by Amos, Tori
Tash picks up a little tiny flashlight that Mark uses to see gear at the mixing desk during a live show. I start singing a silly song and Tash says—excuse me, the fairy says, “Sing properly. The show is about ready to start.”
So quickly my brain is trying to come up with a proper song at seven-fifteen in the morning, pre-kindergarten. And one of the new songs for the album pops into my head, maybe because it has the word porcelain in it. So I proceed to sing the song properly and Tash is doing the lights for the performance.
I finish the song and Tash says, “When I was a twinkle in the sky, I wanted you to marry my daddy. And I told you so, didn't I?”
“I guess you did.”
“And you heard me, didn't you?”
“I guess I did.”
“You were going to marry another boy, weren't you?”
“I don't know if marry is accurate, but I had other boyfriends, yes.”
“But your last boyfriend was not my daddy, was it?”
“No, you're right. My last boyfriend was the last boyfriend I ever had, because then I was with your daddy.”
“But I did not want your boyfriend to be my daddy.”
“Well, my last boyfriend was very nice.”
“But he was not my daddy! And I told you that when I was a twinkle in the sky. And I picked Daddy for you, Mummy, because I love you.”
At that juncture, the postman is at the door and Tash's daddy has just walked in from working out. The postman says, “You won't be needing that flag, deary. The football team all had to go home because they lost.”
The postman and Tash's daddy have a bit of a knowing giggle and the postman says, “We all have to move on, so you won't need that flag, deary.”
Tash looks up, waving her flag wand, and looks at the postman and says, “This flag protects mummies, not daddies, from the alien fairies.”
And at that moment, it was crystal clear that Tash was the one who obviously had “moved on.”
Kindest Eyes
FOR TORI'S MOM, MARY ELLEN COPELAND AMOS
the Kindest eyes
are waving
from the farthest reach
of the Disembarkment
gate.
a Small hand
that for 75 Octobers
has touched the
Canadian Sunset–colored leaves of the maple tree
reaching reaching
above the heads
staying till
Time's last moment of breath
Flight BA293
is Boarding
and I'm leaving
the Kindest smile.
the things I said at
good god.
is he good?
he's a hussy.
But she put away
the Tomahawk
the Feather
the Sage
for Candleland
and
Liturgy
and Lost
her Native fire
only for a while.
She remembered
as we all will
the call
of the Ancestors,
“2012.”
She bathed me and held me
at my ugliest
at my smelliest
at my meanest at 18
when you think
you have the right
to punish the one
with the Kindest eyes …
for the men who couldn't see mine
and I'm racing against time now
the Kindest eyes are smiling—is it too late
to memorize her essence
yes it is
I missed that chance.
the Kindest eyes had said, “My angel, dance,
this is not goodbye,
look in the mirror
to find the Kindest Eyes.”
TORI:
She is Black.
She is White.
She is Sex.
She is Death.
I watch Jimi.
I am 5.
I watch Jim.
I watch the Board of Trustees at the church shake their heads—
“No.
No way.
Not our daughters, nor our sons will be going to see
Jimi, Jim, or Jimmy.”
Fathers hurling out Biblical sound bites, from
“in Sin you were born”
to
“Gird your Loins.”
I think to myself—
Okay gentlemen, put those loins on the grill, honeylamb.
Medium rare.
A portion.
A part.
The loin of the Messianic Christ is awakening through these men,
Jimi, Jim, and Jimmy,
to name a few.
I hear the call.
Faint, but the trumpet is blaring.
As voices try and drown out Jimi's axe,
all the while the gnosis of the serpent is stirring his Strat.
Upside down.
Left handed.
The pickup switch in his control.
And the wind cried Mary.
And I heard the cry—
in the halls of the Peabody
In the practice rooms—
some of the most accomplished players of
She who is Black,
She who is White—
play Liszt, Chopin, and then of course there was always Prokofiev.
I wanted him.
I was seven.
Not to play his piece,
Concerto in C-sharp Minor, something I would study one day,
but I wanted the mind.
The mind that could finger that piece.
But in the rests of L'Après-midi dun Faune by my Spirit Brother, Debussy,
and in the time changes and key signatures of my guide, Bartók— I heard the cry … She is Risen. She is Black. She is White. Good night, sweet Prince. Good night, Stratocaster.
Good night, Les Paul.
Good night, Telecaster.
Good night, Martin.
Good night, Santa Cruz.
I will study you, I will take you in.
Through my skin to my hands.
Thank you.
I have found her.
She is Risen.
She is Bösendorfer.
ANN: If any god has a right to call in sick to the rock-and-roll pantheon, Dionysus is the one. This Greek sacrificial figure, whose festivals defined old-fashioned frenzy, is invoked so of en in the context of contemporary music that his dancing shoes must be worn right through. The philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche and composers like Richard Strauss conjured his spirit in the service of modern ritual long before kick drums and power chords set the kids on fire, but Dionysus got really busy once the counterculture made rock not just a musical style but a way of life. An idol was needed to embody the strange magic that pulsed through rock performers and fans and led people to transform their appearance, their leisure time, and even sometimes their entire worldview. Dionysus, sexiest of the Western deities, fit the bill. Jim Morrison invoked him by name; many other stars earned comparison to him simply because of their genius for rebellion and the fine art of losing control. Rockers who've never heard of Persephone and Demeter, much less Sekhmet and Saraswati, fancy themselves Dionysus's followers. Yet few really bother to consider what taking on that path really entails.
Preserving the spirit of Dionysus, the wandering bringer of intoxication, allows those who dare the chance to constantly reimagine ways to break free of rules and even ego itself. The ancient Bacchic rites that honored him may really have involved no more than some wild dancing and gnawing on raw meat, but over the centuries they have come to represent a serious step outside society, where art's ecstatic power, not morality, determines our actions. Dionysus, ideally, frees us from all assumptions, most of all those about sexuality. Yet it seems no coincidence that the most vibrant survivor from the Greek pantheon is male. Androgynous, yes, and propped
up by a cult of women, but especially as he survives in rock stars’ hearts, Dionysus is a quintessential bad boy, indulging all his impulses and leaving wreckage in his wake.
What would happen if Dionysus got back in touch with his ancient feminine side? This is what Tori Amos explores in her live performances. The scene is still bloody, but this is the blood of the god's perennial rebirth, not his dismemberment. Becoming possessed by the music that has given shape to her songs, Amos does not sacrifice either mastery or understanding. The power of rhythm intertwines with the pull of melody to reshape her. Yet she acts as neither sacrifice nor mere reveler. She becomes oracle, that feminine voice through which the stories of all time take shape.
TORI:
Undulating. The rhythm—the Bösendorfer, into my body. The Kundalini has a snapdragon tonight at the base of my spine. We are playing outside. It's over a hundred degrees. Last night, Navajo women came backstage in Phoenix and smoked their Hozho Natooh with us—this sacred tobacco was lovingly picked by their grandmother. As the Dineh (Navajo) woman from the tobacco clan talked with me, she rolled the sacred tobacco in a husk of corn and began her chant, her prayer. First she spoke of things that were personal to me, then she began her weaving of song in her ancient language. I received this blessing with the feeling that I myself had been retuned (like the pianos) to be played by this land. This particular land that was so much a part of the songs “a sorta fairytale,” “Crazy,” “your cloud,” “Indian Summer,” and the historical tragedy of “wampum prayer.”
Matt and Jon then came along with Chelsea, Ali, and Dunc to receive their message. When we all gathered in a circle in the end, as she sang in her clan's language, Tash demanded in and came to stand before this medicine woman. I held my breath as the two of them seemed to understand each other completely, one a two-and-a-half-year-old and one a woman chanting in Dineh. As the smoke surrounded Tash, I held my breath but did not interrupt as she began to move her small body in rhythm. It was almost as if a hand held me firmly back. The Dineh woman wrapped the smoke (which I thought looked like seven circles of smoke) quickly around Tash. I thought of the “seed of life” Mandala, which is an ancient shape made up of six circles with the seventh circle having been created out of the interconnectivity of the six. Sacred geometry. I felt Poppa's presence. I then realized that Tash had chosen her own Baptism. It was her soul that did this. She had not been included by me originally, but she herself chose to be included as we sat in the circle holding hands. We surrounded her as she sat enveloped in the Hozho Natooh and the Dineh song. In the song “Ruby through the Looking-Glass,” I talk about being “Baptized of fire and every beat in the bar.” Well, Tash really has been, but by a loving fire; she was also Baptized through song, through the song of the Dineh's true mother, Changing Woman, creatrix of the Dineh (the people) and the seasons.
That was last night. Tonight we are in the basin of Cochise's Holy Mountain. I feel his presence watching over everything I can see. We are in Tucson. Twenty minutes before showtime, I pass Husband in the hallway backstage. I stare at him. He stares at me. He laughs. I hear an underlying warning in that laugh. And a slight nervousness. “Take care of my wife.” “Your wife's fine—she's on a long coffee break.” We both know she's far away. He knows I'll let her come back. But not now.
SONG CANVAS:“wampum prayer”
An electrical surge shoots through my body. I'm straddling what is most easily described as a pack of wild horses. Stampeding. I am racing. I am still. I am a vessel and I must “ground” this fast. I kneel. In the dark. Sage burning. I call on the four directions and ask them what essence they are bringing with them. I call it forth and ask them to help me hold this within as well as without. My vessel then begins to expand to where each direction begins to pull me. I see this in my mind's eye. The pianos have been anointed with the oils prepared specifically for tonight's journey Tonight is centered around the true events of wampum prayer— we are in her place of historical occurrence where mostly women and children of Chiricahua and Mescalero Apache were forced to march to Bosque Redondo, near Fort Sumner, and cruelly many were killed in the walk. Soon the Navajo (the Dineh) were rounded up, hunted down, and forced to march what they call today the “Long Walk” to Bosque Redondo (akin to the Cherokees’ fateful Trail of Tears, which occurred earlier, in 1838). I hear the chanting of Cochise's holy men and women, singing to heal the screams and cries of the hundred innocent Aravaipa Apache who were massacred not far from where we are playing tonight. I hear the old Apache woman, who woke me more than a year ago in the far reaches of Cornwall, her voice pulling me out of my bed in what is known to all of us as that “dark before dawn,” tearfully singing what became “wampum prayer”—which has begun our invocation every night, day in and day out, for the past many, many months. And here we are— here I am—point of place. The real place where the real events occurred. I visualize a chord. A simple chord. This silverish-looking rope extends down from what I imagine as Source through the instruments, through us the players—the keepers of the tone on this particular stage, and down into the earth. This is my definition of being grounded— when you're straddling a pack of wild horses. The drums begin; they pull me to them. The revving of the engines has begun. It is showtime.
ANN: On any given night, Amos and her companions on and behind the stage must find the balance that allows them to merge within the larger organism of the music. Amos may claim the focus of the crowd, but she cannot play star as much as humble servant. Practicing the Dionysian loss of self as an artistic and spiritual discipline, Amos must resist the cliché of self-indulgence in order to gain access to the older gift of artistic clairvoyance.
CONVERSATION BETWEEN TORI AND ANN:
When I walk out there and hold these songs, I have to become a living library. I have to become an artist that can contain these stories and these shapes for people to walk into. I can pull these songs in and hold the structure, for example, of the sacred prostitute. I work with this archetype a lot, and she joins me when I perform the live version of “Father Lucifer,” which I developed in depth on the Scarlet's Walk tour. Once I explained to Matt and Jon what I was trying to achieve, we stripped the song back and created a different rhythm track in order to create the right mood for this gal. When I step into this particular archetype and hold that energy, I have to believe that I can achieve what these scarlet women, these sacred prostitutes, achieved all those years ago, but not as Mark's wife and not as the girl my friends know me as. You have to be clear on this when you are working with archetypes—which piece of them is moving through you, so when you walk offstage you really do kind of need to know what part is them, what part is you, and which part of them you want to take back on the bus with you. And quite honestly, if Husband is on the bus that night, I might just take this gal back with me.
Can you benefit as a person by including a piece of this archetype in your personal Mandala? We all have our own personal Mandala that is made up of many mosaics. I know a woman whose personal Mandala is made up of Goddess and God archetypes that are lovers of animals. I know people whose mosaics are mostly made up of God and Goddess archetypes that are all about strategy. But there is always room in everyone's personal Mandala for at least one or two mosaics dedicated to the sacred prostitute. So she's usually at every show. Because frankly, she makes all the other song girls have a sway in their step. Who doesn't want a sway in their step?
CHELSEA LAIRD:
Sometimes people misinterpret Tori's passion as only sexuality. For her it's claiming her sexuality and merging it with her spirituality. For her the music is the ultimate expression of passion, not necessarily sex. But that's what makes it sexy.
JON EVANS:
Tori has a way of expressing herself that's certainly very sensual. It's all entwined with the songs, and it has a lot to do with the lyrics, too. All of that stuff that she does live, the movement on the piano bench, she does in rehearsals and she did from day one. People think that it's just an act an
d it's not how she is in normal life, but whenever she performs a song she really does internalize it and externalize it, she just becomes a part of it.
Whether she's performing by herself in the studio or in a rehearsal space or onstage in front of people, you're going to get the same level of intensity. But it's not a stripper vibe. It's more just being in touch with sexuality and not being embarrassed by it. She's not trying to be sexy for men, yet a lot of the music has a groove that's very masculine. She can play really heavy and really hard and really funky and be very male in a lot of ways. At the same time, what she expresses has a very female slant. She's definitely sexual for girls, but in a very masculine way. So it's complicated. There are so many preconceptions of women and sex and what they want and how they feel about it. I think with Tori, if you listen, it's pretty clear; it's just not what those preconceptions suggest.
The way Tori transforms as a performer is not just metaphorical; it's musical. She has the ability to transpose really intricate things into keys immediately, as well as being able to start a song vocally in the right key when she's coming from somewhere very different. A lot of people with perfect pitch have a real problem with that because they can hear a certain thing only in a certain place and it has to be there forever. But Tori is really in tune with where she is harmonically, and songs can change keys all the time. If we're segueing in between songs she can be in one place and go to the lead note of the next song, which could be totally not where she was, and she can tie things together in really amazing ways that really not many people can do. In the pop world, most people don't have a flow like that, an ability to create but still keep a thread going through songs and be able to anticipate where something's going to go harmonically.
