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Independent (UK) How We Met The singer Tori Amos was born in North Carolina but she now lives in
Cornwall. A Grammy nominee four times, she has recently completed a tour of the
US with Alanis Morrisette. In 1992 she wrote the song ‘Me And A Gun’, about her
experience of rape, and has founded a rape and abuse charity, RAINN The graphic-novelist Neil Gaiman grew up in Croydon but moved to
Minneapolis. His career breakthrough came with Sandman, a phenomenally
successful cartoon-strip published by DC Comics. Gaiman’s celebrity fans
include Stephen King and Quentin Tarantino. In his novel Stardust he
cast Tori Amos as a talking tree TORI AMOS: In 1990 I had
this friend, Rantz, and when he went to Parsons Art School in LA he crashed at
my apartment for a while. It was this tiny single behind the Methodist Church
on Highland Avenue. Rantz left a copy of Neil’s book The Doll’s House lying around. I
picked it up, and found myself drawn to it over the next couple of weeks. Then
I wrote this song called “Tear In Your Hand”, which made reference to Neil, although
it wasn’t about him. I get inspired by different writers. In January 1991, I split to London, but Rantz had a tape of what I’d been
doing, and he took it to a comic convention in San Diego to pass to Neil. He’d put
my number on the tape. I had no idea, so when Neil called I was shocked. He
said, “Are you thinking of doing this as something other than a hobby, because
it’s pretty good?” I said, “That’s a relief, because Little Earthquakes is
being released in a couple of weeks.” We met when Neil came to one of my early gigs at the Canal Brasserie in
London. My first impression was that his Dream King character was an extension
of himself, but even Neil’s female characters are like extensions of himself
with good silicon. We met at a time when celebrity hadn’t made us guarded about
people. Also, there was never any confusion that it was going to be a romance,
and there’s a sacredness to having a male friendship where that doesn’t come
into it. You can have a creative affair, though, and that can be tricky. As thing started to get busier, Neil would fax me stories all over the
world. I might wake up in Australia to a 50-page fax. He knows I have
nightmares and I can’t sleep sometimes, so he’ll call and say, “Right, I’m
going to read you a bedtime story.” It’ll be a horror story, of course, but in
a strange way that appeals to me. It’s like that saying: “If it’s too loud,
turn it up.” Amazingly, we’ve never fallen out, maybe because we get to pick and choose
when we see each other. Neil’s been there through all sorts of difficult
things, though, and I hope I’ve been there for him. A few years ago I was going
through a rough patch. It was on my Under The Pink tour, and my relationship
was falling apart. I was on the rebound; in what I call “vampire-chick state.”
My incisors were sharp and I needed to drink. I walked into my hotel room in Chicago and the phone was ringing. I answered
it, and Neil goes, “Don’t do what I think you’re about to do.” I said, “What in
the world are you referring to?” He said “I feel you’re about to make a move
that’ll lead to a downward spiral.” I went ahead and did what I was going to
anyway, but it amazed me that he knew. Sometimes you need someone to say, “You
don’t want to hear this, but...” Neil and I don’t just show up for the party, we live life together. His
little girl is five now, and I’m one of her fairy godmothers. And Neil was
there for me when I miscarried. He came to see me when he was writing Stardust,
and he read me the first chapter on the beach. The wind was blowing and he held
my hand. It was a time when very few words could bring comfort. I think when you’re at the crossroads there are some friends who just toddle
off, and that’s OK, because that’s not their strength. Neil’s different. He’s
never been shy about being at the crossroads. NEIL GAIMAN: In the summer of 1991, I was at a convention
in San Diego. I was signing comics and I had a line of 40 to 50 people waiting.
A guy got to the front and said, “This is a tape by a friend of mine.” There
was a phone number on the back of it, and I said thanks. He said “She sings
about you on one of the songs - don’t sue her.” When I put on the tape, instead of it being somebody playing the harmonium
in their bedroom, it was Tori doing 50 per cent of the songs that ended up on Little
Earthquakes. One of them was “Tear In Your Hand”, where she sings about “me
and Neil hanging-out with the Dream King.” The music was great and I thought, “I’ve
got to ring her.” I called and we became telephone pals for a couple of months.
One of the things I said which gained me a reputation as someone with deep
prophetic gifts for her was that the album was going to be huge. I didn’t have
any doubts. The first gig of hers I saw was about a month later at the Canal Brasserie
near Notting Hill. When I walked in she figured it had to be me and waved. This
is less impressive when I tell you that the audience consisted of the publicity
lady from East West, one journalist, and a roadie. After a great gig, we wandered
off together. We walked down to Notting Hill station and she stood on the
platform acting out the entire video for “Silent All These Years”. I was
thinking, “This is one of the coolest people I’ve ever met.” Tori seemed like a fairy to me. She was this little red-headed imp who
reminded me of Delirium, a character in one of my comics. Delirium always says
exactly what’s in her head, relevant or not, but she ends up saying very true
and important things. Very Tori. One of the misconceptions about her is that she’s barking mad. She’s funny,
and she tends to concretise metaphors very colourfully, but if she’s talking
about being wet like a mango it’s worth understanding that this is a figure of
speech. She’s one of the most level-headed people I know. I think in every
relationship somebody has to be the balloon, and somebody has to hold the
string. Tori’s the one who gets to bob and coruscate, but that’s quite a relief
to me, because in most of my other relationships I’m the balloon. These days, I get these young girls at book signings who’ll say “Do you
really know Tori ? What’s she like?” I tell them she’s lovely, and she is. It’s
a bit like having a sister that you accumulated somewhere along the way. Tori Amos’s latest album, ‘To Venus
and Back’, has just been released. On 29 October she will perform a solo
concert at the Royal Festival Hall (0171 960 4242) |