by Amos, Tori
She's an extremely hard worker, and she doesn't sleep much. Even back in the day she was an early riser. We'd walk around the town we were in, do stuff, see what's out there.
ANN: Sensitivity to her environment feeds the improvisations Amos explores in performance, as she translates the mood of her locale into music. Yet just as she's learned to protect herself from bad food, negative crew members, and overly demanding fans, she has become an expert in creating an oasis in barren locales.
CONVERSATION BETWEEN TORI AND ANN:
Sometimes the narrative is so strong in a place that it takes you with it, it takes you by the hand and you step into this magical place. Sometimes you're in a place where you have to pull on reserves because everything is off, from the coffee, to the venue itself, to the smell, to the unkindness of the staff. Sometimes I know why the kids have come to the show, because there's not a lot in that town that is encouraging and they're starving. When you walk into a starving town and you haven't been fed, either, that's when your discipline comes in, that's when you have to be strong and focused.
There are ways you can protect yourself in a place that's not feeding you. My dressing room space has always been something I've been aware of as sacred. It's not only where I prepare for the show; it's where I create the night's set list, which is a composition unto itself. We'll often get into a venue and there's nothing on the walls but dingy, chipping paint—this isn't a place where you want to be licking or even touching the walls. It's just a crash pad, and the night before it might have been the crash pad for a metal band—love you guys, but they will have left the place stinking of vomit and stale semen and pussy oil, still pungent on the couch and floor from the human sardines who had a fuckfest. Yum. The first thing that comes to mind, thinking back on such venues, is my least favorite smell in the world: patchouli incense. But even that would be an improvement over what you get sometimes.
We have to transform the dressing room to begin that transition to the stage. Chelsea and I will talk about colors and scents appropriate to the time of year and the region, and what we think the show might be like that night. It's different every time; you go for different themes. In January, when it's cold, we might go for crimson and lemon chiffon. In the spring, we like sea green and Alice blue, everything very fresh. You can't always do much about the venue itself, the space where you're actually playing, but you can at least create a haven that might help you get through a hard night.
The dressing room is usually where I say good night to Tash on the nights that I perform. Usually that's a great thing, and I can bring a sweet memory of her with me onstage. But, like everything else on tour, it can backfire. I remember one night, in Austin, Texas, there had been some technical problems at sound check and we were rushing to make the show start on time. Tash could clearly sense that we were in a hurry. You know the difference between when a child is kind of just having a tantrum and when a child has lost it? She lost it. She was clinging to me and tears were rolling down her face and she was saying, “I'm not leaving Mummy.” Mark tried to take her away; he said, “Yes, you are, Tash,” and she just started to howl and scream. This went beyond the usual—her being taken away from me at that moment wasn't the start of a tantrum. This was like, Everybody keeps taking me away from Mummy, and I've had enough.
So I took a minute. I just said, “Mark, why don't you go get a cup of tea?” and he really gave me the evil eye. But there had to be a shift. She needed to see that he was leaving and she could stay with Mommy. Then things changed. Mark went out, and the girls came in. By the time Mark walked back in with tea, he got the big “I love you, Daddy,” and by then she and her nanny, as usual, started laughing, playing dress-up, and it was back to normal. But this little upset put us thirty minutes off the show's start time.
Everything takes time, and two or three glitches can set you back. But Tash is the main thing to me and to Mark. Time stops with her. So I made the decision within myself that night in the dressing room. I looked at Chelsea and I just said, “We might be taking a penalty tonight.”
ANN: Of all the adjustments Amos makes in order to thrive on the road, nothing has been more complex than the decision to bring her daughter along and remain highly involved in her daily life. Amos and Hawley are working parents who incorporate parenting into their hectic professional lives. The caregiver on the road provides relief in those inevitable moments when both Mom and Dad are busy, but unlike many touring artists who enjoy their families strictly when it's convenient, Amos and Hawley care for Natashya in tandem with the caregiver on a daily basis. In fact, Tash's well-being affects the very shape of the tour—a development that has required attitude adjustments from some longtime crew members, but which ultimately provides a model for a truly feminist and family-friendly rock-and-roll lifestyle.
TORI:
When I was first on tour, all of those millions of months ago, I didn't know how to exert my authority. I wanted to get on with everybody, which is not always probable, much less possible. When I became a mother, I realized that my getting on with everybody means Tash doesn't get what she needs at all. Now, we arrange certain things to protect her. It doesn't mean that we're bringing up a spoiled brat, but it does mean that certain things can't be compromised. For example, we do day drives on some legs; we don't always do drives through the night because it's too hard on her. We stay in good hotels, and base out of cities that I know are the most comfortable, with fun stuff for kids that has been researched: where there's a park, where she can be around other little kids. Many people on the tour benefit from these choices. But I don't make these decisions to ensure that everybody else is okay. They're based on mother logic. The adults on tour will be okay anyway.
When people are having a bad day you can try to do everything you can, but after many bad days, it becomes a problem. Again, we're not in a van, where you don't get a shower and you don't get good food. Yes, you try to deal with the internal conflicts, you try to be the mothering force, but at a certain point … there's one toddler on this tour. And when she's handling things better than the adults, then it's time to make them aware.
CHELSEA LAIRD:
There's a difference between taking your kid on the road and really taking your kid on the road and trying to be with them. With Tori, on days off, the nanny is not on duty, ever. It's completely Tori and Mark, and they make a special effort to try to carve out spaces in the day. It's definitely the priority above anything else. If Tash is sick or if she just fell down before we go onstage, the show's going to be pushed back, no question.
MATT CHAMBERLAIN:
It's really different with the baby being out. We're really separate from Tori. I hardly had a conversation with her on the Scarlet's Walk tour. The playing is the playing, and there is going to be that connection, but as far as hang time goes, it doesn't exist. She doesn't have any time. We used to be all in the same bus, drinking wine, having fun. It's sad—I miss hanging out with her, but I respect that she's trying to make it work with the kid. Every once in a while I'll talk to her and say, “I understand what's going on—don't feel guilty, please don't. You've got such a great kid and everything's great, and we'll hang eventually, in Cornwall.”
CONVERSATION BETWEEN TORI AND ANN:
Mark and I had dinner alone together twice in six months during the 2003 tour. That's because we didn't want our daughter to be heartbroken. She doesn't have a child friend on tour. It's all adults. So we made a choice, but at the same time it can test us. There's not a lot of time to be alone together.
On rare occasions, if there was no show scheduled and I had a different kind of work, like a radio interview, that would put me with Mark and Marcel somewhere and Tash out playing with the nanny, then Mark and I could grab some dinner before we came back to the hotel and put her to bed. This is the only way it could work, as opposed to, let's say, being with her all day and going out at six o'clock—she cannot handle that. She would cry, “Why can't I come, why are you leaving me?” This was
a tender age, it's not about reasoning. She only had just turned two when the Scarlet's Walk tour began.
Tash gets certain things from being on the road. I mean, she's with her mom and dad every day, more than some kids in some ways. She's surrounded by people who love her. There are advantages to having Chelsea Laird, who was a nationally ranked gymnast, teaching you forward rolls and backward rolls—Tash is learning how to do it right. She doesn't get somebody going, “Oh, don't tumble around so much.” Instead, Chelsea's there to say, “Let me show you how to do it without hurting yourself.” It's great to have Matt sit there and play drums with her, and dress-up. One of the great drummers in the world—wearing a feather boa. Tash doesn't care that he's one of the great drummers in the world, but because he is, it affects her. She walks around with drumsticks. She also has a very broad sense of the world. She knows San Francisco's different from New York City, even though they both have a Chinatown— believe me, she can recognize the difference. She knows we're part American and Native American (she always goes for the cute Cherokee look over the Dallas Cowboy cheerleader look) and part British. She is a citizen of the earth.
Now, the downside. She's not around children. There's no playgroup on the road. Her social world is Roz, her nanny on the road; Jen Daranyi, who does my hair and makeup; Auntie A (Alison Evans); and whoever's got a minute on the bus. Or Mommy and Daddy in the pool on a day off. She needs to have her little posse in her life—that's really, really important. When she does, back at home, she doesn't mind so much if Mom's on the phone. On the summer leg of the Scarlet's Walk tour, which we called “Lottapianos,” having Ben Folds as part of our musical family was great, because every day Tash and his kids, Gracie and Louie, caused wondrous, stupendous, ludicrous mayhem, thereby taking over backstage. That was really good for everybody, especially all the super–ice cool tattooed people.
CHELSEA LAIRD:
Tash is so animated and such an entertainer. I think everybody loves having her around. With her in the mix, there's been a shift in understanding among everybody on tour; we all know there's more at play in the day now. Before, we were dealing with calls from management, calls from the label, or any number of things that might either cause Tori to be late or something to go wrong or the day to backfire or her mood to just all of a sudden take a dive. But now it's this other factor, and it's much bigger than any of those things put together. Most people on her crew have been with Tori forever, because of the relationship that she builds with people, and now, because of Tash, reality on tour is totally different for many of them. Totally different from the way it was.
ANDY SOLOMON:
There are certain rules and regulations that go along with the baby being on board, but for me she's a joy I mean, the day can be crap and I've just had the most difficult time, but she just comes in and makes us all smile, just being a kid.
Here's how I put it: Tash is antigig. That's a good thing. She flips the script. We get to see it through her eyes and remember a bit more why we're here and what it really is. It's about the stuff that she sees that none of us can see. Little imaginary things. Tash reminds you that this tour and the music really bring the world magic, what Tori's doing you can't touch. It touches you. But you can't grab it. Most days our jobs are nuts and bolts, nuts and bolts, nuts and bolts, nuts and bolts, but we're all really here for the magic, and Tash reminds me of that.
ANN: The interplay of magic and minutiae defines a successful touring life. Amos has labored long to get the particulars straight, and the road has rewarded her investment, financially, spiritually, and artistically. The many arts Amos must cultivate to keep her caravan alive—boundary drawing, family building, self sustenance—can prove exhausting. But she never forgets that all her work serves one purpose: her ability to keep making that impossibly long, dazzlingly short walk out of normal life and onto the stage.
CONVERSATION BETWEEN TORI AND ANN:
There are people who work within the organization who are backstage all the time and are never part of the show. Mark brought this to my attention—I was complaining one day, and he said, “Well, do you realize so-and-so is tired because he never gets those thousands of people cheering at him?” I'll be looking at Matt and Jon after they have played, and they're energized, as if they're on the rocket trip of totality. And I'll see other people who look as if they've been drained. The relationship that happens between us onstage is this love affair, this journey that not everybody is a part of. Those others may be in some little cubbyhole dungeon in the venue, dealing with how and why the wheels turn, which is vital to the matter.
John Witherspoon and I have really been able to kind of understand this one. One night it became so clear to both of us because we both had the same case of the flu. I went onstage feeling just like he did. A few hours later when I came back offstage he saw me, I saw him, and we got it. I was on fire and had sweated out the ghoulies completely and he was sneezing and shivering, doubled over. I was moving through it, because music does have the power to move things. And I was able to break through.
TORI:
There is a tradition of traveling troubadours, bards and their companions, that goes back to the beginning of music and storytelling. A small group of people would make its way from encampment to encampment, through wars, through peacetimes, to sing of the news that they knew. Sometimes certain dictums prevented certain subjects from being discussed. That's why a particular set of symbols runs through art during some historical periods. Some people knew what these symbols represented, but because of the threat of being killed, iconography had to be used. This was its own language—pre-gangsta. It was part of a bard's art form, and still is.
I find that today, like the old troubadours, we pick up information on the road. If we're playing Seattle on a Friday night, what we bring to Portland the next night will contain the information we collected in Seattle. By the time we reach San Francisco, we will have added more to our palette. Even though compositionally the palette is ever changing and is at the center of my process, it's not the same as the revolving palette I use when I'm writing new works. What I do use is what I term the Road Labyrinth Palette. It's a thread that remains unbroken from show to show. The performances can connect, so that once you get to Dallas, you can pull from the London show with the snap of a finger. All the set lists are cataloged in a computer, along with the themes for each show—weird, sexual, religious-repressed shows, or hostile, political, in-reaction-to-world-events shows. From the information I've categorized, including every word of every song I've written, I can build a narrative that interconnects within the subtext. This is just an example of how threads are used to weave one night's live performance tapestry. This is what harkens back to going from campfire to campfire across Ulster—what you hear in one village you take with you to the next.
Some things are consistent in this world. The main ones for me are that a mother's love is a mother's love, romance is romance, and that a musician—be it 2005 B.C. or A.D. 2005—must play and that a road dog is a road dog is a road dog. Hopefully you will have felt this if you've toured with my crew.
SONG CANVAS:“Martha's Foolish Ginger”
I started writing this one years ago, when I was close to the water, on tour somewhere. I had only a seed idea of it, but it has stayed with me for a while now. On the “Lottapianos” tour during the summer of 2003, when we were in San Francisco, I was by the Bay again. The song began to come back to me. Once I began to understand the female character I needed to embody I was able to finish this piece, but a real turning point was when I was able to see the character's boat, which she called Martha's Foolish Ginger, sailing out of the Bay and into the Pacific Ocean.
ANN: Venus: the brightest planet in the universe. Venus, the goddess whom the ancient Romans first imagined as a simple, primal force governing fertility, transformed by Rome's encounter with the Greeks (who called her Aphrodite) into one of the most complex characters in the world pantheon. That Venus, the one the world remembers
, is exacting and generous, innocent and manipulative, the patron of marriage who tore the world apart by leading the hero Paris and the beauty queen Helen into lethal adultery. The embodiment of physical attraction in all its chaotic power, Venus is unavoidable. She governs what the art critic Dave Hickey once called “the iconography of desire”: what strikes the soul as beautiful, no matter whether it's morally proper or politically correct.
Because she exists beyond the realm of rules, Venus can take whatever shape suits the moment in which she enters. Her name has been given to female figures as wildly different as the squat, heavy prehistoric Venus of Willendorf; the gorgeous, armless Greek ideal known as Venus de Milo; the Renaissance wraith Sandro Botticelli painted in his Birth of Venus; the “Venus Hottentot,” an African woman exhibited as a freak to a racist British public in the early 1800s; the Venus flytrap, the sexy southern plant that snaps up its prey in its “jaws;” Blonde Venus, the Hollywood version embodied by Marlene Dietrich and Marilyn Monroe; and even Sailor Venus, a Japanese anime character who flutters the hearts of today's teenage boys. Far from pure, Venus leads us into the thicket of social prejudices, historic assumptions, and personal fascinations where desire grows, seemingly beyond governance.
