The Dresden Dolls are everything a moody acoustic two-piece typically doesn't want to be: theatrical, affected, and profoundly self-aware. Singer and pianist Amanda Palmer gleefully eviscerates singer-songwriter clichés; even when she plays fragile, she does so with smirking duplicity. If the pleasure of listening to music like this usually lies in examining the singer's fractured personal world, the Dresden Dolls both invite and punish such voyeurism-- Palmer pretends that she doesn't know you're looking, then turns around and gleefully stabs you in the face.
It took me a long time to warm up to the Dresden Dolls' rough, dark self-titled debut-- I was initially turned off by its theatricality. Eventually, however, it was the affectations that won me over; at their best, the Dresden Dolls paint a ghoulish smile on dark and downcast sentiments. Rather than simply baring their misery, the Dresden Dolls transform it into pleasurable artifice, making their music at once accessible and profoundly unsettling.
On Yes, Virginia, the few rough edges of the duo's debut are mostly smoothed out. Gone are the weird-as-fuck music box interludes and occasionally muddied production, leaving only immaculately recorded drums, piano, and vocals. Some will decry the slickness of Yes, Virginia, but the album's crisp sound often works to the Dolls' advantage. Brian Viglione's drumming is now elevated in the mix, and comes across as more dynamic and impressive than before-- amazingly, Viglione often matches Palmer in dramatic flair. And, thankfully, Palmer's voice is in prime form, making clear that studio sheen doesn't preclude an expressive vocal performance.
Musically and thematically, Yes, Virginia covers much of the same territory as its predecessor. "Sex Changes" opens the album with a blast of manic energy, oscillating between eerily upbeat piano tinkling and a brooding-yet-catchy chorus. "Dirty Business" is a musically explosive character sketch, narrating a girl who "leaves out condoms on the bedroom dresser/ Just to make you jealous of the men she fucked before you met her." The drumless "Me & the Minibar" is all gasping, forlorn despair, Palmer hissing, "I was so excited to/ Do such normal things with you/ When you left last night/ With your toothbrush dry." While these songs are quite different in feel, they demonstrate Palmer's remarkable talent for writing vocal parts that are both melodic and percussive.
Unfortunately, the album has a few clunkers: The overlong and dull "Delilah", a disappointing centerpiece for an otherwise strong album, and "Modern Moonlight" opts for mood over melody, and ultimately falls short on both counts. Yes, Virginia doesn't have the expressive range of the Dresden Dolls' debut-- gone are the warped-vinyl sonic tinkering of "672" and the girl group allusions of "The Jeep Song". But what is here is frequently engaging even if-- for a band that thrives on discomfort-- the record sometimes gets a bit too comfortable for its own good.
