amandapalmer.jpgI had no idea what I was in for. I just knew I was there to see Amanda Palmer. I knew about Palmer, sort of. I’d watched some YouTube videos, listened to some tracks from her Ben Folds-produced Who Killed Amanda Palmer disc. A friend of mine whose band played with the Dresden Dolls back east had filled me in on how Palmer was a performance artist who used to pose like a statue on the streets of Boston. Armed with a fierce adoration for her opening act, Portland’s the Builders and the Butchers, and a newfound appreciation for what I knew of Palmer, I headed to the Showbox on Thursday night full of curiosity.

As I entered the venue, turned the corner to get my name checked off the list then proceeded up the stairs into the room, I wondered if it wasn’t completely empty. I’ve never heard that venue so silent, but the crowd was absolutely enraptured by the live looping darkness of Zoe Keating’s intricate contrapuntal cello solos. Her set was over far too soon, but the night was just beginning.

Next came the Builders and the Butchers. In my essay about their live prowess in the December issue of Sound, where they were named Live Band of the Year, I mentioned their innate ability to get the crowd involved, their infectious energy and the power with which they unapologetically attack their songs. I noted how they like to hand instruments to the audience in a non-gimmicky sort of way. All those things were hugely present in their Showbox performance and the crowd was duly won over. Maybe it was the big bass drum they handed folks in the front row for the final song of their set. Armed with tambourines, wood blocks, and their own bare hands, a crowd of a dozen or so people went to town on the drum. Who cared if they had no rhythm? Frontman Sollee and his crew delivered the goods. Punks, goths and hippies alike were wrapped around their pinkies.

Then came local accordionist/maniac Jason Webley, who owned the stage long enough to regale the crowd with a single song. His “Drinking Song” is always a crowd pleaser. He succeeded in getting everyone in the room to raise their hands in the air and spin around 12 times, before throwing their arms around each other, swaying and singing along at the top of their lungs. Had I not seen Webley a number of times before, I may have taken this as an indication of what was to come.

See, for performance artists, it’s not enough to just get on a stage and sing some songs. Every environment is an opportunity. Even better if you can come up with a story to tell. In this case the story was, appropriately that Amanda Palmer had died. Some delightful chap named Steven came onstage between each of the night’s performers to kill time, tell jokes, be ornery and adorable. At one point, he appeared with a tray of cupcakes, which he threw into the audience in an attempt to comfort a roomful of fans who’d just learned their beloved Amanda Palmer had inexplicably died before the show.

Finally, after all the opening acts had done their thing, Keating returned to the stage with a fiddler named Lyndon, and they lit into a dark string arrangement. Steven and a couple of other people wandered onstage in a slow, stiff walk, like a parade of zombie statues. They stood at the front of the stage and posed in rhythm as Neil Gaiman’s voice eulogized Palmer. Then, with a burst of light and surprise, they rose Palmer from the dead and carried her to her keyboard. She came to life and proceeded to pound the crap out of the thing for the next hour. She roared unapologetically, unforgettably through definitive rants like “Ampersand” and “Oasis,” and twittered her way through tunes like “I Want You, But I Don’t Need You.” All the while, her statuesque friends posed and acted out scenes on the sidelines.

Every scene, moment and note was utilized to it’s greatest extent. She approached her performance the way a responsible hunter breaks down its kill, sparing no part of the beast, no matter how seemingly small or unimportant. Every head crank, glance and gesture added to the songs which, to be fair, could stand just as well on their own. But what’s the point of just presenting your songs on their own when you have an entire stage to fill with activity? If you’re going to come back from the dead just to play a show, you may as well make it a night to remember.