Prelude
This is a study of expertise, not fandom. Fan culture has never been my thing. Even when I was a teenager, the artist who spoke to me most was completely unknown to anyone in my circle except for the friend who introduced me. And that was how I started following Tori Amos. Rather fanatically. That was twenty years ago, and things have changed. Not only has her popularity soared internationally (considering how unusual her work is), she has also become an icon within a South African demographic many mainstream artists envy - the type that pays for music. I find it mildly disconcerting that she has been discovered, but her following is clearly devout. When her Night of Hunters tour was confirmed in South Africa, it sold out within hours.
Whatever my misgivings about fan culture, Tori Amos takes her devotees as seriously as they take her. The nature of her music provokes a flood of mail, and she has famously gone to great lengths to support those who approach her with their own traumas. No apathetic rock star arrogance here. Her set lists include multiple encores, live performances incorporate requests and every new CD released includes a little surprise that wins hearts and minds.
Amos is profiled thoroughly for the current tour in an article for NPR by Ann Powers, co-author of her 2005 book Piece by Piece, so I won't go into too much background here. Suffice it to say that the Night of Hunters album is a departure from her previous work in that it draws heavily on her classical training. Not exactly what comes to mind when she straddles a stool to hammer on a prepared piano. Yet the technical precision of her technique and composition cannot be obscured. And so it came that I anticipated her first performance in South Africa with zeal that was, admittedly, fanatical.
Fugue
What stunned me about Tori Amos in live performance was her stage presence, virtuosity, range and forthrightness. Despite this, I also discovered that, more than ever, I am not fan material. Let's do this in style and consider each point in turn.
Of all the instruments, none is as potentially isolating as a piano. But in stead of playing the piano, Amos plays the audience. The almighty Bösendorfer (she is perhaps its most popular advocate) is positioned at a right angle with the audience. She faces the audience for the overwhelming majority of the performance, conspirationally involving them with shockingly intimate eye contact, contextualization of the lyrics and what feels like everyday conversation. Parallell to the piano is an electronic keyboard, and that brings us to her virtuosity.
If you ever listen to radio hits and think, ha, I can do that and better, Tori Amos puts you in your place. In her recordings the sound structure (pun unintended) coupled with cheeky innovation is clear. Under the pressures of live performance she does the basis of each piece absolute justice, but doesn't stop there. The live rendition is not a straightforward recitation but a living, breathing entity all of its own. Her level of comfort playing the piano and keyboard simultaneously, spread over the piano stool while facing the audience (or, eyes wide shut, the ceiling) is staggering and utterly humbling. Vocally and instrumentally she doesn't miss a single beat - or if she does, it simply becomes part of the organic whole of the live and living song. In Night of Hunters, she pulls all this off solo - a testament to her mastery.
Her range - stylistically, vocally, emotionally - may explain the growing following of music that is so far from easy listening. Although a few idiosyncrasies can become predictable, they could be put down as iconography and are easily forgiven. In the modern deluge of flawless machine music and edit-perfect vocals, the sounds Amos is willing to produce - from delightful to harrowing - is enlightening. Her vocals span frequencies from contralto to descant, always precise, but offset with growls and yelps and moans for which no musical notation exists. Emotionally, this provides an abundant palette to paint from. Add to that the opacity of so many of the lyrics, and it's no wonder that they take on a life of their own in each listener's mind. From the agonizing (think Me and a Gun, even more distressing live under a lone spotlight) to the light and frothy (Mr. Zebra), it's all there. How can one not be intrigued?
Finally, Tori Amos displays a stark naked forthrightness about things that rarely get airtime. The process of healing her own most traumatic experiences has been material for songs that have become public property and been widely embraced by minorities. (Notably the audience were predominantly, for all their White middle classness, misfits of every imaginable stripe and yes, I do count myself in.) She has been outspoken on issues that are often too taboo or just too sensitive to discuss, and many among her following claim this has affected them deeply. (During her encore she emphasized that the songs in a set "come" to speak to someone in the audience.) Despite a lot of fluffy love, lightness and sweetness, she makes no bones about her dislikes. The word "hate" makes a frequent guest appearance.
The evening's set consisted mostly of older songs (Little Earthquakes was the opener, with several tracks from Under the Pink and Scarlet's Walk). In the encore I was surprised to hear Blood Roses had been requested - the harpsichord (synthesized on stage) always gets me. It was the only song that set off my goosebumpometer. I was somewhat disappointed that the new album was so under-represented. Considering audience preference, though, the selection was perfect. Either way, merchandise was flying off the shelves. And the devoted couldn't have been more pleased.
Intellectually and musically the performance stunned me far more than I expected. I was warned that Tori Amos live would be more than I could possibly have imagined. It was true. Yet on a personal level I was not touched in the way I had anticipated. My respect for the artist hasn't changed, but my relationship with her has. Admittedly, I feel disillusioned that those opaque lyrics that were once so central to my young adult identity have been claimed by so many. Worse, I am vaguely horrified at being grouped with the local fan base of pseudo-intellectual lower-upper-middle-class undercover Afrikaner misfits who came out to play, and more horrified still that the shoe fits. Nonetheless, it was a remarkable performance I feel thrilled to have been a part of.
Coda
The opening act deserves special mention. Yoav is a South African-born acoustic guitarist. The term, though, doesn't nearly do him justice. He plays masterfully, but also uses the guitar as a percussion instrument and echo chamber, deploying an artillery of acoustic tricks. The result is as mesmerising to watch as it is to hear, and he is definitely poised for something Big. His current album is entitled A Foolproof Escape Plan and well worth a listen. The playlist is embedded below.
This is a study of expertise, not fandom. Fan culture has never been my thing. Even when I was a teenager, the artist who spoke to me most was completely unknown to anyone in my circle except for the friend who introduced me. And that was how I started following Tori Amos. Rather fanatically. That was twenty years ago, and things have changed. Not only has her popularity soared internationally (considering how unusual her work is), she has also become an icon within a South African demographic many mainstream artists envy - the type that pays for music. I find it mildly disconcerting that she has been discovered, but her following is clearly devout. When her Night of Hunters tour was confirmed in South Africa, it sold out within hours.
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| Image: toriamos.com |
Amos is profiled thoroughly for the current tour in an article for NPR by Ann Powers, co-author of her 2005 book Piece by Piece, so I won't go into too much background here. Suffice it to say that the Night of Hunters album is a departure from her previous work in that it draws heavily on her classical training. Not exactly what comes to mind when she straddles a stool to hammer on a prepared piano. Yet the technical precision of her technique and composition cannot be obscured. And so it came that I anticipated her first performance in South Africa with zeal that was, admittedly, fanatical.
Fugue
What stunned me about Tori Amos in live performance was her stage presence, virtuosity, range and forthrightness. Despite this, I also discovered that, more than ever, I am not fan material. Let's do this in style and consider each point in turn.
Of all the instruments, none is as potentially isolating as a piano. But in stead of playing the piano, Amos plays the audience. The almighty Bösendorfer (she is perhaps its most popular advocate) is positioned at a right angle with the audience. She faces the audience for the overwhelming majority of the performance, conspirationally involving them with shockingly intimate eye contact, contextualization of the lyrics and what feels like everyday conversation. Parallell to the piano is an electronic keyboard, and that brings us to her virtuosity.
If you ever listen to radio hits and think, ha, I can do that and better, Tori Amos puts you in your place. In her recordings the sound structure (pun unintended) coupled with cheeky innovation is clear. Under the pressures of live performance she does the basis of each piece absolute justice, but doesn't stop there. The live rendition is not a straightforward recitation but a living, breathing entity all of its own. Her level of comfort playing the piano and keyboard simultaneously, spread over the piano stool while facing the audience (or, eyes wide shut, the ceiling) is staggering and utterly humbling. Vocally and instrumentally she doesn't miss a single beat - or if she does, it simply becomes part of the organic whole of the live and living song. In Night of Hunters, she pulls all this off solo - a testament to her mastery.
Her range - stylistically, vocally, emotionally - may explain the growing following of music that is so far from easy listening. Although a few idiosyncrasies can become predictable, they could be put down as iconography and are easily forgiven. In the modern deluge of flawless machine music and edit-perfect vocals, the sounds Amos is willing to produce - from delightful to harrowing - is enlightening. Her vocals span frequencies from contralto to descant, always precise, but offset with growls and yelps and moans for which no musical notation exists. Emotionally, this provides an abundant palette to paint from. Add to that the opacity of so many of the lyrics, and it's no wonder that they take on a life of their own in each listener's mind. From the agonizing (think Me and a Gun, even more distressing live under a lone spotlight) to the light and frothy (Mr. Zebra), it's all there. How can one not be intrigued?
Finally, Tori Amos displays a stark naked forthrightness about things that rarely get airtime. The process of healing her own most traumatic experiences has been material for songs that have become public property and been widely embraced by minorities. (Notably the audience were predominantly, for all their White middle classness, misfits of every imaginable stripe and yes, I do count myself in.) She has been outspoken on issues that are often too taboo or just too sensitive to discuss, and many among her following claim this has affected them deeply. (During her encore she emphasized that the songs in a set "come" to speak to someone in the audience.) Despite a lot of fluffy love, lightness and sweetness, she makes no bones about her dislikes. The word "hate" makes a frequent guest appearance.
The evening's set consisted mostly of older songs (Little Earthquakes was the opener, with several tracks from Under the Pink and Scarlet's Walk). In the encore I was surprised to hear Blood Roses had been requested - the harpsichord (synthesized on stage) always gets me. It was the only song that set off my goosebumpometer. I was somewhat disappointed that the new album was so under-represented. Considering audience preference, though, the selection was perfect. Either way, merchandise was flying off the shelves. And the devoted couldn't have been more pleased.
Intellectually and musically the performance stunned me far more than I expected. I was warned that Tori Amos live would be more than I could possibly have imagined. It was true. Yet on a personal level I was not touched in the way I had anticipated. My respect for the artist hasn't changed, but my relationship with her has. Admittedly, I feel disillusioned that those opaque lyrics that were once so central to my young adult identity have been claimed by so many. Worse, I am vaguely horrified at being grouped with the local fan base of pseudo-intellectual lower-upper-middle-class undercover Afrikaner misfits who came out to play, and more horrified still that the shoe fits. Nonetheless, it was a remarkable performance I feel thrilled to have been a part of.
Coda
The opening act deserves special mention. Yoav is a South African-born acoustic guitarist. The term, though, doesn't nearly do him justice. He plays masterfully, but also uses the guitar as a percussion instrument and echo chamber, deploying an artillery of acoustic tricks. The result is as mesmerising to watch as it is to hear, and he is definitely poised for something Big. His current album is entitled A Foolproof Escape Plan and well worth a listen. The playlist is embedded below.
