Found Sounds and Such...

Here’s my review of Arlo Guthrie and the Boston Pops together at Tanglewood on Sunday afternoon, published in today’s Berkshire Eagle.

“There’s nothing wrong with, say, Procol Harum suiting up with the London Philharmonic and hammering out the orchestral version of arena rock. That’s the road most taken in the (sometimes unfashionable) tradition of this sort of collaboration. But much of the joy in Sunday’s 54-minute set came not in the broad strokes but in the details.

Muted trumpets and clarinet rendered the traditional ‘St. James Infirmary Blues’ in shades of New Orleans, complete with a slightly droopy tempo that conjured the Crescent City origins of the tune. Guthrie’s solo on acoustic guitar blended wonderfully with the Pops, not a note lost in the clean sound mix, and the slightly extended tag at the close came off just right.”

Above photo by Hilary Scott

Michael J. Lutch photo

I didn’t realize there was a black tie version of fishneck stockings and heels.

Such fashion choices might not have fused too frequently upon the same frame—but revelers wearing tuxedos and white gloves mingled happily with those wearing corsets and…not much else.

It was New Year’s Eve with the Boston Pops (sort-of) at Symphony Hall, so a large slice of ham was in order. There were top hats aplenty, and Keith Lockhart leading the band through “A Fifth of Beethoven.” Yet that was just the artifice of tradition, enough to attract those making an annual pilgrimage to Symphony Hall but unsure of what to expect from the “punk cabaret” promised by collaborating artist Amanda Palmer.

Year-end “best of” lists tend to come out with a week or more yet to go in a given year. So what to do with something like this? Palmer’s seventy or so minutes with the Pops  this night was one of my favorite live sets of the year. Bursting with rich bustle yet tightly executed, outrageous yet entirely appropriate, the show was a crowd pleasing, line dancing flood of color. By which I mean to say: it was wicked fun.

And it was merely the climax of a long and eclectic evening of entertainment, also including a handful of other artists spread across at least four performance spaces, a bit of poetry, beef tenderloin in a box, and two short films for good measure.

After a Pops set including “Mack the Knife,” a medley from Carmen, the “Imperial March” from The Empire Strikes Back, and accompaniment to two new short films, Palmer darted through the audience as she sang “Missed Me” from the Dresden Doll’s debut record while “pursued” by Pops members; one appeared through a kitchen door, another stood up suddenly in the balcony, and others were “unveiled” from under sheets, always in perfect timing to complement the song with a tambourine accent or burst of brass.

Michael J. Lutch photo

The large ensemble ambitions of 2008’s solo debut Who Killed Amanda Palmer were realized in vivid Technicolor with the support of the Pops, songs like “Astronaut” and “Leeds United” robustly filling the historic hall. Nine Inch Nails’ “Hurt” has been re-imagined to death at this point… or so I thought, before hearing the piercing version delivered shortly before midnight.

Various guests (including members of the Lexington High School Drama Club) bounded on and off the stage throughout as Palmer reveled in a mash-up of burlesque, baroque pop, musical theatre, and Popsy guilty-pleasure gestures (“We Are The Champions”)— whether playing the Steinway, dancing in a boa made from Tickle Me Elmo dolls, or gleefully employing Lockhart as a foil and prop.

The underpinning of Palmer’s work is an emotional core weighty enough to balance out the accumulating layers of irony inevitably invoked by such a combination of artistry and artful kitsch. This dynamic was made most apparent during a dizzy encore of Lady Gaga’s “Poker Face.” It was oddly thrilling when a group of burlesque-outfitted women flooded the stage in blonde wigs and sunglasses to writhe and dance as the first chorus kicked in. But during the song’s bridge, where the original version features a breathy voiceover from Lady Gaga about “bluffin’ with my muffin,’” Palmer read from a jargon-heavy feminist critique of the song.

At first she read rhythmically as a parallel commentary, in time to the music, riding the internal rhymes of the text. But as if it literally clogged up the gears, the context soon overwhelmed the music as the Pops ground to a halt and “…thus a new culture emerges where femininity can be read as artifice, the woman as signifier, in which Lady Gaga can be considered trapped inside the endless decontextualization of her own re-appropriations…” rang through Symphony Hall. The cultural critic had silenced the artist, and the assorted Gagas pantomimed as if confused and generally ticked off.

Surely it was a satire of this kind of analysis? (Though, for all the postmodern buzzwords, it did seem to be making plenty of sense.)

One was tempted to think so, until the band kicked back in and Palmer belted out one more chorus while triumphantly ripping off the blonde wigs of the dancers, thereby stripping each of her “illusory ‘poker face’” (to quote from the aforementioned critique). A declaration of feminist independence? A re-claiming of the un-selfconscious sexuality exhibited by the dancers, without the “blonding up” required by the Patriarchy?  A refutation of all that had come before, which the audience had been naive enough to enjoy on its face?

But wait, look! The dancers are circling around Amanda and decking her out with sunglasses, dangling costume jewelery, and a blonde wig of her own, as the setpiece concludes with a spiky flourish. So it was all just fun and games after all. Right. (Right?) I suspect not, but both “cases” were made in a way that fully serviced the spectacle, and inspired everyone to applaud before pausing to peel off too many layers. Truly theatrical.

Miss Tess and the Bon Ton Parade

The evening was made all the more robust by pre-and-post show sets from the likes of Miss Tess and the Bon Ton Parade, April Smith and the Great Picture Show, Sxip Shirey and others. (Shirey offered “dinner music” composed largely of beatboxing and digital loops; Miss Tess and friends delivered some positively smoking, ragtime-and-swing-flavored dance tunes.) There was a satisfying boxed dinner, easy access to several bars, and ample New Year’s accoutrements (hats, noisemakers, streamers, etc) for all. The evening had the feel of something well-planned and well-executed. It really was a moveable feast.

So, I guess now I have a year to get my top hat ready. As for the fishnets: probably not.

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Statuesque, a short film by Neil Gaiman (also on hand this night to “play” chainsaw onstage at one point, and to offer a gorgeous invocation for the New Year), preceded Palmer’s set. It features Palmer herself and actor Nighy. (The score, performed in concert by the Pops, was composed by Shirey.)  Here it is: