Amanda Palmer
There Will Be No Intermission

“Life's such a bitch, isn't it?
When you have a baby,
They throw you a party
And then when you die
They get together for a cry”

From “Voicemail for Jill”

Amanda Palmer is a girl to be admired for various reasons: she has had a musical career without any logic, full of ups and downs, but always honest. She left the world of record labels to create a direct connection with her audience, which supports her financially through the Patreon system (perhaps the future for less mainstream artists), and she releases everything that crosses her mind (also with ups and downs here), showing considerable courage.

So after the Dresden Dolls, the sophisticated singer-songwriter style of “Who Killed Amanda Palmer,” the glam-rock of “Theatre is Evil” and countless amusements (listen to “Map of Tasmania,” a sublime ode to the vagina based on four ukulele chords), comes “There Will Be No Intermission,” on whose cover Palmer appears as a nude warrior with a sword.

And the cover photo doesn't lie: Amanda has lowered all defenses and delivers a series of piano folk songs with the common theme of being instant snapshots in which the songwriter lets us into her thoughts, without filters, without eliminating the too banal and/or complex things, without fear of being misunderstood. Amanda Palmer shows us how our lives are connected by an invisible thread of emotions and events: fears, small joys, bereavements, births, and physical and mental illnesses.

Musically, the album seems almost like a faithful translation of her acoustic live performances where Palmer wears out her fingers on the piano with her energetic way of playing. The tracks are all quite long (mostly over four and a half minutes) and are based on intricate piano patterns with the insertion of a few other sparse sounds. There are no frills, and the first listens may be difficult; everything may seem quite similar, but it's not. Each piece has its own identity and atmosphere.

Songs like “The Ride,” “Judy Blume,” “Machete,” and “Voicemail for Jill” are among the best the American singer has ever offered, and the lyrics are small excerpts of brutal truth that require deep listening, time, and dedication. The various layers of each song reveal themselves over time and guide us to the core of each composition.

Amanda Palmer thus transforms into a modern storyteller and creates a genre very much her own, unlike anything and anyone else, and quite unlike everything she's done before. Perhaps, having passed the age of forty, the singer has found her voice, a unique and personal way to channel her art. And it may be that the goal of her entire journey was a “simple” (which is not so simple) return to the essential, to her nude body, to her voice and the piano.