Death Becomes Her

John Vettese sees what develops

by John Vettese

"We all did that when we were teenagers," says Kyle Cassidy of his penchant for taking self-portraits in a rigor mortis pose. "Some of us stopped."

But the West Philadelphia photographer never tired of the unusual aesthetic. "Fallen," his 1999 gallery exhibition, was a showcase of glamour shots in which the models were done up to appear deceased. His current project is a collaboration with Amanda Palmer of The Dresden Dolls, who also likes to pretend she's cold for the camera.

For Cassidy, it was an obvious partnership: The two shared a mischievous fixation with mortality, and he was in need of a lighthearted project.

His last showing was 2007's Armed America, a sociological study of gun owners in their homes. The book received critical acclaim, but straddling the middle of the heated Second Amendment debate left Cassidy drained. "Coming off Armed America, it was wonderful to have a project without all this weight on it," he says.

To some, Who Killed Amanda Palmer? (JSR Merchandising, July 7) would hardly seem weightless, but the series is very much in jest. A companion to Palmer's 2008 album of the same name, the book was initially conceived as album art. Cassidy met Palmer in the early aughts when his old band Nicki Jaine opened for The Dresden Dolls in Boston. They kept in touch, and over the years the Dolls would crash at his house when they played Philadelphia. Photo shoots often ensued — a collection of his Dresden Dolls portraits showed at NEXUS in 2005 — and when Palmer needed promo shots for her solo outing, she tapped Cassidy.

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The plan was initially a 16-page CD booklet where photographs of the singer dead are infused with "clues" as to the perpetrator (hence the unsubtle, if charming, nod to Twin Peaks). Palmer's label, Roadrunner Records, shot down the idea, but by this point graphic novelist Neil Gaiman (of Sandman fame) was already on board to write liner notes. Their solution: Screw the label — make it a full book, independent of the album.

The project ballooned to involve a range of photographers, from casual Palmer fans to notables such as Tegan Quin from Tegan and Sara. But the lion's share of the book's images were taken by either Cassidy or Palmer's assistant, Beth Hommel, during a shoot in Boston last year. The team was pressed for time, since Gaiman had only a week to spare, necessitating many long days and costume changes.

Cassidy describes Gaiman's involvement as that of an active observer; he'd watch Palmer and the photographers staging each scene, then improvise a story around it. In the book, the photos are joined on facing pages with his narratives. "My goal was to create images with stories already behind them, built in," Cassidy says, "giving Neil something to work with."

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One of the wittiest pairings is a sepia-toned shot of Palmer lying supine in a field (pictured above). A grocery bag lies at her feet and its contents are strewn around her; her head, meanwhile, is crushed by a metal Underwood typewriter.

Gaiman's story explains the scene thusly: A couple has just circumnavigated the globe in a hot air balloon so the husband can write his 500-page novel. Upon completion, the wife insults his pursuit as futile. An argument ensues and the typewriter is tossed over the side, falling to the ground and the singer below.

Equally imbued with narrative and intrigue are Cassidy's other contributions to the book. In one, a group of friends gathers for breakfast at a diner. The poisoned Palmer lies facedown in her food while the others gaze nervously away, looking for either the culprit or an escape route. Another, shot in a remote part of Walden Pond, has Palmer submerged in the water wearing a diaphanous dress, reminiscent of John Everett Millais' Ophelia.

While undeniably playful, the book seems like it could easily be misread as twisted or offensive. In staging shots, especially the more graphic scenarios, Cassidy said the group tried to be aware of the reality of suicide and violence as societal concerns. But he also didn't see any reason to self-censor.

"This book ... is a funny book," Cassidy says. "I mean, sure, if you don't get that, you could be horrified by it. But the whole thing is really about joy, collaboration and goofy, wonderful fun."

(j_vettese@citypaper.net)