Boston Music Awards 2003

Whether you love the event, hate it, or regard it as just another necessary evil, the Boston Music Awards have become a cornerstone of the Boston music scene. It may not be the Grammys, but our humble city's annual music award ceremony incites the same range of wildly contrasting sentiment as its bigger, televised equivalent.

Each year the BMAs are held on a Thursday night (this year it was September 4th) and act as the starter pistol for the two-day NEMO Music Conference and Showcase (September 5th and 6th). For these three days every year, hundreds of representatives from the music industry converge upon Boston to participate in day and night performances, exhibit new technology, market products, network, discuss the future of music, share ideas, and bitch and moan about ClearChannel and the RIAA. 

Two big changes in this year's affair had all the music critics (professional and armchair alike) giving the BMAs and NEMO some extra-close scrutiny. For one thing, in its 7th year, NEMO is under new management as Executive Director Chip Ives inherited the whole shebang from longtime head honcho Candace Avery. Secondly, now in its 16th year, the BMA ceremony moved from the Orpheum to the Wang Theatre. As for the management change, that caused the BMAs and NEMO to move ahead six months from April to September, and also means that Showcase Director Jim Morgan and Showcase Managers Jim Scordamaglia and Kristin Bredimus courageously organized the whole event in a mere fraction of the usual lead-time. In recent weeks Chip Ives was all over the press and radio, declaring his intention that NEMO acquire the same global status as CMJ and SxSW. (By contrast, SxSW hosts fifteen thousand participants attending three separate festivals over ten days with national coverage in all the esteemed rock publications, boasting acts like Tom Waits, Marilyn Manson, and Neil Young).

On the night of September 4th, about 2000 people streamed into the Wang Theatre's grandeur of twinkling chandeliers, lush expanse of carpeting and marble columns. The crowd was abuzz over the venue change. With a bigger stage than the Orpheum and a lot more pomp and circumstance, the Wang felt a little...weird...compared, that is, to the more rock 'n roll Orpheum set-up. At the Orpheum, you can come and go from the main house, get drinks, mingle in the back of the room, and stand off to one side to watch the awards. By contrast, there was zero mobility at the Wang. Once seated, you've got to vanquish your entire row in order to get out. Not only that, but the gala-like ambiance can get a bit surreal when you consider that the usual setting for running into guys like Ad Frank, Zsid (WXRV), the Dresden Dolls, the Waltham dudes, the Three Day Threshold boys usually involves a smoky bar, a sticky floor, and paper cups of PBR.

This year's host, Mighty Mighty Dickie Barrett, did a bang-up job, surely because he could give a wet slap what anyone thinks of him. He swore and laughed, yelled at the audience when they didn't hold their applause as he instructed, lost his place in his notes, and looked openly amused or annoyed at the gaffs and antics of the presenters and winners. One audience member compared Dickie's gruff, breezy and personal style to last year's host, Joey McIntyre, whose lordship over the proceedings put us through a woefully contrived train wreck of halting, stilted anecdotes and painfully lame jokes. Yay for Dickie! This year, there were times when Dickie's easy candor saved the moment from being embarrassing, like when Ernie Boch Jr., the "second most famous man from Norwood, MA," announced a Scholarship Program by reading, faltering and stiff, from index cards. Dickie stood next to the podium, swinging his arms and grinning encouragement. Whether he was encouraging Ernie or the audience isn't clear, but his overall warmth puts everyone into an accepting mood.

Having Blue Man Group kick off the performances was a blessing and a curse. With their usual carnival of light, intoxicating groove, plus Tracey Bonham rockin' a torch song ("I tried to walk the way you told me but each time I got lost," she belted), this set the bar for fascination and energy so high that it was never surpassed. In fact, only Edo G, The Dresden Dolls, and Howie Day even came close to captivating the room as completely.

A sense of hometown-music pride was unavoidable in the face of constant reminders of just how insular the Boston-based music scene is; for example, when WAAF's Greg Hill presented the award for Hard Rock Band he said that he and Dickie go back a long way, "That time you got arrested... where was that, in Lowell?"

James Montgomery and his band presented a great show that one could argue was just a little much. The musicianship was outstanding, especially the dueling between James' harmonica and Johnny A's electrifying guitar, but I could personally do without Mr. Montgomery's overacted facial expressions and lounge singer posing. It's all a little Vegas-schmaltzy for the average Boston rock scenester.

The videos memorializing the late Howard Armstrong and Billboard editor Timothy White were well-produced and touching, and many were openly tearful during Mikey Dee's video tribute. 

Three Day Threshold, winners for Outstanding Roots Rock Band, donned red long johns to accept their award from endearingly nervous presenter Ad Frank. "Yeah, ya gotta look good in this business," drawled Dickie in amusement, looking after them as the band padded off the stage in pajama feet.

When Godsmack's Sully and Shannon presented The Gentlemen with their award for Outstanding Rock/Pop Band on an Independent Label, Sully told a bad joke about "shit" that got some pity laughs. The great thing about Sully is, he doesn't give a fart in a high wind.

Howie Day was a big surprise, taking the stage looking like a low-key folkie, but bringing the house to its knees with his one-man show of hard-edged emo pop. Howie uses loops in a Joseph Arthur kind of way to merge voice and guitar and build to a heart-stopping crescendo. He went home with two awards: Debut Album of the Year and Outstanding Male Vocalist.

What is the appeal of Livingston and Kate Taylor? It was Will Farrell and Ana Gasteyer as the music teachers, seriously. Their demographic was not present on this night.

The Damn Personals, who won for Outstanding Club Band, announced that they're giving their award to The Explosion, who lost out to them for that award and to Kicked in the Head for Outstanding Punk Band. 

Nobody listened when Gary Cherone asked the audience to hold your applause until the end as Gary announced the first group of winners that weren't being presented during the ceremony. Dickie Barrett announced the second group later, and dealt with the wayward clapping by barreling right through it.

The Dresden Dolls brought a thrilling sense of theatrics by pausing for a long twenty seconds before attacking "Coin Operated Boy," which they nailed better than ever. Alas, Amanda Palmer's crotch light was omitted for tonight.

Bleu closed out the proceedings with hit sing-along "Get Up" from his Aware/Columbia debut, Redhead. The mutton-chopped pop darling and the thirty-something singers in his Slap Happy Choir wore yellow T-shirts proclaiming the song title. Bleu ended "Get Up" by falling forward onto the floor and no, he didn't get up.

All in all, a terrific show.

Here's the complete list of winners:

Act of the Year
John Mayer

Album of the Year
October Road - James Taylor

Album of the Year (Independent)
Jacknife To A Swan - Mighty Mighty Bosstones

Outstanding Club Band (Best Live Show)
Damn Personals

Debut Album of the Year
Australia - Howie Day

Outstanding Hard Rock Band
Scissorfight

Jazz Album of the Year
Go With The Flow - Walter Beasley

Debut Album of the Year (Indedpendent)
Famous Among The Barns - The Ben Taylor Band

Outstanding Male Singer/ Songwriter
Josh Ritter

Outstanding New Rock/ Pop Band (Independent)
Moonraker

Outstanding Punk Band
Kicked in the Head

Outstanding Rap/Hip-Hop Act
Mr. Lif

Outstanding Rock/ Pop Band
Godsmack

Outstanding Rock/ Pop Band (Independent)
The Gentlemen

Local Album of the Year
We Are The Only Friends We Have - Piebald

Outstanding Blues Act
Susan Tedeschi

Outstanding Blues Album
Susan Tedeschi

Outstanding Country Act
Dave Foley Band

Outstanding Female Singer/ Songwriter
Melissa Ferrick

Outstanding Female Vocalist
Aimee Mann

Outstanding Female Vocalist (Independent)
Kay Hanley

Outstanding Funk or Jam Band
Superhoney

Outstanding Jazz Act
Pat Metheny

Rap/ Hip-Hop Album of the Year
I Phantom - Mr. Lif

Local Song of the Year
"So Lonely" - Waltham

Outstanding Male Vocalist
Howie Day

Outstanding Male Vocalist (Independent)
Ironlung (Scissorfight)

Producer of the Year
Mike Denneen

Outstanding Roots Rock Band
Three Day Threshold

Singer/ Songwriter Album of the Year
The Beauty Of The Rain - Dar Williams

Song of the Year
"Your Body is a Wonderland" - John Mayer

Outstanding World Music Act
Babaloo

Dresden Dolls

23 September, 2002
Interview: Dresden Dolls
 

It won't take more than a song or two before you learn what The Dresden Dolls fans have known since day one: this is not your ordinary rock band. Brian Viglione on drums and Amanda Palmer on keys and vocals make music that's at once beautiful, disturbing, visual, and accessible. For just about a year, since the quirky drummer broached the idea of collaboration with the eccentric visual and performance artist, the pair have been astonishing everyone, including themselves, with the success of their shows. The Dolls have found themselves at the center of an adoring fanbase, with rave reviews, and about to begin work on what promises to be a breathtaking debut CD. It'll be co-produced by Martin Bisi (Swans/ Sonic Youth), and will feature stellar musical guests, including Ad Frank (…and the Fast Easy Women) and Shawn Setaro (Helicopter, Helicopter).

"Meeting Martin was a stroke of fortune," says Amanda. "I remember going into his recording studio and not believing my eyes when I saw some of the projects he had done." The Dresden Dolls are also founding a record label called Black Freighter with Martin and some other New York bands.
The Dresden Dolls isn't the first unconventional brainchild of Amanda Palmer. You might have seen Amanda's living statue persona around town, The Eight Foot Bride.

"I've been earning a living from the Bride for about six years. It's a truly bizarre occupation. The stories I could tell would fill up volumes. I've been realizing recently that the Bride has made it feel second nature to stand in front of crowds of hundreds of people; I never have stage fright. The Bride is also a way to interact without inhibitions with the whole world. Literally, there's not any other art form where you present yourself so vulnerably to a random cross-section of the local population. It's humbling and empowering at the same time, and a great excuse to stare at people without endangering yourself."

Ladies and gentlemen, The Dresden Dolls.

Noise: The Dresden Dolls have been playing out for about a year. What would you be doing right now if Brian didn't come up to you and introduce himself that fateful night and talk about forming a band?
Amanda: What a horrible thing to think about. I'd very possibly still be hitting my head against a wall and feeling guilty that I wasn't doing enough to promote my music. Brian gave me the kick in the ass to actually start applying myself to what I was doing and to finally take on the task that I've always feared: to stake everything on the music and let the chips fall where they may.
Noise: He's like a demon on those drums.
Amanda: He plays the drums so musically and artfully and focuses so completely when we play that it blows me away sometimes... he's like some martial arts expert, poised for the kill, waiting for the next note to come. He's amazing. Brian completes the music I write, and takes it further. I've never been satisfied with the volume and the percussion I get out of the piano. Louder! HARDER! LOUDER! HARDER!! Luckily the drums have filled that void. I'm always reminded this when I play a solo show and feel how empty and thin the songs are without his drumming.
Noise: Let's talk about some songs. "Half Jack" is as disturbing as it is beautiful. Please tell me what this song is about.
Amanda: My mother remarried when I was very young. Jack is my biological father. The idea came at a time when I was realizing that I had all of these possible genetic traits of my "real" father without ever having really known him. He's a pretty frightening figure and it always freaked me out to know that I was literally made from this stranger's flesh and blood. The song also touches on my "I should have been an abortion" fixation. There are also all those double and triple entendres to the rest of the borders we humans have been trampling upon lately: gender, real and fake body parts, prostitution, real and fake sexes.
Noise: I look at some of your material, like "Glass Slipper" and "The Gardener" and "Coin Operated Boy," as kind of fractured fairy tales or twisted fables. Is that a fair description? And is there such a thing as "happily ever after"?
Amanda: That's a fine description. I love old nursery rhymes and children's songs, especially the wealth of irony they invite. Most fairy tales (especially the Grimms Brothers') are twisted enough without my help. Cinderella's sisters, in the original fairy tale, lopped off chunks of their feet to fit into the Glass Slipper (poetically, some unfortunate girls in downtown Boston have their breasts stuffed with silicone to fit into the Glass Slipper-our humble strip joint). Childhood is a very sexy and loaded and often unromantic subject. I never get sick of drawing on it. And no, Lexi, there's no such thing as "Happily Ever After." You might be happy for a while, but you will die eventually and be eaten by little buggies and wormies.
Noise: Were you a wild child or did you grow up to become one?
Amanda: I've always been considered a weirdo. Musically, however, things have gotten undeniably stranger as I've grown older. The sorts of things I was composing as a young teen sounded like a cross between Cyndi Lauper and Tiffany. On a good day. Perhaps one thing I should start counting as a blessing is that I never actually had truly formal training; I always wanted to be a "real piano player" but I was too much of a lazy hack. All I wanted to do was sit around and improvise and write my little songs. I learned the basics of sight-reading but that was about it... nowadays, it takes me hours and hours to read and learn a simple three-page piano piece. I think some of the aggression in my playing is overcompensating for that.
Noise: Do your songs come to you at times of mental anguish?
Amanda: God yes. It needs to be a certain kind of mental anguish, however. I've found that being overburdened with shit to do, though mentally anguishing, may be conducive to inspiration but not to actual writing. Heartbreak and anger are obviously useful. Extreme depression doesn't work. I just can't find the energy to write. I don't ever really get truly depressed anymore. Stressed out, yes-that's different. My songs used to be almost invariably about depression and pain. Things have changed. I've gotten sillier.
Noise: Do you come up with lyrics first, music first, or some blend of the two?
Amanda: I usually get an idea for a lyric in my head and it somehow magically attaches itself to a melody (this usually happens in the car). The lyrics will usually suggest the theme of the song and if I'm disciplined enough, I'll get home and record the idea. Then, if I'm even more disciplined, I'll sit down and expand on it later. Often the original lyrics will get tossed out along the way (the "Scrambled Eggs"/"Yesterday" scenario). Very rarely a song will just hit all at once and write itself. Those are always the best ones. I got the idea for "Coin-Operated Boy" in traffic near my house. I was stuck outside a laundromat that had a big sign that said COIN-OP LAUNDRY. I started musing about coin-operated boys and the melody came into my head. I had the song pretty much done by the time I got home.
Noise: Martyn Jacques of the Tiger Lillies said of his band, "The normal reaction for the first five songs is that they don't like it and then after five songs they start to like it. It's a bit difficult to switch straight onto it because it's different." Describe the "normal audience reaction" for The Dresden Dolls.
Amanda: I think it's pretty accessible, actually. I mean, the songs are bizarre but most of them have catchy hooks and pop formats. The line-up confuses people. "Drums? Piano? What?" I think it's pretty much a love-it-or-hate it situation, though nobody has approached me yet and told me they downright didn't like the stuff... I'm sure that'll come out in the press sooner or later. A normal audience reaction depends on where we are. We just played a show in New York to a pretty new crowd and lots of strangers came up to us and said it was one of the most incredible shows they've ever seen. Some people have cried. People are usually really impressed by the musicianship even if they don't dig the material. We've even converted a few frat jocks. It's encouraging.
Noise: What is great songwriting? What does music need to be powerful?
Amanda: Honesty. Not to say that songs need to be confessional or even factual, but there needs to be an honest intent in the delivery. I feel like so many bands and songwriters out there are fooling themselves constantly, trying to impress a jaded and inundated audience without really revealing themselves. Some of the greatest songs ever written are three chord jobs with lyrics that are just brutally honest, and speak to an experience impossibly complicated and painful to express in conversation. But the right image put to the right tune, even if it's non-sensical, speaks volumes and hits you hard. I feel that way about Leonard Cohen. You can't say what makes it happen, but you know it when you hear it. On the other hand, one has to admit that Britney Spears' music is "powerful," in that it's out there numbing countless pre-teen minds per minute.

www.dresdendolls.com

Yes, Amanda, There Is A Belly Clause

(Original publish date: December 04, 2008)
 
If it's just a publicity stunt, then it's sheer brilliance conceived by lords of evil marketing genius. If it isn't a publicity stunt, then Dresden Dolls fans are witnessing a real world enactment of every music industry cautionary tale that ends with "record labels are soul-crushing monsters." I'm talking of course about Amanda Palmer and her belly. This chick and her velvety midriff have set fire to the part of the Internet that rails against double standards and pop culture's killing of the feminine ideal. Gosh darn, y'all. I just love her so much.

Here's what happened. Amanda Palmer, the sultry chanteuse who usually performs with drummer Brian Viglione as half of The Dresden Dolls, has released a solo record, Who Killed Amanda Palmer? This is her third and final release to satisfy her record deal with Roadrunner, and along with the deal came a video for the latest single, "Leeds United." It's a catchy romping sing-along rocker set to a very polished video filled with beautiful people. Stylistically, the video looks like like a scene from a David Lynch film. And some shots flash Amanda's bare tummy under an open jacket. Amanda, as frank with her fans as she is in her song lyrics about asshole boyfriends and drunken shenanigans, blogged about what happened next. Right before departing on yet another European tour, Amanda was told by her Roadrunner A&R muckety-muck that she looks too fat in the "Leeds United" video, and that they wanted to digitally alter her body to “be more flattering." Hm. Well. Fuck that?

Now, having hobbed and knobbed around the Boston music scene since the 1990s, I know Amanda Palmer. We've hung out in the back room at shows. We've slept with at least one person in common. I've sat with her over drinks. Hell, I used to go to Dresden Dolls shows at the Lizard Lounge in Cambridge, capacity 105, when there were less than ten people in the room, and I kept on going to see them up through their latest CD release at the Orpheum -- sold out, thank you very much, capacity 4000 and light years from those long ago sparsely-attended shows. And ever since the early days, Amanda has a)had that little belly and b)been absolutely fucking drop-dead gorgeous. If you don't know her up close, well, remember Madonna in the 80s? Before she got all hard-bodied and manly? When she was still soft and pretty, writhing around in the low-slung belt in the "Lucky Star" video? That's exactly what Amanda's belly looks like. She has the lovely, curvy body of a healthy, beautiful and desirable woman, by any standards. Rather, by any standards except the same kind of wrongheaded fuckers that airbrush away Beyonce's thighs, Adele's ass, Janet Jackson's waist, and only shoot Ann Wilson from the neck up. Soooo....fuck that?

Roadrunner officially denies that the whole thing is a publicity stunt for "Leeds, Unlimited." So does Amanda. History may never know for sure, but my Spidey sense tells me it's real. I mean, I could be wrogn. Amanda's response to Roadrunner? "I told the label I wasn’t changing anything." Though Roadrunner backed down and the video was released un-retouched, the label owner is doing his best to make her feel like she's failed through non-compliance. "He said he thought it was a shame that someone as smart and talented as me could not make a commercial record that they could sell," she blogged, "and he thinks that someday I’ll see the light and write some better songs." She asked to be dropped from the roster. Roadrunner has until June 2009 to decide whether or not to drop her. (This is funny stuff -- if her baldly autobiographical lyrical themes are any indication, idiots don't decide when to drop Amanda. Amanda decides when to drop THEM. Except in "The Jeep Song," she got the short end of that stick.)

Amanda Palmer is not a manufactured, plasticky pop idol. That's like...the opposite of what she's going for, and that's key to the appeal of the Dresden Dolls for their legion of fans. And speaking of her fans, they've started a blog of their own. At last count seventy pages long, Rebellyon.com is chock-a-block with fans who've taken photos of their own bellies, most bearing "Fuck that" to Roadrunner. She's real. She keeps it real. So her supporters support her. Amanda Fucking Palmer gets it.

Amanda's belly has become a viral web sensation, and no doubt because it not only underlines, yet again, the role of so many women in rock (pout pretty, be skinny, dance around and let the boys play the instruments). But it also illustrates the plight of many artists with a vision, many of whom have entered some kind of bargain with the likes of Roadrunner and have encountered demands to compromise that vision. Do they cave for the sake of getting the big prizes, money and fame while being reduced to a caricature of themselves? Or do they stand fast and put their whole true selves on the line for art's sake, belly and all? "I'm a guy. I know what people like," the A&R rep said. With its overtones of subservience, it's as fascinating to us as "The Merchant of Venice" was to its scandalized Elizabethan audiences, and because the antagonist here wants to quite literally hack off a pound of flesh. Maybe two. ♣

Dresden Dolls

Live Review
Dresden Dolls, Count Zero 
Paradise Big Room
September 26, 2003
 

It's The Dresden Dolls' CD release show, and anyone who didn't already know can tell from the street that this is no ordinary band--The Paradise's awning is adorned with hanging vines, and the throng outside is a churning kaleidoscope of satin, feathers, body paint, and geometrically impossible haircuts. Some of the ceremoniously festooned are just smoking or catching some air, but many are hoping for tickets; this event is sold out, babycakes. Inside, girls in shimmery ball gowns mince around with ultra-mod Hecubus-thin boys. The balcony's crimson mood lights flash against Borg-like face piercings. Living statues, painted faces, surreal art installations, performance art, a comedian, and naked people are among the attractions in this sideshow-meets-rock event that Amanda Palmer and Brian Viglione have created. 

Count Zero, for the first time with the ubiquitous Izzy Maxwell on bass, take the reigns of the room's energy and steer it right into a frenzy. Peter Moore, ably assisted by the confident Wil Ragano, is the consummate showman, and the pair lead this outstanding band through a too-short set of edgy progressive rock. Swirling easily from spacey jams into straight-ahead rock grooves, Count Zero prove once again that intelligence and risk taking are valuable commodities if you want to stand out. 

Dresden Dolls employ the delayed gratification tease to great effect, making us wait a good long time before the lights dim and Brian and Amanda take their place at drums and keyboard respectively. Assisted on some songs by guest musicians, the Dolls meander, bolt, and scream through every song on the much-anticipated CD. Handsome white-faced Brian tickles gentle brushwork or has it out with the cymbals as needed. Amanda captivates and titillates, shifting gears from manic wails to whispers so quiet that a reverent hush envelops the entire sold-out room. Legendary. I buy a poster on my way out, because Dresden Dolls will be eligible for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2028. (Lexi)