Dresden Dolls transcend the theatrics

Amanda Palmer, who arrived at the Orpheum last night wearing a black Roxbury T-shirt, has always had a preternatural sense of what her audience wants -- she is a performer first, and a singer second. In 2003, when the Dresden Dolls were gathering steam nationally, Palmer told a reporter that her live act ''serves to draw people in, so you can start bludgeoning them with heavily emotional [expletive]."

The Dolls are now in a different position -- a new album, ''Yes, Virginia . . .," has largely acquitted the band of early charges that it was a one-trick pony -- but the game remains, mostly, the same. Onstage, Palmer still exudes a violent grace. She trembled, shuddered, and shook her way through her set in the half-light of the Orpheum.

What has changed, of course, is the material itself -- with ''Virginia," Palmer and drummer Brian Viglione have created an astute, provocative album, and in concert, the new material easily transcends the theatrics.

The Dolls knocked out ''Coin Operated Boy" early in the night -- Viglione sent the hit song sprawling, and then, with Palmer in tow, he reeled it slowly back in. They spent the rest of the set riding the momentum, cursing, dancing, and tossing back bottles of foamy beer.

A few minutes later, with the crowd on its feet, hands raised, Palmer walked out from behind her keyboard. The lights burst up from the front of the stage, and Viglione, acoustic guitar in hand, burst into ''Amsterdam," by French troubadour Jacques Brel.

It was the turning point in the set: the Dolls rendition of the song was soulful, but teetered towards dissonance. Viglione circled Palmer, twisting his face in a stage whisper. The lights threw Palmer's shadow against the ceiling of the Orpheum, dozens of feet tall. For a moment, the Dresden Dolls were back where they started -- bigger-than-life actors in a tiny town.