Snapes looked them up and discovered they were actually employed by Palmer, as the singer's own traveling historian. Snapes received a random, personal invitation to an event Palmer was playing. Snapes called the experience "disturbing," saying , "I have been harassed in this way before by male musicians; I don't expect it of a woman. Both tweet threads are littered with people calling Palmer entitled, narcissistic and blind to her own behavior.
Palmer apologized the following day in a string of six tweets, including one re-sharing the link to her own reporter's story about her tour. Her fans appear at the end of the thread, and they still have her back. It's easy to mock the person posting multiple times a day, sharing their innermost fears and engaging with online communities in such a public manner, but for Palmer, it's been an effective communication strategy.
This personal connection with her fans has helped her break crowdfunding records multiple times over, and it's granted her the ability to bounce back from missteps in art and social media alike. I think the way I have used social media for the last 20 years, since I started the blog, has been all about not just megaphoning my opinions, ideas and product of the week at people, but conversing.
It's a big fucking campfire. I spend a lot of time on social media also reading what people have to say, and talking with them and listening to them.
This is why it wasn't weird, in her mind, to ask fans for a couch to crash on while on tour, or invite them to play their own music before her show, with only beer and hugs as compensation. Even though Palmer is the star, and the one collecting the money, she doesn't separate herself from her community. More importantly, neither do her fans.
She's simply a part of the naked, crying, piano-slamming, ukulele-strumming ecosystem, providing as much as she's taking. Her openness online and ideal of radical honesty has inspired me to be radically honest.
Her art feels organic and real. Plus, it is almost all in real-time. To say the least, it is a unique experience to be her Patron. Thank you for your music, your book I've listened to the audiobook version several times , your art, for sharing your life including Neil and Ash , and especially for your openness and brutal honesty.
And thank you for showing that it's okay to take the fucking donut when you need a fucking donut. She reminded me that being yourself is important, and to not sacrifice yourself for anyone or anything. Because of that, I have been reminded of passion.
That has changed my life immensely. So, thank you. I am forever indebted. Back in , Palmer reversed course after a week of Kickstarter drama and paid all of the guest musicians on her Theatre is Evil tour. She also ended up spending the next two years penning The Art of Asking , a book and TED Talk about crowdfunding and human connection in the digital age.
The book became a New York Times bestseller. My entire life kind of got derailed for a couple of years because I felt it was so important to explain to people. Patreon launched in , and Palmer joined the service in She quickly became one of the site's top earners, with 1, Patrons a day after launch. This, for a while, worked out; she was famous without really being famous. Someone recommended the Dresden Dolls to me in Then, in , she married the author Neil Gaiman, who is just plain famous.
The relationship catapulted Palmer into the spotlight. Her approach did not adapt to meet the circumstances. Things unraveled from there. I was an early adopter of Palmer-hate. It was by and about someone Palmer had demonstrably harmed. It was about the power celebrities wield, and their obligation to exercise that power responsibly. It deserved attention. It was only in , after a few more years, and a few more offenses, that the mainstream press got into the idea of hating Amanda Palmer.
The thing to remember is the headlines. Given all of this, The Art of Asking probably works best in audiobook form. Her voice is much quieter than you would think. Amanda Palmer is not actually shouting at you all the time.
She laughs at herself. Amanda Palmer sounds, in a word, normal. For most of this book, Amanda Palmer is talking about the one thing she is known least for: Making music. How she formed her band, how she promoted her band, why she signed to a major label, why she left it. Amanda Palmer, as it turns out, is arguing for the right to make very specific, potentially alienating records that some people love, rather than making very broad, very safe albums that everybody likes.
Some of it is related to her shocking ignorance of the class politics and context of her so-called crowdfunding revolution. Critics cringe, too, at her sheer volume ; her acting out in public; her unapologetic attention-seeking.
And again and again, they call her out for her entitlement -- to attention, to a platform, to funding, to favors. This is not a plea to let her off the hook or release her from accountability. In a media landscape that typically reduces women to paragons or villains with strikingly little middle ground, Palmer is a self-styled anti-hero, from her feuds with the record industry to her Wicked Queen eyebrows. And it's worth noting that the actions for which Palmer is attacked most often and most harshly tend to be the ones that conflict with what public femininity is supposed to look like -- behaviors and traits that would often sit differently on the shoulders of a male performer.
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