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The chemistry and connectivity shared between Tori Amos and her fans is truly an awesome and unique phenomenon, unparalleled in the history of modern, pop culture. Emerging from a tumultuous era in the evolution of rock, Tori slithered in between the fissures created as early 90's alternative music was clashing with the tired remnants of excessive 80's synthesis. Her raw emotive voices, bastardized classical mutations and intimate prose fused into an electrifying force that began spinning with sizzling momentum, inevitably drawing myriad wandering satellites into this gorgeous orbit. While many stars from her system were destined to burst onto the scene and shoot away with a fading trail, Tori's was a stronger, more patient path. She never set the charts on fire. She never saturated the media, ad nauseam, yet her celebrity to raise awareness of close-to-home issues like rape and sexual abuse survival. Rather, like a sly ancient matriarch whose own obvious righteousness will attract the proper followers, she just continued to spin her creations off to the left. As other appeared and dropped off the radar, Tori pulsated soothingly, consistently. With an unnerving candor and wry humor, she opened her heart to an ever-increasing legion of listeners as she traversed the earth with her piano. The records sold respectfully with support from traditional radio and television minimal, at best. Tour after tour, the venus became ever more plush with her most suitable setting being mid-sized theaters usually reserved for symphonies, plays, and other true art, as opposed to the more bourgeoisie night clubs and sporting arenas utilized by her contemporaries.
The images Amos provokes with her obscure lyrics seem specifically designed for each individual listener. It's as if she speaks in code, brushing together random words and phrases that bleed into one another like fresh watercolours bubbling on a canvas. Get too close to the piece and its abstracts may be too obtuse to assimilate into a working frame of reference.
Step back, loosen focus and suddenly the beauty of the picture appears like a hidden message materializing in an optical illusion graphic. Now the language can be understood in context. Tori has often given her own spin on where the seeds of these blossoms originated. In spacey interviews she often dances with the questionnaire until the message becomes so dizzy all but the purist member may forget what the question was. Words are nearly always used as a medium. Between numbers at her recitals, the playful chanteuse will interact with the appreciative attendees in her coy, innocent way, she charms. As she has worked out traumatic issues in her life with the help of both song and fan, the bond and the music have grown immeasurably. Her soaring, tear jerk carols flirt as convincingly with a stark, acoustic keyboard accompaniment as they do with the most sizzling post-modern electro groove. Even a digital wave gets warmth passing through the texture of this crooner's vocal filter.
Never one to shy away from interpreting the songs of her favorite influences, Tori's covers have become a legendary staple of her enigmatic live sets, and consequently the focus of countless concert bootlegs. Her homage to Kurt Cobain, a simple piano/voice twist of Nirvana's raucous "Smells Like Teen Spirit" was an unexpected underground hit that afforded many viewers their first glimpse of Amos' unintentional sexuality perched at the edge of her bench. This odd blend of confidence and vulnerability entranced many into feeling the woman was a projection of their own deepest passions. She unknowingly became the voice of a soft powerful movement, yet remained humble enough to have fun with herself and her friends by sharing her versions of everything from NIN's "Hurt," The Cure's "Love Song" and R.E.M.'s "Losing My Religion" to Fleetwood Mac's "Landslide," Prince's "Purple Rain" and Madonna's "Live to Tell." With a deeply rooted career that promises to continue blossoming and branching ever outward and upward, the divine Ms. Amos is respectfully tributed on this release. An array of rising artists from around the planet have each graciously borrowed the fruit of her bounty. In perfect love and perfect trust the energy is returned with fresh inspirations that will hopefully bring pleasure to the fans and to the lady herself.
The Cycle Continues
Jason Myers - Los Angeles, California 2.2.1 -----
--from liner notes
Visit the Cleopatra Records website.
 Visit Amazon.com to order.
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