Audio Biography, Installment 2

Sorry for the break. I didn’t mean to do it. However, I’ve been swamped with other “stuff”. I’ve been forgetful as well. In fact, the other day I had a brilliant idea for a blog about war, fundamentalism, extremism and democracy. It was amazingly brilliant. I forgot what I was going to say. Damn.

Anyway, the next few blogs will be dedicated to Tori Amos. Let’s get going.

Tori Amos: Little Earthquakes --Tori’s first album (officially) and my first exposure to her. The first time I heard this album was in the tape deck of my old Corolla, with my girlfriend and a friend. We listened to “Silent All These Years” and analyzed its deeper meaning for quite some time. We talked about what it meant, where the emotions came from and who could share those feelings. Did we ever feel that way? Were these primarily feelings of feminine loss and alienation? Or was it possible for men to share these feelings. We didn’t get very far.

But my friend took these words to heart. They really meant something to her and, I suspect, gave voice to some of her darker demons that needed to be exercised. Sadly, she didn’t listen very closely because she tried another, more permanent way to voice and exercise those demons. She didn’t succeed, thankfully. But it was a scary moment that made me realize that sometimes the pain you see on the surface of your friends is only the tip of the iceberg. That sometimes asking “How are you?” isn’t nearly enough.

Tori’s voice is pained, angry and distant on this disc. She really delves into her darker, more frightening emotions on this disc. Though she’s put out some wonderful material since “Little Earthquakes”, she has never again reached this level of raw, painful emotion.

Tori Amos: Crucify [EP]--An offshoot from “Little Earthquakes”, this EP contains a remix of Crucify (a wonderfully angry song disguised by some beautiful melodies and piano work) as well as some Tori covers of some wonderful songs.

I bought this for my, then, soon to be wife. She loves Tori Amos, most likely because she too feels Tori gives voice to her darker feelings. I knew about this EP because someone I once knew had it. So, I bought it for my lovely wife because I knew she’d love it. I can’t remember if it was for a birthday, Valentine’s Day, Christmas or for no reason at all. But I did.

My selfish reasons for picking it up were simple. I wanted to hear Tori’s take on the Led Zeppelin song “Thank You.” The Zeppelin version is gorgeous. It’s one of the most beautiful love songs I’ve heard written by neo-hippies. From the moment Robert Plant sings, “If the sun refused to shine I would still be loving you” the song just tells a wonderful story of love, devotion and heart-felt platitudes. When Tori sings it, however, it’s almost sad. She sings it as a woman who truly loves the subject of the song, but doesn’t know if she has the confidence to let him/her know. She sings it soulfully, but with a reservation. Almost as if every “I love you” has a question mark because of her fear that the person hearing it will reject her emotions. It’s a tough listen, but well worth it.

From what I understand, this gift was the first time that my, then, soon to be wife knew that I understood who she was. It was a simple gift that was perfect for her. And you know what? It’s the little, no meaning gifts that actually mean more. There’s no reason to buy them other than you see it and think, “She NEEDS this!” More often than not, your impulse is true. But, more so, she will be impressed that you were thinking about her for no other reason than because you love her.

Tori Amos: Under the Pink--This may seem difficult to believe but . . . this was the only CD that was a duplicate when my wife and I combined our collections. Granted, mine numbered in the hundreds, hers in the tens. However, it’s hard to believe that two people who could sit and talk about obscure books we loved in our childhood could only have one CD that was the same. Go figure. Shortly afterward, however, our Tori collection grew by leaps and bounds. And well it should.

This is Tori’s most listenable album. It has “Cornflake Girl” and “God.” I bought it at about the time my mother died. I remember sitting in the parking lot of the gas station my friend worked at, blasting “God” and feeling that same way. I remember thinking, when she sang, “God sometimes you just don't come through” that she was right. If there was a God, he wasn’t listening. If he were, my mom would still be around. After all, wasn’t the world a better place with her in it? Hell yes. I’ve learned since then not to misdirect my anger. Call these forces what you will, God, Nature, Aliens, you have no control. You can be angry, but not to the point where you don’t listen anymore. It’s silly.

I was also particularly touched, probably for the same reasons, by this passage from “Pretty Good Year”, in fact I still am:

Tears on the sleeve of a man
don't want to be a boy today
heard the eternal footman
bought himself a bike to race
and Greg he writes letters and burns his CDs
they say you were something in those formative years
hold onto nothing as fast as you can
well still pretty good year

Pretty well summed up my mindset then. With my mother gone, my anchor, how was I to go on? How could I move on? How could I accomplish anything? She was the one, after all, that continually pushed me out of the nest saying, “You CAN fly! You just have to try.”

I still love this CD, but rarely listen to it these days. Those are emotions I don’t like to visit. Tori voiced my feelings at the time, but I’ve learned a better way of dealing with things. It comes from Kurt Vonnegut:

“We have to continually be jumping off cliffs and developing our wings on the way down.”
Same thing my mother would have said, only different.