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Chicago Sun-Times This singer’s art doesn’t just imitate life.
It is her life. Though it might seem that way, Tori Amos can’t conjure up transcendental
songs at will. Rather, “the music always comes when
I’m dealing with something emotional,” Amos says. Something very emotional, in the case of her latest album, “From the Choirgirl
Hotel” (Atlantic); the songs poured our after Amos’ shattering miscarriage. But
that type of musical inspiration isn’t unusual for Amos. Since she began
playing piano at 3, music has always served as a salve for her wounds. “When you, the writer, integrate your own
material in your psyche, it changes you forever,” she says. “Some writers allow songs to come through them, but don’t
take it in, so they don’t grow. If they don’t let it bring up questions in
their own beings, they’re just translators.” On the new material, Amos grappled with painful questions. “I learned a lot. Loss is going to happen, whether it’s a
friend, parent, grandparent or child... Nothing you do can keep it away. It
doesn’t matter how many times you chant, go to church or help old ladies across
the street. “You’ll go, ‘This isn’t fair. Why us?’
Especially when you see parents hitting their kids in the shopping mall, you
go, ‘Why did we lose our baby? What kind of universal law is there?’ I’ve heard
people say, ‘The angels were there for us and saved our child.’ You go, ‘But
what happens when the angels don’t save your child?’” Through her songs, Amos explored the concept of letting go. “At the end of the day, I decided the angels have to go
to the pub, go to a rave, go out on a Friday night. Sometimes they’re just not
around. This feeling that, if you’re a good person, you won’t have to
experience tragedy, it’s a false belief that gets perpetuated, especially in
the Christian church.” That’s something Amos knows a lot about as a daughter of a Methodist
preacher. Over the years, she did her fair share of rebelling, including
changing her name to Tori from Myra Ellen when she was 17, and getting thrown
out of Baltimore’s Peabody Conservatory at 11 because she was obsessed with Led
Zeppelin and wouldn’t adhere to the tenents of classical music. These days,
Amos focuses more on the spiritual (rather than the religious) side of life. But don’t pigeonhole her. Despite musings on spirituality and mythology,
this “Cornflake Girl” is no flake. “Half the crap
that’s written, I can understand why people wouldn’t want to have a drink with
me,” she says. “Those who can’t respect the
spirit side of things have to degrade it. Spirituality, for me, is like
brushing my teeth; [it’s] just part of what I was brought up with.” Amos’ spirituality and wide-raging emotions easily find their way into her
work. On “Choirgirl” she created not only stirring ballads, such as “Northern
Lad” and “Jackie’s Strength,” but also rock and techno-influenced numbers such
as “Spark” and “Raspberry Swirl.” Her notoriously loyal fans don’t mind when
she veers in different musical directions from one album to the next. “If we make a work that is at least challenging,
then they’ll be open to it,” she says. “I
get really bored unless we’re doing something we haven’t done before.” Amos also varies the formats in which her music is presented. Before “Choirgirl,”
she had always toured solo. These days she’s performing in arenas with a full
band. “You can achieve a Dionysian frenzy that
wouldn’t be possible in a small theater. It’s a matter of changing your goals.
Trying to make an arena intimate, that’s like trying to make an elephant fit
into your purse,” Amos says with a laugh. In the midst of all this career hubbub, the 34-year-old fit in a wedding to
sound engineer Mark Hawley. “Marriage changes your
perception. It becomes a ‘we,’ not as a formality, but internally,” she
says. “Many people approach marriage without a
reverence. I was never going to get married, so a commitment is very serious to
me.” Amos’ Cherokee grandfather led her to a higher plane. “He believed that there’s no greater evil than hypocrisy.
He taught, ‘Walk your talk or you cut yourself off...from the true gifts of the
great spirit.’ When I was a little girl, he said to me, ‘You can’t hide form
the demon in your own heart. It always knows, and you have to make peace with
it.’ That’s how I live my life.” |