This may be the first and last time the very-proper Canberra’s National Gallery hosts an act that ends the show with a sing-along with crowd-surfing and a rendition of ‘The Lion Sleeps Tonight’.

From the moment Amanda Palmer strolled down the aisle of the tiny theatre, trailing a lace bustle and strumming ‘Makin’ Whoopie’ on her red ukulele, she held the audience’s attention, and their heart. I’ve never followed Amanda’s music, but I was a single silent voice in the crowd when she played her intimate and interactive very first show in Canberra. The crowd adored her, it was obvious, and rightly so. She adored them right back, and her palpable enjoyment of performing made for an energetic and memorable show.

It’s been said that Amanda is a fearless singer and songwriter, and the enduring accuracy of that statement was evident with the mix of old and new songs she chose for this show. She rounded off originals based around her experiences of Australia (‘Australia’ a whimsical look at settling for domestic banality) with simple versions of Radiohead’s ‘Creep’, singing them like she’s lived them. It is Amanda’s joyful attachment to the strength of emotion that pulls these performances from her that makes her so interesting to watch.

Audience participation was high. Amanda launched into ‘Oasis’ when bidden by an audience member, a upbeat crowd pleaser about the mistakes of youth and the triviality of star-worship. Amanda’s edgy autobiographical slant to her song writing was on show here too though - in the past Amanda has written of an unplanned pregnancy and date rape. Although Amanda was hesitant about playing next choice ‘the Bed Song’ she delivered a heart-rending tale of two lovers that stilled the crowd. The spark of truth combined with the emotional catharsis that carves through songs such as this make her a captivating force onstage.

Bringing support act Mikelangelo (of the Black Sea Gentleman) back onstage to share her last songs and encore made for a rousing last half. The ‘Black Bull of the Balkans’ is amusing, he’s charming, he’s all Johnny Cash and smarmy matador and he uses the crowd as a prop while he and Amanda sing together on ‘Formidable Marinade’, a raucous song dripping with descriptive lyrics such as ‘human flesh is not just for cannibals’. The Great Moldavio accompanied them on breathy gypsy-cabaret style clarinet and the occasional burst of percussion and it was all as riotous and amusing as you’d expect from a collective that states early on ‘we don’t rehearse – we just do’.