Natalie does too. That is why I love her. She also makes me incredibly, stomach-wrenching home sick with her caustic wit and self-depreciating humour. We’re brethren.
I loved this post card sent into Post Secrets. Looking at a Reuters article is never going to be the same for me after this.
A couple of months ago, I got a mailer from Amanda Palmer asking if anyone could let her, her back up band and crew sleep at their place or provide food.
My apartment is small so choice A was out. At first I was really excited to cook for her and crew but then doubt set in, what would I cook? What would I say? I just couldn’t…Then I thought, fuck it, the Dresden Dolls gig at the Roundhouse changed my life, the least I could do was put a couple of hours of tender loving care into some grub.
Seriously, that gig in 2006 is not something to be underestimated in the life of Tash. It was the first time I was driving into Sydney by myself. I got lost, had to turn around and ask my Dad to give me a ride from church (the humiliation in the italics can not be underestimated, I felt like the prodigal son, except lamer, a prodigal son asking for a ride). My Dad didn’t complain and explained the roads on the way. I arrived just in time. When the Dolls took the stage, every worry was lifted. Bam! Lack of reading maps/boyfriend/internship issues vanished! All of my feminism points of conflict with the world disappeared when I saw Amanda Palmer on stage. No joke. I felt like I had found a role model.
Embarrassingly for the next three months, I plodded around my university grounds in my short shorts, suspenders and doc martens in not-so-subtle adoration . I stopped shaving for three months in an experiment that failed horribly. Thankfully, I did not attempt to shave then paint on my eyebrows. I got my heart thoroughly broken in a typical relationship-from-high-school way. I got into a huge mud fight with some 50 odd people and sang the Beatles with a couple of awesome women and while we washed off the dirt we didn’t compare our bodies against one another. I looked forward in my life instead of burying myself in the past, 70’s feminist literature. And all the while, I was listening to the Dolls.
Amanda Palmer played a pivotal point in my life then and continues to do so but now, in a different way. Instead of trying to imitate her, I admire her career and courage in plotting a path. Of course, I refer to her Virtual Crowdsurfing post as well as her general Amanda Fucking Palmer way of life.
And after all this talk, I forgot to get a picture with her. Oops. A signed Who Killed Amanda Palmer book and a blink-and-you’ll-miss-where-she-calls-me-beautiful-on-her-blog is better than an image to me.
Have some photographs I took of the night. Scroll down.
Taking questions from State Theater blog and twitter.
Amanda’s father lives very close to me. They did a Leonard Cohen duet. T’was awesome!
Amanda listening to her Dad.
The Nervous Cabaret. You should listen.
“When creating your art, remember the context your work is in, the company you keep, the way you present your work and the sophistication of your language.”
This is what makes you unique.
Really sit down and think about what you want to put out into the world before you die. Have it crystal clear in your mind so if someone is curious, you could coherently portray your great idea when you’re half drunk and shouting over the music. Don’t ever underestimate the way you come across, you don’t know who’ll be important to you later on.
I’m attending a lot of fotoweekDC events over the next number of days, if you’re in D.C and want to be inspired, head on down.
I figured when everyone else was celebrating skulls, daggers and all things goth, I would get a sparkly pink tattoo of a unicorn on Halloween. I went to some awesome mates’ one year anniversary masquerade ball, where we had fortune tellers, caricature artists and lots of Indian food. Seriously, piles of Indian food. It could have fed the whole continent.
It was the second time in my life that I donned a sari – I had to get the bridal party to dress me and I’m pretty sure I flashed the dance floor my petticoat no less than three times. The controversy I must have caused, the shock horror. Anyway, here’s my hard core Halloween tattoo, the first and last time I’ll let someone sprinkle pink glitter on my body.
Here’s the first time I wore a sari. My sister, the one in the middle, dressed in blue, would probably want to note that she’s not as round now and fancies herself quite the bombshell. Whom am I to argue?