Hello Friends,
The theater is beautiful and intricate, but small. Some might call it quaint, others would say humble. Me, I’m too busy being mangled in my cramped seat to think about anything other than how I was going to scratch my ankle with such circumstantial T-Rex arms.
And all I smell is Chipotle Grill. Not because the theater smells like it, or those sitting near me, but because I had it for dinner shortly before entering. And I smell it every time I move my hands, which will make me very self-conscious when applauding later, because if I can smell it others surely will too in such tight quarters. And there will be much need for applauding soon.
Oh, and there goes that itch on my ankle again. Of course it had to be my ankle. If it had been anything else, anything else, such as my knee, I could at least have used my teeth.
The crowd is very diversified. Not just because the performers are relatively diversified from one another, but because their respective fanbases are quite so, even within themselves. A look around the theater provides a view of many walks of life. Tattoos and dyed hair sit beside suits and ties and sweaters in a unison that never seems abnormal, and rightfully so. It’s predominantly female too, but given the performers this comes as no surprise. Overall, the whole experience plays out quite like a wedding. You’re either here for bride, the groom, or, in seemingly rare cases, both.
Me, I’m here for the groom. And judging by the flickering house lights, he’s coming.
The theater goes dark to a cacophony of applause (and a faint, brief scent of burritos lingering over in my section), before the lovely couple emerges on stage.
An Evening with Neil Gaiman and Amanda Palmer has begun.
Neil is in his typical black on black, while Amanda is in floral pattern and fishnet stockings. And even though they look small enough to fit in my pocket from where I sit, they are so much more larger than life. Especially together.
As previously stated, I came for Neil. I can’t say that he made me want to become a writer, but he certainly has made me want to become a better writer with everything I do. I can also say he’s my favorite writer, which sets the bar pretty damn high for myself in the long run.
I wasn’t as familiar with Amanda. I knew of her back in the Dresden Dolls days, but can’t say I was ever much of a fan. I know that she’s very outspoken, politically active, and she likes to show her boobs as a means of defiance and empowerment. A lot. Like, a lot, a lot.
… oh, and that was now married to Neil.
What I didn’t know about her, however, was that despite her small stature, she had a voice big enough to fill the Grand Canyon (… or at least a relatively remarkable gorge). But I was about to learn quite quickly.
They open with the 1920’s Eddie Cantor anthem, “Makin’ Whoopee,” a performance that leaves me in relative awe. Not because Gaiman is singing (or even because he doesn’t sound half bad, seeing as I had this potentially generalistic, and quite untested, preconceived notion that all Brits can sing in one way or another), but because of how they sound, and how well they sound together. And it would only get more impressive from there.
The act goes on with more music (sometimes duets, but more often than not solo performances by Amanda), broken up with readings by Neil (mostly little known pieces that left me shaking my head in wonderment of how any one person can write so much amazing material) and a few guest appearances. More than anything, though, the night is riddled with humor.
Whether from the readings, the songs, or pure improv based on how poorly the night’s events were planned and/or unfolding, the couple constantly has us eating from the palm of their hands. Even when assuring the audience of a change of pace by referring to darker issues such as the recent passing of an old friend, the song played in tribute, “Jump” (no, NOT that one *shudders*), left us in collective stitches. Who would think death could be so fun?
… oh, that’s right, the man who created the Endless and his equally minded wife.
And to pair them together in such a sentence can do little justice. Watching them perform together on stage was more than a treat, it was a glimpse inside an incredibly adorable friendship. How they work off of one another’s flaws and idiosyncrasies gave them more a feeling of a typical couple. A pair you may catch a movie or drink with. They were cute as they prompted one another to follow missed stage cues, or cheer the other on whilst partaking in a particularly challenging performance. But more than cute, they were real. They were everyday.
To say the least, the entire night was a wonderful experience.
In fact, the only gripe I had was how little of Neil there actually was throughout. Amanda was in the limelight nearly 100% of the time, with her husband often disappearing backstage. And while she has a humor and charm all her own, both of which have helped me see her in a more favorable light, as I said before, I specifically attended to see my favorite author. I honestly questioned at times why they just didn’t name the event “An Evening with Amanda Palmer and Short Intervals of Neil Gaiman Reading and Independently Raising His Eyebrows.”
The saving grace was how powerful her solo performances were. Granted, and at the risk of being crucified or tossed into a burning Wicker Man by her legions of passionately adoring fans, I don’t find her to be the greatest of songwriters. Her lyrics, at times, can come across juvenile and cliché, despite deeply personalized and intimate themes, and she quite obviously loves her own sound to a fault. But that doesn’t prevent her from being a competent musician.
Her skills on the piano are accomplished, and while her ukulele playing is anything but, she still attacks it with unflinching confidence. Watching her alone in a spotlight, belting out this hauntingly mammoth voice, showcases a sense of vulnerability you would never assume existed had you only heard her speak. It was all basic, and at times mechanical, and yet stuck with me for the rest of the night. Hell, it still sticks with me even as I write this. Having entered particularly indifferent about her as an artist, to say I left changed would be a vast understatement.
And then it all ended.
Just as abruptly as they walked on stage, they left. Three hours seemed like minutes, and the crowd was left hollering with applause and wanting more. Thoughts of a “Neil and Amanda Variety Hour” television show unquestionably crossing many of the minds in attendance, such as mine, as I stood, having all but forgotten how cramped I was, clapping my hands with such vigor that the aroma of Chipotle goodness bellowed out like plant toxins and, I’m sure, nearly set off the fire alarm.
I was impressed. Very impressed. And while I didn’t necessarily get what I had come for, I left with so much more.
I attended a small service for the groom, and left a friend of the family.
FINAL VERDICT: 7 out of 7 Endless… yes, even the Prodigal.
(And if get that reference you’re awesome and you should buy yourself something nice tonight.)
Live, Love, Learn,
Aren’t we bored of this by now? Can’t we find someone, anyone else to talk for us?