Amanda Palmer and Jason Webley: the unsung heroes reviewed.

Who killed Amanda Palmer? The name of her solo album introduced with a bang her striking production at Koko, Camden last night, a captivating set from start to finish. Being dramatically conveyed by human props about the stage owing to an unfortunate broken foot only highlighted the success of her singular dominance, detached from her usual Dresden Dolls counterpart. As she energetically wrought a night of alternative music with a cabaret twist from the centrepiece keyboard, a thoroughly involved audience cheered raucously along despite it being barely 9pm. If it was audience enthusiam that made this performance, Palmer could only thank her close friend and show opener; Jason Webley, who single-handedly induced an entire audience to spin around twelve times with their fingers in the air, as a quick-fix to soberness. This hero accordianist even created his own choir by dividing the audience and encouraging a war of sound between the two halves.
It was while surveying the dizzy spinning rabble from a balcony above that I realised that by taking my glasses off I could achieve the same inebriated effect. If dizziness was a factor of being drunk, (a state I was yet to achieve) then so was blurred vision - a revelation I felt excitedly compelled to communicate with my newly found champions. Such an incentive would be received gladly by the entertainers, we were soon to learn, as buckets inviting public opinion (and tips) circulated Koko's exit. The fact that Webley's home address is even detailed on the back of his album cover urging fans to "send me stuff" highlights the emphasis placed on audience interaction. I was amazed by the sheer entertainment value infused into the concert: the performers' effort seemed to reach beyond their existing fans to capture new ones.
Palmer's final dynamic encore demonstrates her dedication to give it her all to the gig's absolute conclusion. The show's consistent parasol motif transforms ironically into a mocked rendition of Rhianna's "Umbrella" complete with the comedy of arse shaking and stripping off. Finishing with a caricature representing everything her own individual sound is not, we are reminded of the value of this unique act, a satisfaction we'd wonder at longer if it wasn't for growing anticipation of the eternal toilet queue we are about to be faced with. And thus marks the sign of a successful night, - no one present has wanted to miss a minute of it.