I was going to leave it alone. I was. I had read it myself, had the link sent to me by my fiancee, and then by my friend. Since I ended up reading it three separate times and had a day to stew over it, I decided sure, I’ll totally crap on a professional journalist.

First, for reference, you need to read the article that offended me so:

With ‘Yes,’ Dolls Step Out From Behind the Schtick

Oh, where to begin? Let’s go paragraph by paragraph…

Firstly, our intrepid reporter says that Amanda Palmer and Brian Viglione, the duo that make up the Dolls, came on the scene to occupy the ‘Brechtian punk-cabaret niche, an anemic genre to be sure…’

As Colin is so fond of saying… wikki-wikki-what? Brechtian punk cabaret is a niche? Since when? Are there many bands that occupy this niche? Why can I not find any? In fact, as far as I can tell, the Dresden Dolls are unique in their style, musical and otherwise. Well, unique in this corner of the country, at any rate. I’m sure out in California there must be something vaguely similar among the cultural hodge-podge.

She calls them a ‘breath of fresh, if freakish, air.’

Oh gods, make it stop. Why are they freakish? Because they wear face make-up to look pale, and because the way Amanda’s mascara and lipstick runs is actually a component of the show as much as her music? Because they have a loyal ‘brigade’ of fans who dress up and make every concert a unique showcase of creativity and individual artistic expression? I suppose that might seem strange to some, but is it really stranger than the make-up KISS wore? Than the way the KISS Army (as the fans were often referred to) dressed? More freakish than Ozzy Osbourne, arguably one of the major deities of rock, biting the head off a bat?

She goes on, ‘They made a charming, intense record and a fan of Trent Reznor, who invited the Dolls to tour with Nine Inch Nails last year. But red mouths and striped stockings only take you so far in the music business. Likewise hyper-stylized songs about surgical blunders and inflatable boyfriends.’

As I pause for a moment in the tearing out of my hair over this woman’s inane and obviously flawed understanding of the Dolls, I can only conclude that she has never actually listened to their music. Or that she is otherwise old, and probably thinks the last good record was written by John Denver. Amanda Palmer is one of the best singers I have ever heard. Her voice, sometimes melodic and other times raw, can convey such a range of emotion that it actually transcends the lyrics and brings the audience on the emotional rollercoaster behind the music. And Brian’s drumming is astonishing in its skill and complexity. To dismiss this skill in an off-handed comment about striped stockings is almost criminal. It would be akin to saying the sum of Van Gogh is that whole ‘ear thing’.

And as for terming their album ‘charming.’ Charming? This is the reward talented artists get from mainstream media when they are original, soulful, honest about their work? It’s no wonder most new artists today are, in the words of my friend Jason, just another blink-182 knock-off. She has the temerity to call an album that included songs like “Good Day”, “Half Jack”, and “Slide” charming? Songs that carried such eerie and chilling feeling amid the piano solos, drum staccatos and vocal arias as to make them more than the sums of their parts?
We’ve only just finished the first paragraph, and I have written too much and am too tired to continue. I think you get the point, though. The reporter to wrote this article is a moron, that’s my opinion.

If you don’t believe me yet, let’s skip to the last paragraph. She says, ‘Producers Sean Slade and Paul Q. Kolderie captured the Dolls’ energy in all its pungent, off-kilter glory for 12 consecutive tracks, at which point the album comes crashing to a bizarre conclusion with ”Sing.” It defies reason that this earnest and lackadaisical invocation to join voices in unifying celebration — an entirely unrepresentative song, and not a very good one — was chosen as the album’s lead single.’

Earnest and lackadaisical? Celebration? Perhaps the reporter was too busy smelling her own farts to even attempt to understand the point of “Sing”. It is about the unity of voice, certainly. But apparently that’s the only part she understood. It’s about commonality, about finding a way to connect with your fellow humans, especially in times like these when that is all too hard to do. It isn’t about celebration, it’s about defiance. Defiance in the face of fear, in the face of the differences between generations, social classes. It’s about looking at the person next to you and realizing that for all your differences you can still raise your voices together and… sing.