The hair tossed and flew, a red-orange blur. She lost her shoes at some point, and her pale bare feet slapped the stage and stomped the piano pedals. She was obviously a Serious Artist Girl. The cleavage dipped and rose, igniting catcalls from the straight guys. And her voice -- a warble, a whisper, a whoop, all screeches and growls and moans, a flighty soprano which seemed to have a mind of its own -- was practically upstaged by her pelvis. Artist Girl bucked around like a rodeo cowboy, straddling the bench suggestively, seemingly humping the piano.
I was lonely and 15, with not much else to do but cut class, smoke cigarettes, nibble at my cuticles, and hate everything. I was ripe for Tori Amos.
Amos' 1992 release, Little Earthquakes, was brimming with misery and Artist Girl attitude. How could awkward 15-year-olds resist lyrics like "where the pretty girls are/those demigods/with their nine-inch nails and little fascist panties...."? And who could forget "Me and a Gun" -- in which Amos, breathing heavily, gave the details of her brutal rape a cappella, while mentioning biscuits and Barbados?
Kooky and catchy Under the Pink was the soundtrack for my high school's Pierced, Dyed, Possibly Lesbian Girl clique. I was a self-proclaimed "cornflake girl," even though I had no idea what that was. Who cared? It sounded good.
But then Boys for Pele was released, and almost overnight, I was no longer enamored of Amos. I was outgrowing self-indulgent, nonsensical lyrics. And suddenly, Amos -- spilling out of tight tops, her pouty lips painted red, posing seductively for magazines, giving exasperatingly quirky! interviews -- seemed to be nothing but gimmicks.
With her latest CD, the double To Venus and Back, Amos releases a live compilation and new material boasting a weird, fuller sound with an almost electronic slant. Maybe her frighteningly devoted fan base can look forward to some high-tech millennial cheer from the trauma queen of pop. But with those "Dear Diary" lyrics and that still- trembling voice? I wouldn't hold my breath.
Through the Years with Tori Amos
