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"Fascinatin' rhythm, rhythm, rhythm. The pitter-patter through my brain." Well, it's been nearly a century since the Art Deco days when these words were jauntily birthed by Cliff Edwards amidst his juxtaposing unique ukulele play, but Boston's Dresden Dolls have again scored such resonance as rich as Rockefeller in their latest, 'Yes, Virginia.' Aptly listed in the liner notes as cast of characters, Amanda Palmer (vocals, piano, Mellotron & organ) and Brian Viglione (drums, percussion, vocals, bass & guitar) weave a rich tapestry in raw, yet polished indelible nocturnal passions, begging you to get onto their theatre stage.
Dancing keys announce its commencement as the house lights dim, curtains draw apart and "Sex Changes" unfurls in its taut stop-start syncopation into full bloom, duly reeling you into this production. No turning back as it literally rolls into the bass octave-shifting piano repeater of "Backstabber" whose richness defies the product of just two, given a full-bodied chorus as Brian echoes Amanda. Scene 3 begins with an ominous sole bass key, then transfers into frantic movement as Brian furiously fills against Amanda's key-banging to a breakdown that gives levity to "Modern Moonlight" that seamlessly segues into the walking a matter fact "My Alcoholic Friends." Her calm opening solo on "Delilah" builds into a shared core belief to be shouted. Scene 6 gives life to "Dirty Business" that's all wonderfully astute fun in its raw, rolling frankness and punchy chorus subsiding into the tender, pained reflections of the crescendo-yearning end for "First Orgasm." The swinging, tick-tock "Mrs. O" breaths incessantly in its questions and observations that segues the stop-start coming of age angst found in "Shores Of California" that spontaneously races in "Necessary Evil." "Mandy Goes To Med School" scats about in its jazzy jaunt. Bonus scenes for Japan in the wholly playful, roller "Lonesome Organist Rapes Page Turner" that keeps the tempo feverish with your head moving in all direction, quickly countered by the all-acoustic "Two-Headed Boy" as your nerves calm musically in the lush piano play in the lyrically lament "Me & The Minibar." Alas, no matter the city, nation, theatre, "Sing" powerfully closes the curtain for good in this rich production awash in its rising plea to appreciate your surroundings most benevolently.
This fascinating truth cannot be stopped from leaking.
reviewed by michael
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