calls, send press kits and answer endless emails.
it's happening very quickly, and when is there time to pee and take a walk?
my beau has recovered, and all of you who have sent supportive emails and stories are a constant reminder of how humanity overcomes the wickedness of constant internet communique.
he came home form rehab a few days ago and wouldn't fate just turn i's wicked turn and have me going off on endless tour just when i want to bury my head in someone's chest and remain there for a few months.
it's funny, if i had a graph of where my head wanders when it has a moment to wander.
a few years ago it was turns of phrase and theatrical stage sets and songs and songs and the occasional gas bill.
now it's booking agent business agent manager tour rider email phone email when will i maybe have an hour to drive to lexington and visit my family and curl up in a ball and
the piano has turned into a poetic resting place for unlistened-to cds that i buy on a whim.
but that's a lie.
death cab for cutie's new cd "transatlantacism" has played on repeat about 5 times and the lyrics and melodies remind me that music is there, it's there....buried under a pile of business and triumphant after all.
Sunday, February 08, 2004
and life goes on.....
my beau is doing fine. it's been an excruciating process but bit by bit he started to move his hands, and then his arms, and now he's able to sit up and he is breathing on his own (instead of letting that odd loud machine do it for him) and he should be going into rehab any day. He still cannot talk but there is an odd device that they screw into the hole in his neck(yow) that acts like a voicebox that allows him to talk a little bit at a time. I go in and visit every day i can, when we're not out of town, the hospital has become some weird peaceful second home, the salad bar in the hospital cafeteria is actually not half bad....and sometimes at the cashier counter the cook puts a plate of the leftover ends of loaves of sweet breads for passers-by to sample.....poppyseed bread.....marble chocolate bread.....I try to entertain him by reading some of my favorite short stories (the happy prince by oscar wilde is one of my favorites and i always cry when i get to the part at the end where the sparrow dies). Hospitals are such a foreign real-life world to enter when you are doing things that seem so unsubstantial all day. What is booking a rock show or writing a script to a video compared to the task that is being performed by a man only a little bit older than me, here at my side, deciding whether to take the trachiostomy out or not? what the fuck? what on EARTH am i doing with my life? once again, why did i not learn how to do something practical, something that did not involve getting attention for a living, like...building suspension bridges?
and every day the future is piling up with a scheulde that i don't even really believe in (sort of like the way I don't believe that people REALLY believe in the apocolypse and the rapture).
it's 4 in the morning and i've been up all night coming up wiht clever ideas for the video that pope is going to shoot for "missed me".....it'll be excellent. we shoot at the end of the month between tours and i think we will put out a DVD collection of 4 or 5 videos this coming fall. that seems very far away and also right around the bend. fucking hell, i can't wait for spring.
my two new favorite records:
rufus wainwright "want one": awesome....radiohead meets queen. i think we might cover the first song.
Sufjan Stevens "Greetings from Michigan State": some tracks I can't stand, but the rest I love. Brian loves this one and got it for me.
Sunday, January 18, 2004
the past few weeks of my life have got to get shelved in my life history as some of the most poetically insane.
on new years eve, just as the band was hitting stage at midnight, my newfound beau (of several months and many late-night talks and drives)
left the club in fright and pain and has been in the hospital ever since, practically unable to move. he's been diagnosed with Guillain-Barre Sydrome.....basically an auto-immune syndrome whereby your immune system flips out and starts attacking your own body (specifically, your nerve endings). He was in a hospital down in falmouth, MA, for a while (where I went to visit every day and, hi there, met his whole family - what pleasant circumstances) and watched him go from sitting up and talking to hardly being able to muster a cough. Then they transferred him to St. Elizabth's here in boston, and he's been on a respirator, unable to do anything but blink his eyes (and move his hands and head slightly) for about ten days.
I go in every day, only allowed to visit for a few minutes at each time, and watch the drama, and feel an incredible sort of love for this person who i have just barely gotten to know.
Meanwhile, the band has just agreed to enter into a massive distribution and promotion deal with a large label and my days are spent endlessly negotiating points of contracts with lawyers and other music business folk. this strange breed of people who i am just starting to understand: the music businessman. music. business. music business. i am still grappling with this one.
so imagine, if you will, that i am driving down cambridge street at top speed, apologizing to my pissed-off drummer that i am going to be late for load-out, because there is traffic on the way to the hospital. i get the call from the label that we are working with that this lawyer is pissed at that lawyer because this lawyer said that that lawyer was lawyering in a not-so lawyerly way, and that a conference call is in order so that the lawyerly men and the parties they are representing can all have one big old lawyer-like party on the phone while the fate of my delicate little band and stupid songs for the next, oh, ten years or so, is decided.
i tell them i need forty-five minutes and pull up to the hospital. i run up the hill. i've watched the hill get covered in snow a few times since he's been in there. it's like a time lapse photograph. his beard is growing, they won't shave him. his hair is growing. he looks beautiful. this time i brought the recording of the zeitgeist show, to play for him on a discman and some huge headphones i rousled up from the downstairs apartment. i had played half of the set specifically for him, knowing i would record it and bring it in. there's a new song that i wrote for him, and a set of cover songs that i know he would love. i crept in, the room was empty and i said hello, and we stared at each other for a while, and fell in love a little bit more, and i played him my songs and he wept and i wept and then the time was over and i went back to the car and the phone rang and within four minutes of having been there at his bedside i am hearing ".....have to get on the same page about the it's very important that we all understand that plenty of concessions and considerations have been made in order to fully perhaps you don;t fully understand the magnitude of what has been negotiated whether or not is not the issue in any event the.....(insert sci-fi special effects music, a la spaceship landing, pan to close-up of amanda's head slowly imploding)....", as i drive at top speed to get back to the house where brian is waiting so we can get the fuck out of town to make it to our show on the other side of the state in time for soundcheck.
the past two weeks have been like this. but it could have been no other way. here i am, realizing that nothing happening with my future or this band is important. my small-minded litle fantasies have not been allowed to breed for longer than a few milliseconds. in the ciritcal care unit, i was walking by twelve people on death's doorstep.
but everything will be fine.
elliott smith's "either/or" has not left my CD player in two weeks.
Monday, December 08, 2003
The Dresden Dolls Face the Long Winter
writing in a diary like this has become as frustrating as trying to write in my own journal lately, i feel like i have too much to say, so i just don't.
it's a typical night. the snow today has lost it's initial glory and stands piled hip-high in front of the door. walking along the sidewalk i have an angle into michael pope's window i never had before. brian and i sludged through the snow to the roxy to go the the newbury comics annual staff ball, ate a few pieces of shrimp, and left.
i saw a squirrel having a hard time on an icy vine outside the foyer.
i tried to resurrect an old song tonight and think i may have succeeded. the original title was "WWW.WWWIII" (clever, eh?)
the lyrics address a weird cross between stating frustration at the over-connectedness of the nation, the idea that the surface of the moon may become a battling ground for competing advertisers, and a call to arms for some mythical army of frustrated children who will cut every wire in the world so we can start the whole thing over again.
.....a passing aquaintance at the time i write it asked "what are you, a fucking luddite?"
in spirit only, i would be pretty lost without elecricity.
but it's fun to fantasize. it's not the electircity, it's the disconnection it forces.
i spend hours looking at the piles that are accumulating on the floor of my apartment and wonder if they'll maybe go away magically.
the piano's out of tune.
i have found some really really good music lately, however:
"stellastarr*" are fantastic....totally retro eighties/pixies/cure stuff dripping with hooks.
"iron and wine" gets my vote for most beautiful cd of the month. i'm not sure which disc it is, but there are only two, i think.
it's gorgeous guitar songwriting with almost cohen-brilliant melodies and lyrics.
i've also been digging this band from the south called "the fatales", the website is www.thefatales.com.
the cd is nowhere to be found, you'd need to order it off the web.
it really grows on you, almost NYCcool meets Radiohead meets Cabaret.
they seem lonely and i think we're going to play with them sometime.
bed is near
amanda
Friday, October 24, 2003
The Dresden Dolls play CMJ and See Marylin Manson
Another journey down to New York City in our beloved Ludwig Van....
Brian and I got into a discussion about god-knows-what and missed the exit for 84 off the Mass Pike. Not only did we miss the exit, but we continued on for quite some time without realizing our stupid mistake, even we stopped for gas at a rest stop we had NEVER seen, and I know, because it had no pac-man, and all of the rest-stops on the pike between Boston and the 84 exit have pac-man, and I know, because I always play a game, and I'm getting very good. The club we played in in cleveland had a pac-man and i got to the 10th level and the club in st. louis had a pac-man (but with no sound) and i didn't do as well, but it was really nice that they had it, anyway...
anyway, we missed the exit something terrible and wound up all the way in new york, up north. we realized out stupid mistake and hit a full-on bad accident and calculated that it was very possible that we might miss our show. we spent the next harrowing few hours going completely ballistic in the van (we made up several good songs: "I want a Ludwig Van" to the tune of "I wanna hold your hand" was the most memorable) and arrived at the Mercury Lounge exactly ten minutes before we were supposed to hit stage. we barrelled in, set up, got dressed and were on stage, playing, fifteen minutes after coming in the door. not bad.
after the set we were given four free tickets to the marylin manson show across town. we simply had to go, there was no way around it.
I had never heard a Marylin Manson record album but Brian had, and I was very curious.
pope and manta were with us, so we piled in an automobile and headed to the roseland ballroom, to see what had become of The Youth of America.
surprisingly, the crowd there was not very Youthful, it seems that Mr. Manson has a devoted crowd of older fans but the young youth aren't very excited. he was a very good performer, full of energy he was, but the music was forgettable and the dancers weren't very inspired (though they were sexy, and had o.k. bellies, on the stout side, the way i like).
we secured a nice balcony table up top, due to our lucky special tickets, and manta brought out his large notebook and started to write, and gave me a nice marker and i got to draw on the other side, so i made some sketches of marylin manson and his dancers and another picture of the rock world, which was a sort of globe with flowers sprouting out of it interspersed with some searching, aching, war-weary hands stretching to some unknown goal. it was a nice set of pictures, brian admired them, and we were very cold up there and a little bored, as the music was monotonous and marylin manson wasn't very interesting anymore.
i explained to brian and manta the significance of the deaths-head skull that decorated mr. manson's stage podium (it was an insignia used by an especially brutal and bloodthirsty subsection of the nazi SS, called the "todeskopf" in deutsch...mr. manson's version had imposed mickey mouse ears atop the skull of the head. about as tasteless as you could get, and sort of funny, i thought, though had i been someone killed in a concentration camp, I probably would have been deathly offended). neither of them knew the significance of the deaths-head, and it made me wonder how many in the audience understood mr. manson's disturbing joke. he also arrived behind his podium in blackface, wearing a set of mickeymouse ears, i wonder if this was lost on anyone as well.
Brian and I came down from the balcony, fought our way through the crowd to the front, and made a kind of wild love among the crowd.
Then we left and went back to the mercury, where i promtly forgot to get paid for the show and we left behind more cool short black haircuts then we've ever seen in one small place in our lives.
i stayed up until five in the morning in the safety of my dear friends' house in hoboken, NJ, working on the details of our halloween show, which i am very excited about, we will be performing a little play based on popular culture.
Monday, October 06, 2003
the long road.....
with only a few minutes to spare, i must be brief...but suffice it to say that the tour has been unbelievable. opening up for edward & entourage was a complete godsend, as we got to play for large crowds of pre-disposed doll-like-music enthusiasts. the responses from people have been fantastic, and we've sold a ton of records. we're very happy, and a bit sore and tried.
the road itself is long and full of bad, bad, bad coffee and little healthy nourishment. i long for the day when america's health craze finally makes it's way into it's extensive collection of seedy gas stations.
we have been blessed every single night with a story and a place to stay...
...in philadelphia we landed at a friend-of-a-friend's place, a wonderful photographer who just happened to live next to a manse that got destroyed in a hurricane just days before. photo shoot opportunity galore, and our lovely michael pope (filmmaker in residence in the dresden dolls van) took some super 8 footage. we'll see....
speaking of the van, ludwig has been fine, spewing some unknown smoky phlegm from the tailpipe every once in a while but otherwise just dandy.
we've got a few days off now, staying in st. louis with brian's aunt judy and uncle stan and their large doberman. they have a victrola and a spinet piano, and titus on videotape. it'll be a fine few days.
no other news of huge importance....one lovely little anecdote, though...
a few days ago we went (cringe, gulp) to the rock and roll hall of fame and museum in cleveland, where we had a show that night...our fine friends in world/inferno had mentioned that they waive the $18 admission fee if you're in a touring band, which they indeed did. (however, they wouldnt let us videotape and pope couldn't stomach it and went around the block for a drink.)
we ran around like idiots for an hour and worshipped at the altar of david bowie's coats, the zz top car, jimi's guitars, jeff buckley's diary, etc....and then had to rush out to make soundcheck in time.
on our way out the door, the white-haired spinstery lady at the admission desk hollered and waved us down ...they had found a press clipping and photo of the dresden dolls in the cleveland weekly paper and laid it out for us to autograph and leave with them.
apparently, we'll be eligible in 2028.
Monday, September 29, 2003
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
we are going on tour tomorrow.
the last week has spun my head and i am not even remotely focused on what i am doing at this moment,
because i have 457 things in my head, all wanting to be thought about.
we have a nice blue tour van, we named him ludwig. ludwig van.
i am leaving The Machine at home, but if we're in the vicinity of a computer i'll check in and write about
what is happening to our little band out in the Big World.
xxxxxxooooooooooo
amanda
Saturday, September 20, 2003
i feel like an old, tired, dying sea sponge.
there has been no time for Fun.....all work, no play, not even any time to stop and wonder whether there will be a time later.
how difficult it is to be continually excited about everything that's going on with the band when all it amounts to at the moment is more and more work that seems less and less creative.
everybody keeps telling me that this is the artist's plight.
MoldGravy
Wednesday, September 10, 2003
late at night, again, and i am here, sitting behind The Machine.
i had another one of my rare freak-outs this evening, where i look at the schedule, the list of things to do, and the reality of the next few weeks and say
"good lord jesus, i am not going to sleep much less have time to do things that aren't priorities like...sleeping." and playing the piano.
all of this business crap has dented the creative process in a nasty way.
instead of musical ideas floating through my head, there are income statement inconsistancies. something, i think, is Not Right.
MoldGravy
Friday, August 15, 2003
The Story Of The Dresden Dolls &
The Great Blackout In New York City
by
amanda
never have the dresden dolls endured such a night.
in order to understand the irony of the events that am i about to relate, you need the sordid history of the past few weeks.
there are several labels who have taken an interest in maybe signing our little band.
all of these labels have headquarters down in new york, so we have to do what is called "showcasing" - meaning, basically, that we will play our next show down in NYC knowing that these suits will be there.
we had this show booked down in NYC, on the 14th, with our fine friend World/Inferno Friendship Society at the knitting factory anyway....so there we went.
so here we are, holding our fragile little record in our hands, our record release date set, no label.....and we decide (goddammit) that we are going to put it our ourselves. money is the only issue, so we hit up everybody we know for a loan. and lo and behold: Eight Foot Records in born.
this means many scary things: we need distribution (to get the thing into stores....and this is VERY difficult for an indie band to get without a label). we need our own booking agent. we need our own publicist. we need a radio publicist. we need help.
so i spend about 15 hours a day on the phone and at the computer trying to figure out, once and for all, the key to unlocking the mystery that is the music industry (no answers yet, but give me a few more weeks, i'm working on it).
(on the side: we hired two part-time employees, got an amazing office space in chinatown for practically free, and will be putting out the call for interns - stay tuned).
so all these folks that i'm talking to all day on the telephone all want to see the band. and they're all from new york. and we have this impending show on the 14th at the knitting factory. how convenient! so our guest list ends up housing the potential radio promoter, the potential booking agent, the potential record reviewers and two representatives from major labels. (no pressure).
MEANWHILE, the artwork for The Album is done. done, that is, but not at the printer. the printer is down in new york city, on broadway, very far from our hometown of boston. and everything is wrong. the bleed is fucked up. the bleed? they can't download the files our designer uploaded to the web. we fedex the artwork on disc. they can't open the files. it takes forver. they make proofs. they need to be fed-exed up to boston. we are going down to new york anyway, for our Very Important Show at which Many Important People will be. so we'll just swing by the printers at 4 p.m. on the way to soundcheck and approve the artwork? sure.
at 4:15 p.m., after an unevetful drive down to the city, we pull up in front of 611 broadway, where our printer should be waiting, proofs in hand, for us to check out and approve for printing (the whole album , by the by, is now coming out 3 weeks behind schedule anyway, because of all the other fuckups and the deal with the label falling through.)
at 4:15 p.m. the fucking blackout hits new york. we double park in front of the printers and i assume that it's a fire alarm, and that's why there are mad heads standing out in front of the building. but nay. we find out about the blackout but assume it's a block-wide or even neighborhood-wide thing and at worst, a small pain in the ass. so we wait at the car, double-parked, for the power to come back on.
which it doesn't, and we eventually hear a "GET OUT OF THE WAY" coming from the loudspeakers of a police bus behind us.
so we do, and we find ourselves swimming through the chaos (no working traffic signals, lots of impatient new yorkers) in our trusty blue volvo station wagon, through throngs of people who have all been ejected from their placid air-conditioned cubicles....like a large blue trout in a sea of well-dressed minnows.
traffic is at a standstill, and we are mere block from the knitting factory. there is no cellular service so we can't get through to the other bands, the club, or greg and andrew, or guitar and bass player for this show.
i suggest to brian that he pull over and i go on foot to the club to see what's what.
the scene is chaotic, broadway is packed with people, traffic isn't moving and sirens are wailing from every direction. i must look very interesting to most commuters, running at breakneck speed in my slip and flapping sandals, eybrows running down my cheeks.
and there, lo, by candlelight in the front bar of the knitting factory, are sitting the 9 dignified members of the world/inferno friendship society, drinking ciders and chatting merrily, surrounded by the Good People of the Neighbourhood and lots of The Ejectees from nearby offices. it's a beautiful sight.
the beer is cold and plentiful and i run back to brian at top speed to tell him of the wonders i have witnessed.
we drive through the chaotic crowd at a snail's pace and eventually get back to the club. there's nothing to do but wait, we're pretty sure the show will be cancelled unless the power comes on damn soon, so we just drink and commisserate with our fellow musicians.
brian breaks out the acoustic guitar and the tambourine and we play through Side A of the first violent femmes record. then we move on to ramones songs, people join in and we move on to black sabbath and other miscellaneous covers.
we set brian's bowler hat on the ground and make a grand total of sixty-five cents from passing youngsters, whose mothers find us charming and send their children to us with alms.
it seems more and more likely that the power ain't coming back on, so we confer with wolrd/inferno.....shall we set up a street show?
so we set up a street show...brian drags his drum kit into the middle of leonard street and
accordians, saxophones, acoustic guitars and screaming vocalists jam out without the benefit of a public address system. world/inferno plays a good half hour set, we dance wildly. we discover that franz, the accordian player from inferno, knows "port of amsterdam", which brian and i had planned on playing....so brian tunes up the guitar, we clear off the make-shift merchandise table and i stand aloft, staggering slightly from the warm beer and penetrating sunlight & ruining my voice in one screetchy but heartfelt performance, successfully entertaining the crowd on the street, which has at this point grown to a sizeable 150 folks or so.
we sell 4 cds and a few people sign the mailing list, so we happily cut our losses and start
planning our escape from this dark pit of hell. mind you, it's 90 degrees and the car has no air conditioning.
it takes us close to 2 hours to get to the bridge - which is about 12 blocks from the club. the fumes are horrific, the traffic is at a standstill and we have no idea whether we'll run out of gas or not.
we stop saying "god, this sucks" after a while and just give each other pained but peaceful
looks, probably much like the looks of the terminally ill after they've completely comes to grips.
we eventually break out of the city at around 10:30....and we cavalierly pass by the first gas station we see because there is a line like a funeral procession and we figure we have enough to last us til the next one.
one hour later: we are stranded in the middle of connecticut, not an open gas station to be had, and approximately one tablespoon of gas in our tank.
so we pull over, put the drums in the front seats of the trusty blue volvo, and sleep in the back, on top of brian's suits and padded trap cases.
we wake, sore and covered with dew, at 5:30 a.m., fill the car, hit the road and head back to boston.....bleary-eyed, exhausted, aching, frustrated but strangely content.
so our Very Important Show For Music Industry Suits ended up being a Steet Fair For Children and Ejected Office Workers, and we don't know when, but hopefully it will be rescheduled.
funny, but oren (a good friend and fan of the dolls) was chatting with me the night before at my solo show at the zeitgesit. i was telling him of the nervewracking show in new york, what with all the suits and all, and he said "amanda, make sure you play for us, not the suits, please." and then he gave me a rock from the beach in glouscester. if he had only been on leonard street last night, he'd have been a very proud man.
it's possible that this was a sign from god that the dresden dolls are destined to run their own record label for ever and ever. who knows. anyway, no matter what it means, we still need a fax machine and a van.
pax
now, zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
amanda
MoldGravy
Saturday, July 05, 2003
it's been a crazy time for the dresden dolls.
last tuesday's sold-out bill att he middle east was a historic moment of bands colliding. World Inferno Friendship/Society made us dance and
i would like to personally hail Sleepytime Gorilla Museum as possibly one of the BEST BANDS EVER. amazing music, amazing people, amazing light show, amazing everything. sadly, we have one more show with them (tomorrow) and then they are going along on their merry way.
the knitting factory show (6/30) was wonderful, our friends Barbez were in top form and we played to a packed house.
last night i went to a family affair on beacon street to see the fireworks. there was a little girl there, 9 years old, who i decided was my new favorite person. she writes songs for piano (according to her, all in d minor) and stared of into space while we were talking to her father and said "dad....i'm feeling blank". her name is erica and i want to take piano lessons from her.
there is the upcoming show with the b52s to be excited about....the shelley winetrs project (the other opener) is fantastic, so we hope at least 5 or 10 people can afford the ticket price.
brian is sadly going bye-bye until mid-august but i'm scheduling some solo shows. i have no idea what i am going to play. some dolls songs, some yet-to-be dolls songs and some covers....i am taking requests.
we just scheduled our record release date!!!! (secret secret, so i'm only wirting about it here). it's going to be Sept. 26th at the paradise and the support is still getting worked out. we are jumping up and down!!!! we finally get to give our fucking record out!!!! yayyyyy!!!!!! (we love our record.)
i am also fantasizing about organizing a dance in the fall. at a high school gym. with streamers and local bands playing only early sixties dance music. we will play all girl-group covers. with back-up singers.
currently i am very much diggin' the Yeah Yeah Yeah's "fever to tell". i bought it to see what all hype was about. it's brilliant. go spend your money on it.
i wrote a good new song today. for the first time in ages. that's why i'm allowing myself to whack off in front of the computer all evening. i am also rewarding myself with a night out, the Fall is playing at the middle east tonight....
amanda palmer
Wednesday, June 04, 2003
brian and i had a nice rehearsal tonight.
a record company sent us some airheads in the mail.
amanda palmer
Friday, May 30, 2003
true to form, i've ignored this for a while.
winnning the rock and roll rumble was the most surprising event of the month.
who'd have thought.
i spent a few days lurking on the noise message board, reading the horrible things the old boston rockers were writing about me and our band. bummed out for a day or so, and finally decided that it was nice to have some local critics.
it's been months since i wrote a song.
every day is filled with endless busiwork.
brian and i sit across from each other, eating fish and vegetables in my kitchen, and muse about what the fuck is happening to our band.
we played at the tweeter center on sunday....it was astounding. i've gotten so used to playing in clubs and bars, where everyone is over twenty-one, that it was a shocking revelation to learn that teenagers liked our music. i hadn't given it that much thought.
we gave our studio disc to perry farrell and dave navarro. they said they'd listen to it.
we think they'll like it.
it's depressing, though. my arms were out of commission for a while, so i decided to just not think about the fact that i couldn't work on new stuff and focused on the management of the band. well, that worked....and here i am, uncomfortably used to not being a writer. this, i am told, happens to everyone.
i have 50 unfinished songs and ideas and very little pateince.
tonight, i am going to listen to the many new cds i've accumulated over the week (johnny cash live at san quentin, laura nyro, talking heads, many others....) and try to find some things to sell at the yard sale tomorrow.
i'm reading an excellent, excellent book. for anyone interested in the music industry (especially if you're from boston), i'd say it's a must-read: The Mansion On The Hill, by Fred Goodman.
the song of the week is by this excellent group from new york, melomane, and band we will hopefully play with in the fall. it's called "fighting guitars" and may prove to be the soundtrack song of the summer.
it's a slow, dreary, carnival-esque waltz with double male/female vocals:
"she was the corporal at arms
of the fighting guitars
nobody wins
in these weaponless wars..."
amanda palmer
Monday, April 28, 2003
the dresden dolls diary is now officially up.
cheers and beers for the infambulous martin brothers!
in my opinion, one of two things will happen.
a) out of sheer laziness, i will only post news when ground-breaking things happen with the band (like we get scurvy, or a world tour booked opening up for the spice girls reunion, or we break up and start doing solo projects and film scores, or brian finally gets the cover of modern drummer)
or
b) i will trash my paper-bound diary and just start posting my mundane woes about life here for the general public to read. given my paper-bound predilection to write for some fictional audience anyway, this might actually happen.
amanda palmer
|
|
|
