Kurt Cobain originally wrote the song following an article he read about the abduction, torture, and rape of a 14-year old girl at the hands of Gerald Arthur Friend in 1987. Friend reportedly picked up the unsuspecting girl at a rock show in Tacoma, WA, only to handcuff her as she attempted to exit his car. Holding her at knifepoint, he took her to his mobile home, and proceeded to torture and rape her. Fortunately, the girl managed to escape when Friend took her for a drive and stopped at a gas station. Friend was subsequently arrested and charged for his sickening crime.

Palmer’s approach to covering this highly personal and afflicting song is delicate and entirely faithful. Backed by her most recent touring band, The Grand Theft Orchestra, and following a simple yet evocative musical arrangement, the song and video (written by Mrs. Palmer herself and directed by Michael McQuilken) document Polly’s tormenting story in its entirety. You can watch the remarkable video below:

You can download the track by visiting Palmer’s official Bandcamp. The songstress also recounted the recording of the track, which you can read more about by visiting her blog.

Amanda has fearlessly thrived in a world of her own design, raining furiously passionate musical lunacy around the globe for a skyrocketing number of fans. They are driven and inspired by her fierce individualism, her flat out rejection of Western beauty standards (note the copious amount of pit hair above) and artistic drive coupled with uncompromising vision that eclipses standard commercialism and channels of interaction.

As a result, we’re sure that they’re going to love this absolute clusterfuck of a disturbing pube-nickname jam, called Map of Tasmania. It’s brought to you by the human kaleidoscope that is Amanda Fucking Palmer, as well as collaborators The Young Punx and director Michael Pope. Hold on tight:

Learn more about the video, get a word from the director and dive into the rabbit-hole that is Amanda Palmer at her own site.

Aaron was curious as to our opinion on the piece, and I felt compelled to oblige. After all, we started this site to do more than slaughter the sacred cows; we’re bringing attention to music we believe in and raising awareness to the ever-changing landscape of the industry. And when hack amateurs with their heads up their asses spew fountains of false propaganda, we’re thankful to have a platform to counter it.

Mr. Harden opens his article with an immensely original assessment: “Ladies and gentlemen, you are witnessing the death of Rock and Roll,” supporting this daring new idea by rattling off declining album sales figures and pointing the finger at illegal downloading. He mourns the thinning numbers of music’s corporate tastemakers and trendsetters, the big business machines that built the superstars of generations past, while decrying any notion that the Dead Heroes of yesteryear would bother themselves with adapting to a new promotion model in music.

“Can you, even for a moment, imagine Janis Joplin pouring [sic] over HTML manuals, or Jimi Hendrix spending hours each day spamming potential fans on MySpace?” he asks, before answering it himself. “Not likely. Had those two tried to make it in today’s marketplace, we may never have even heard of them.”

Symbolic imagery aside, you can bet your ass that Hendrix and Joplin would be doing what every other talented unexposed act is doing now, if all the other absurd hypotheticals were in place to make their work relevant today. Their world was a very different one, but if they were around here and now, they’d be analyzing the changing landscape and focusing their attentions on the audience that’s going to have the greatest potential to get into them. And “spamming potential fans on MySpace” is anything but the way to handle yourself if you’re an artist trying to get recognized and respected.

Fuck your billboards, your bus benches, your MySpace blasts and MTV promos. When I see something with an MTV logo on it, I’m headed in the other direction. I’m clicking away from there. The tastemaker that once ruled the roost is now the leprous laughingstock, now more famous for its reinforcement of ugly stereotypes (Jersey Shore, Teen Mom, et al.) than anything remotely musical. The best promotion an artist can have is to get sent between appreciative listeners, to be on the stereo in somebody’s car or apartment, a button-pushing endorsement in front of their friends. No, I’m not talking about radio. Radio’s fucking dead, and has been long before Howard Stern left for less-censored pastures. It’s the human connection that matters now, and there’s not a single wacky morning DJ out there who grasps that concept.

“Winning new fans and staying connected to them requires tremendous marketing sophistication.”

This is entirely untrue. Amanda Palmer is the embodiment of what one person can do with a devoted vision and a little bit of creativity. She talks directly to her fans. She stays at their homes with her band when she tours, eats the food they make and provide. She’s able to do this because her fans respond to this woman pouring her everything into a song, a blog, a twitter account, a spontaneous webcam bedroom concert, drunk on wine in Vienna with a friend. She can be relied upon to never compromise, to always speak her mind and attack her demons with warpaint and banshee shrieks. Naked, honest and vulnerable – three of the most reviled concepts in any promotion scheme.

Amanda Palmer built her own brand. She’s surviving, if not thriving, on a basic, pure model. She does it because she walks the walk, and while Nathan “draws the line at downloading,” a thousand more talented acts with better songs are going to get heard and spread around because they weren’t so precious about their material. They pissed all over conventional wisdom, and knew that it’s inherently fucked up to insist on owning your money before you knew what you were buying. And a few of those acts, likely the ones that put in a little more time and effort into figuring out the best way to present themselves as well as developing a presence somewhere on the internet where people can find them, are going to go even further. But if you don’t want to have to learn what the hell Spotify is or how Twitter can help you, you’re not gonna cut it.

Stardom is manufactured, and it’s not measured by talent. Nobody over fourteen is under the impression that cookie-cutter stars Nickelback and Miley Cyrus are the pinnacle of musical achievement, but they’re international phenomenons with staggering sales and exposure. This simpleton argument that we’re killing this beautiful, universal essence by cutting Goliath off at the knees is, reliably, one of two things: either the desperate rantings of the fatcats and middlemen just beginning to feel the gears of this beautiful New Machine tearing into their flesh, or simply the reaction to the cold slap of reality when a hack artist realizes that they’re actually going to have to spill their blood and eat the dirt that comes with paying their dues and building their craft into something respectable, something people want to pay for.

The exception here is Susan Boyle, an unseasoned anomaly completely unfit for the public eye, but she defied every odd in the book. She became William Hung 2.0, and topped the Billboard charts in the process. The internet set fire to that woman with a hundred million clicks, and her resulting flame is strange and bright. But when she burns out, it’s not going to be pretty. She’s a lottery winner, and she’s bound to follow the pattern.

Bob Lefsetz is a brilliant analyst and philosopher on the industry, but he’s got Lady GaGa pegged wrong. She’s more than a lot of flashy distraction – she’s the new model of category-defying ubiquity, marching to her own tune, changing alien outfits a thousand times and engaging in outrageous theatrics onstage. That’s not her label, that’s her. She may be tied to Interscope, but it was through a mix of shock value, talent and brand-building that she’s amassed an army of followers. The tabloids can’t get enough of her, and she’s got the gay community in the palm of her hand – a very powerful demographic scrambling for a new hero now that Cher’s out of the picture and Madonna’s a veiny velociraptor without a shred of creativity left. Want proof? Look at her numbers. Nobody knew who GaGa was at the start of 2008. Less than two years later, she’s got 8 million albums sold, 35 million digital singles and counting and reference points all over the musical spectrum, at a time when the heartiest cash cows are hanging by their hooves in the slaughterhouse.

The internet isn’t killing record labels, it just gave everybody a place to collectively call bullshit, as well as to celebrate a flash-phenomenon during its short shelf life (like Pants on the Ground). Who says file sharing is the problem anyway?  That’s bullshit. We’ve covered this already.

Greed, a lack of fresh ideas and stubborn reluctance to meet the rising tide of new media options are what’s killing the majors. As music lovers, students and collectors, we’re not going to ignore what we’ve seen behind the curtain and continue to subsidize the gluttonous unnecessaries that claimed to have our best interests at heart but only got fat on our gullible adherence to the hit cycles, the formulaic promotion schemes. It’s over.

“Consequently, our music is becoming less diverse.”

That’s the most rancid nugget atop the steaming fecal load that Harden’s HuffPost piece is. Whatever sand pile Nathan’s got his head stuck in must not have a good internet connection, because there’s an explosion of music happening right now that’s unlike anything we’ve ever seen before. Full-throttled boundary smashing experimentalism is happening everywhere you look.

Now the options are limitless. Down is the new up, and if your music sucks, or even if it’s great and you’ve got a half-cocked plan of action, you’re fucked in the long run. You think Adelita’s Way or Sick Puppies have what it takes to go the distance? Not a fucking chance.

If you think you can fool even some of the people all the time these days, you’ve got a rude awakening headed your way. There’s nobody out there willing to spend jaw-dropping amounts of money to get your music heard, and the ones that do will own you. So you’re going to have to do it yourself. But Nathan, instead of romanticizing about enslaving yourself to a label (giving nearly all revenue to a third party, abandoning creative control and ownership), you should really save yourself the hassle, frustration and wasted time and look into other career opportunities, like shilling for Pantene. Because your music is terrible.

Trent Reznor broke it down cleanly for artists setting sail in this new business climate:

Parter with a TopSpin or similar or build your own website, but what you NEED to do is this – give your music away as high-quality DRM-free MP3s. Collect people’s email info in exchange (which means having the infrastructure to do so) and start building your database of potential customers. Then, offer a variety of premium packages for sale and make them limited editions / scarce goods. Base the price and amount available on what you think you can sell. Make the packages special – make them by hand, sign them, make them unique, make them something YOU would want to have as a fan. Make a premium download available that includes high-resolution versions (for sale at a reasonable price) and include the download as something immediately available with any physical purchase. Sell T-shirts. Sell buttons, posters… whatever.

There’s plenty more to that rant, but the point is that any reluctance to dive in because you’re that precious and short-sighted about the product you’ve created and the climate you created it in is bound to leave you empty-handed, playing to empty bars in some shitty little town nobody’s ever heard of. If you’re lucky.

The Big Rock Star’s arc of success is much shorter, because there’s no end to the scrutiny available on the internet, not to mention the multitude of options. If YouTube were around when yesterday’s heroes were floundering, there’s a good chance they wouldn’t be what they are now. There’s no way to hide when your most telling moments are everywhere, on video, for everyone to see. Taylor Swift has had a meteoric rise, selling a bajillion records and winning all sorts of high-profile awards, but even America’s Sweetheart isn’t above the blind axe of evolution. Her Grammy performance was a devastating blow to the purest of images. Years ago, the rumors that she couldn’t actually sing would be largely dismissed as hype-countering sour grapes; nobody that huge could possibly be anything less than exactly what they’ve sold us, could they? But now, with infinite analysis options and qualified opinions piled high online, the heat is on. Miss Swift is going to have to deliver a powerful live performance with a lot of promotion to recover from her humiliatingly off-pitch Grammy performance.

Pearl Jam doesn’t have a label, and by scaling back their goals they succeeded beyond the model. They worked out their own distribution deal for their last album and they continue to sell out shows within minutes. Why? Because the music is good, for starters, but it’s so much more than that. They don’t bullshit their audience, and they go to bat for their fans in ways no other band ever has. But of equal importance is the fact that they adjusted to the shifting business paradigm. They initially took a lot of heat for making a deal with a big box retailer, but when the magnifying glasses came out it became clear that Pearl Jam was looking out for the little guy. In their semi-exclusive retail agreement with Target, the indie record stores were protected and permitted to sell Backspacer. After being tied to Sony for 18 years, they’ve adapted and are now making their own rules. Setting an example. Taking the initiative.

The middleman is an infection, the infestation that only sees in red and black. Harden believes we should mourn their demise. On his MySpace music page, under “label,” it says simply, “coming soon”. He’s apparently waiting for the suits to find him, to see the immense star-power value in his songs (none of which have cracked 1k plays), and snap up the prize that he is. What this misguided musician really seems to be mourning is the loss of his chances at getting his What Have U Done With America abomination on the air, of a label buying in and building some false mystique and hollow hype around his bad songs, the way it used to be done. It’s become next to impossible for Nathan and his peers in the foot bath of the talent pool to fool enough people to make it worthwhile anymore, to trick enough people into buying shit they don’t want.

You hear the remnants of it today when you turn on the radio and they’re still playing Smells Like Teen Spirit. They’re still playing that one song from 1996 that sold a lot of records, because that’s the model for how things used to work, and they’re going to ride that pony till it crumbles beneath them. It’s what they know. It’s all they know.

But Rock ‘n Roll is alive and well, despite the major labels drowning in their own deceit and excess while their hopeful cuckolds-in-waiting wring their hands and write ill-informed articles about why we should keep things the way they’ve always been. If you’re not celebrating the fall of the wretched empire, you’re a part of the problem. If you’re not hearing the genius, it’s because you’re not listening. Rather than crying over the loss of Sam Goody and Tower records, of downturning profits at top-heavy major labels, why not pay a little closer attention to the avenues that are suddenly thriving in this leveled playing field? MySpace and YouTube are the very tip of the iceberg when it comes to outlets for the explosion of great music exposure out there.

Embrace this beautiful, terrifying chaos. Listen closely. Dig deeper. It’s amazing what you’ll find when you let go of your flags and labels, when you cover your eyes to the gimmicks and promotional theatrics and uncover your ears. As with anything, the wastelands and unpleasantries far outweigh the beauty, but if you can find one great tree, there may be many in the surrounding forest to your liking. And if you do find one, respect it. Tell your friends. Go to their shows. Buy their T-shirt. Wear it.

It’s more than possible for bands to book their own shows, promote themselves, make their own music and sell it directly – it’s becoming the norm. The mainstream is becoming the freak show. As music addicts, fanatics and lovers, we’ve been given the most incredible gift imaginable. We’re the first generation to have the entirety of recorded musical history at our fingertips for reference, enlightenment, inspiration and education. We should be cherishing this rare opportunity to rewrite the script, to redesign the business model from the inside out.

But assholes like Nathan Harden are completely missing the point. If you think Rock ‘n Roll is dead, then put down your guitar, abandon your shitty failed MySpace page and dive into the nine-to-five, crybaby.

This sometime Dresden Doll has spent the majority of her career bucking the industry’s standard operating methods, relying on her fanbase and her philosophical legacy to carry her forward. It’s worked so far- she’s rapidly gaining recognition as a highly vocal sore thumb on the Roadrunner Records roster. Not that she wasn’t in the first place- with label mates Cradle of Filth, Nickelback and Megadeth, it’s a wonder what the hell she’s doing on the label at all.

After months of trying we finally tracked down Amanda for an email Q&A, fresh off her recent stint as mentor for a student-produced play at her old high school and just before a week-long yoga retreat. We’ll sidestep the clear fact that Twitter culture has apparently made shorthand communication the norm, even for some of the most eloquent thinkers in the game, and bring this shit to you (almost) live & direct. Enjoy.

Antiquiet: By all accounts, you rocked the balls right off of Coachella last month. Care to write a haiku about your experience?

Amanda Palmer: Sublime crowdsurfing / Renders me me invincible / Fuck that was my arm.

Antiquiet: A quote you’ve quoted: “Change isn’t made by asking permission. Change is made by asking forgiveness later.” -Seth Godin, Tribes. How does that apply to your approach to your craft, on both the creative and business ends?

Amanda Palmer: On tour we have this motto: “Do it ’til you get caught.” It’s the same philosophy. You have to break rules and make shit up as you go along or nothing interesting will ever happen.

Antiquiet: A long time ago Ani DiFranco spoke about touring the way musicians used to, traveling by train, relying on the kindness of their fans for support, etc. Not everyone knows the pass-the-hat stories of the Danger Ensemble, or your touring ethic. Can you break down your philosophy on avoiding the hotel/airport/gig rotation and connecting with your fans?

Amanda Palmer: Life can become very unreal on tour. it can also be very fucking expensive. I killed two birds with one stone this last tour and decided to call out to our fans for crashspace and food, and they accomodated us with flying honors. I wouldn’t have traded it for all the 5-star hotels in the world. A whole family of Honduran immigrants in miami gave up their BEDS and slept OUTSIDE so that my crew could sleep comfily. it was the most humbling experience of my life.

Antiquiet: Speaking of the Danger Ensemble… That tour must’ve changed you. At least made your heart three or four shades brighter. For those that missed feeling the energy, can you describe it?

Amanda Palmer: Life and art work when you surround yourself with good people. That’s all. The Danger Ensemble and I had the same intentions, to create love with each other and on stage. It worked. Every night.

Antiquiet: Was it a once in a lifetime run? Or is there a future for the Danger Ensemble?

Amanda Palmer: I’ll be seeing them this summer in Edinburgh. Hopefully we’ll get into some mischief…

Antiquiet: Were you surprised by the success and support of your Please Drop Me song?

Amanda Palmer: Nope. People love shit like that.

Antiquiet: Where do you stand now with those swine bastards?

Amanda Palmer: I stand in their office’s lobby, wearing a hat and coat and jangling my fucking keys, ready to get the fuck out of there.

Antiquiet: This brings me to the industry’s measure of success and your own. According to your comments, most everybody told you the D.E. tour would be a failure, unsustainable, etc. You proved them wrong by doing it your way and believing in the reality you’ve built around you. Can you break down the quick “how” for our readers?

Amanda Palmer: It’s not rocket science. I had no money to pay the Danger Ensmble (four actors, basically, backing me up on stage making wonderful theatrical moments) so we passed the hat every night. They ended up making about a hundred dollars each per night, just from the donations of the fans. It was so inspiring. I come from a street theater background, though, and doing shit like that just makes sense to me. We heaped love and gratitude on those who helped. Everybody won.

Antiquiet: Using your Lefsetz letter as a jumping off point, what is your definition of success in today’s climate?

Amanda Palmer: Success as a musician? If you’re happy doing what you’re doing. That’s it. Could apply to any job, really. Fame, money… bullshit. Are you happy with what you’re doing and making- this is the question.

Antiquiet: What role does yoga play in your life?

Amanda Palmer: It is the practice that makes everything possible and I would not be nearly the person I am if I didn’t practice. it yokes me to myself.

Antiquiet: Replace the word “yoga” with Margaret Cho.

Amanda Palmer: She is my psychic and fisting advisor.

Antiquiet: Twitter seems to me to be a great way to streamline communication between artist and fan. Naturally major labels are slow on the uptake, because things like Twitter mean the quick dismemberment of the middleman and put power back in the hands of the artist themselves- as well as the fans, come to think of it. Direct interaction and even commerce can take place outside the old trickle-down avenues. Thoughts?

Amanda Palmer: You are correct, sir.

Antiquiet: How do you feel about this as a model for the future of music commerce? A concept where you pay for internet access, plus something like a $5/mo surcharge, that gets distributed to rights owners just like listening to the radio. 

Amanda Palmer: I think that could totally work. I am banking on a fan-supported future with very little middleman.

Antiquiet: Tell everyone a little bit about the Who Killed Amada Palmer book…

Amanda Palmer: A little bit? I can tell you a little bit. It’s awesome. Is that enough? I can tell you more. It has stories by Neil Gaiman and photos by 20+ incredible people. And I’m dead and naked in them. It’s just awesome.

Antiquiet: What does Amanda Palmer do when she’s having the shittiest of days?

Amanda Palmer: She Twitters.

Antiquiet:Echo And The Bunnymen, Depeche Mode (circa 1985 or so) and The Smiths (same) are playing together at Carnegie. Brian Setzer is the master of ceremonies. You’re invited to open with a three-song set. What’s your setlist?

Amanda Palmer: Astronaut. Coin-Operated Boy. Half Jack.

Antiquiet: …aaaand if the bands asked you to join them onstage for one song each, which ones would you choose?

Amanda Palmer: Echo: Bring On The Dancing Horses. Depeche: Somebody. Smiths: Bigmouth Strikes Again.

Margaret Cho / AFP Photo by Burns!

Roadrunner Records, home to such beaming beacons of musical wonder as Nickelback, Killswitch Engage and Hatebreed, has made no effort to promote Palmer’s latest album, Who Killed Amanda Palmer? They considered her commercially sterile and ”uncommercially fat,” yet refuse to allow her to take her business elsewhere- despite an outright refusal to provide any of the support a record label exists to provide in the first place.

Never one to mince words, on March 28 in Ft. Lauderdale, Palmer reworked the old Mancini song Moon River as a dedication to Roadrunner Records:

The lyrics seem to have been written out in letter form:

Please drop me, I don’t fit on your roster. I’m tired of this pointless shit, please drop me. What do I have to do? I’m tired of sucking corporate dick. You don’t get me, you won’t let me continue my career in peace, and it’s making me sad. Too late now to fix this fucking mess, so please just let me go. I swear, you won’t miss me. You don’t love me. I’m not making you any money. Plus you’ll still have Slipknot, and Annihilator and Machine Head, and Cradle of Filth and Megadeth, and 3 Inches of Blood and Life of Agony, and Mutiny Within and Hatebreed, and Killswitch Engage and Nickelback.

Before you write off the poor little artsy girl chewing on sour grapes ’cause she couldn’t hang with the big boys, it should be known that Amanda’s much more than an eyebrow-shaving drama queen pissing in the gift-horse’s mouth. When touring behind her solo record, rather than doing it on her own or bringing a backing band, Palmer chose to bring four actors called The Danger Ensemble and a violinist with her- a suicidal business move for a smaller-scale musician, even with label support. For the ensuing six months, she and her vagabond crew lived a literal patchwork existence, relying on the kindness of her fans, defying the cornerstone laws of those who only see in red and black.

No doubt inspired by this, and alienated from the very people that should be supporting her, she put her gripes on paper in an open letter to her label, spelling out her frustrations (in anti-Kanye typing style, no less):

i had to EXPLAIN to the so-called “head of digital media” of roadrunner australia WHAT TWITTER WAS. and his brush-off that “it hasn’t caught on here yet” was ABSURD because the next day i twittered that i was doing an impromptu gathering in a public park and 12 hours later, 150 underage fans – who couldn’t attend the show – showed up to get their records signed.

no manager knew! i didn’t even warn or tell her! no agents! no security! no venue! we were in a fucking public park! life is becoming awesome.

also interesting: i brought a troupe of back-up actors/dancers on the tour (we were only playing 300-1000 seaters) and had no money to pay them, so we passed the hat into the crowd every night. each performer walked from each show with about $200 in cash. the fans TOOK CARE OF THEM. they brought us dinner every night, gave us places to sleep. (i couldn’t afford to put up that many people in hotels).

all sans label, all using email and twitter. the fans followed the adventure. they LOVED HELPING.

so?

the times they are a-changing fucking dramatically, when pong-twittering with trent reznor means way more to your fan-base/business than whether or not the record is in fucking stores (and in my case, it ain’t in fucking stores).

twitter is EVERYTHING that you explain in your rants: it is a MAINLINE insta-connection with the fans. there is ZERO middleman.

my fans hung out with me all day on twitter today while i unpacked weird tour shit, fan art, gifts and paraphernalia that usually just ends up in my closet or in the trash and took pictures of it for them.

xa

Amanda’s right. The concept that Twitter hasn’t “caught on” anywhere at this point is indeed absurd. Having just roared past 14 million users, microblogging mania is sweeping the land- and any label shot-caller with half a mind should be aware of this. Embracing this. On top of this, racing to stay ahead of the curve, encouraging their artists to take part and connect directly with their fans. Because that’s exactly where all this is going. The middleman is an infection, an infestation- and he’s headed the way of the milkman. Reznor’s waving the flag, and the war drums are now within earshot. 

But the labels refuse to accept this. Instead, they scoff at these unconventional (new) ideas. Put up the shields. Raise the alarm. Regress and defend their dwindling molehills of industry capital, teeth gnashing, hands over their eyes and ears.

By contrast, examine Amanda’s informal mission statement, in her own words:

i don’t do this to make money. i don’t do this to win approval. i do this to be around people i love. i do this to make art, to feel connected, to make love and not war and art and not pain.

Do yourself a favor and read the entire post. It’s a beautiful send-off to an experience of the truly pure-hearted, for the sake of creation and art. For the love of it all. Her blog is a vast, deep archive of artistic expression, of pure-hearted, unabashed love for creation, performance, for love itself. I’ve traded many hours of sleep to walk around in her blog world over the past year and change, and I feel lucky to have been a part- even vicariously- of such a pure display of expressionistic passion thus far.

Here’s a great video of her covering a Radiohead song from Black Cab Sessions, giving new life to a dead relic:

Over the next few weeks, Amanda’s upping her own performance-art ante even further. She’s a pivotal participant in a play put on at her old high school in Lexington, MA, but you can shove that Godspell right up your ass; this musical’s based on Neutral Milk Hotel’s In the Aeroplane Over The Sea. She’s playing Coachella, but is going way beyond the call of bill-filler duty. Hell, she even plays random secret shows for her Twitter followers- a concept that serves as a glaring, real-time example of the Industry’s Fatal Flaw: they have no idea how to play it fast and loose. 

Her art, work ethic and industry philosophies ring a hard bell here at Antiquiet, and we’re proud to support such a true defender of the craft.