Amanda Palmer, St Matthew-In-The City, Auckland,  20 November 2020

The story of Amanda Palmer and her escape to New Zealand during COVID-19 is one that will no doubt be told for years to come. The story of the cult hero singer-songwriter on the final leg of a world tour when the world went into lockdown and she chose to stay in Aotearoa, not knowing when she might return home to her native USA.

Tonight’s Elemental Nights show at the St Matthew-in-the-City church in central Auckland marks the final date of Palmer’s world tour. Pre-show, she dashes around the auditorium chatting to fans and making sure everything’s running smoothly. In a green velvet dress, she looks like she’s stepped straight out of one of the hall’s many colourful stained-glass windows. The ceiling is high, the air is crisp. ‘Hymns’ read the two signs flanking the grand piano at the top of the galley.

There is no set list, she announces, she’s just going to play what she likes, which makes for a vastly mixed (but consistently outstanding) experience over the next two and a half hours. To start, In My Mind, on ukulele sans microphone before she heads for the ivories.

As well as being an incredibly able singer and pianist, Palmer’s hidden talent is her wicked sense of humour which becomes obvious early on. Because of our venue, she sombrely remarks, she wants to play some “church stuff” in tribute to her mother, who raised her Anglican. Cue a cover of Jump by 70s comedy duo Derek & Clive. Its final lines read “We are miserable sinners / filthy fuckers / aaaarseholes!” You get the picture.

There are some treats for long-time fans. From Palmer’s days in the punk-cabaret act The Dresden Dolls Mrs. O, strikingly poignant fourteen years on with its lyrics about the decay of truth, and later Coin Operated Boy, a jaunty cut complete with mechanical motions and an eerie smile as though Palmer herself were a puppet in a fairground booth.

From 2012’s Theatre Is Evil The Killing Type is a welcome rarity, Vegemite is a laugh-out-loud hilarious anti-love song about a lover’s condiment habits, while in homage to her new home country, a cover of Lorde’s Liability is a particularly tender moment; there’s a striking contrast between the words of the composer – a young superstar experiencing heartbreak and loss for the first time – and the singer, once an outlandish free-wheeler, now a grown up, a mother who’s been through more heartbreak and loss than most.

The heartbreak and loss in question is the suicide of Palmer’s best friend, abortions, and a miscarriage, events that she is astonishingly open about and which informed There Will Be No Intermission. From it, Drowning In the Sound is a rousing piece inspired by asking her closest fans what they fear most (Palmer corresponds with many of her supporters via crowd-funding platform Patreon) Voicemail for Jill is a magnificent statement of solidarity for people going through abortions, and if one song epitomises the album it’s A Mother’s Confession, a winding story-song about Palmer’s self-perceived shortcomings as a mom, ending in a sing along refrain of “at least the baby didn’t die”. From the audience, laughter and tears in equal measure. They’re selling handkerchiefs at the merch stand, you know.

Closing the second half, The Ride. Again, inspired by her patrons as well as a bit by comedian Bill Hicks, it’s one of Palmer’s finest works, an epic ten minute-er that sees her musing on how life “is just a ride”, but “the alternative’s nothingness / might as well give it a try”. For an encore she emerges, top off, quickly followed by shoes too, for Ukulele Anthem from Theatre Is Evil then “a guilty pleasure”; Returning to the piano she masterfully delivers a rendition of Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah under white lights. When they dim, the crowd are on their feet.

At one point, Palmer reads a passage from a book made in tandem with the latest record. One section sums up tonight the best: “Take grief. Take sorrow. Take loss. And make it art”.

Alex Cabré

Photos by Sonia Wilson, Dhani Phillips and Marty Duda