Emilie sings it from a golden wheelchair while the Crumpets sway around her like dreams. The Art Of Suicide' is all tinkling harpsichord and woe, a song that avoids hand-staple-forehead territory by dint of its affecting, lilting tune. It reminds me of Propaganda, all bristling determination over one of those sampled 'n' synthesised wide-screen Trevor Horn productions. Also like many of Emilie Autumn's songs, it's a slice of 80s-electro drama, all spunky synths and an assertive vocal. She struts through 'Fight Like A Girl' - the theme song for this tour, and, like many of Emilie's songs, a pean to self reliance, inner strength, getting your own back, and Not Giving Up No Matter What. Topped by a teetering mohawk, Emilie is all stylised fierceness and don't-mess attitude. Just don't expect anyone to explain what's going on. A bit like all those old Judy Garland and Mickey Rooney movies.but with more mental illness. You just have to know that Emilie and chums (and, by implication, the audience) are locked in a Victorian madhouse, where they while away the early hours by putting on a show. It must be said that Emilie's show relies heavily on a clued-up fanbase that knows the back story and understands the premise. And then - to frenzied cheers from an audience that's practically chanelling Beatlemania - Emilie herself appears, stalking through 'Four O'clock', the traditional overture. Only three Crumpets this time: The Italian noblewoman (or something - I've never been quite sure what her character is supposed to be), The Blessed Contessa, burlesque queen Veronica Varlow, and the wayward pirate, Captain Maggot. With much drama Emilie Autumn's grrl gang, the Bloody Crumpets, appear, vogueing mightily to an intro track that seems to be mostly thunderclaps and sepulchral rumbles. Because Emilie Autumn's surrealist cabaret is a mighty long way from rock 'n' roll. The insistence of her record labels and management teams on marketing her as a rock act only works up to the point where you get to see the show. In fact, it's probably fair to say that Emilie Autumn has won success in spite of the music biz, rather than because of it. She's moved up the street and up the rankings since then.Įmilie Autumn has turned herself into a cult star, and she's done it without the slightest assistance from the music biz - give or take a few features in mainstream metal magazines like Kerrang!, which probably had a fairly negligible effect given that Emilie Autumn isn't heavy metal and isn't even a band. Only five years ago, Emilie Autumn was fifty yards down Camden High Street, playing the Underworld - a venue less than half the size. Selling out the Ballroom is no mean feat. The Electric Ballroom is sold out tonight, stuffed to its dust-covered disco lights with Emilie Autumn's eager fans - who are either rodents or bread products, according to some arcane filing system that probably only exists inside the head of Emilie Autumn herself. We’ve been trained by the very best, we think you might just be impressed Eradicate the enemy! Somewhere it’s always time for TEA! Eradicate the enemy! Eradicate! Revenge is a dish that is best served now.Plague rats and muffins form a disorderly queue along Camden High Street. We’ve been trained by the very best, we think you might just be impressed Eradicate the enemy! There is always time for tea! Revenge is a dish that is best served now! I am that little girl, I have that little curl, right in the middle of my forehead, and when I am good I’m a pretty little thing, but when I am bad I am fucking gorgeous! Hatchet…CHECK! Scalpel… CHECK! Electroshock Machine… CHECK! It’s time for war It’s time for blood It’s time for…TEA! We got the tools, we got the time, We’ll punish you for your crimes against humanity. It’s time for… TEA! We got the tools, we got the time, We’ll punish you for your crimes against humanity. It’s time for… TEA! One day that little girl may find a filthy metal spike and drive it right in the middle of your forehead, for she and her friends this is very very good, but for you the game is over, this is revolution! Hatchet… CHECK Scalpel… CHECK! Amputation Saw… CHECK! It’s time for war. There was a little girl who had a little curl right in the middle of her forehead and when she was good she was very very good but when she was bad she was homicidal! Hatchet… CHECK! Scalpel… CHECK! Rusty steel syringe… CHECK! It’s time for war.
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