Recording review - Tori Amos, Little Earthquakes/Under the Pink reissues (2015)

Who's that girl? Tori Amos reveals her assertive vulnerability

^4.25/5.0

How does the advice go? If you want to be successful, just be yourself. If anyone can attest to that, it’s Tori Amos. She got her start fronting a synth-pop group, Y Kant Tori Read, that never made much of an impression. For better or worse with that band, she let the record company call the shots and dress up her image, and none of that connected with a larger audience. Rather than give up, though, she turned around and came back with two solo albums that overturned everyone’s assumptions.

It's no coincidence that the cover of Little Earthquakes (1992) shows her emerging from her box. The airbrushed redhead from Y Kant Tori Read returned to her classical piano roots and found her sound, but more importantly found her voice. At first glance, she may have seemed like a normal singer-songwriter with solid vocal chops and pretty keyboard riffs, but she turned out to be a feminist poet with a talent for strong imagery and a yen to draw back the curtain on her own experiences. The piano and backing string arrangements reminded people of Joni Mitchell or Kate Bush, but her lyrics had a touch of Patti Smith and Lou Reed, yielding songs that flowed fluidly between ethereal beauty and self-aware grit. On Little Earthquakes, she processed and rejected a lifetime of repression, especially seen through lenses of gender and religion. Her authenticity was as honest as punk rock, but its strength came from its assertive vulnerability: she embraced her emotions but had the distance to put them into perspective.

That honesty actually increases the impact of her more confrontational songs. The provocative religious imagery in “Crucify” or righteous anger on “Precious Things” (“So you can make me cum/ That doesn’t make you Jesus”) are more shocking because they’re woven from her own life and frustrations. Amos also demonstrates a good sense of emotional dynamics. For example, the curdled fury of “Precious Things” gives way to crystalline calm on “Winter”, which stays with the theme of self-discovery, but dresses it in metaphor. The culmination, though, is the a capella lament, “Me and a Gun”, which recounts a rape experience with stark and ugly brutality.

Despite those challenges to gentle sensibilities, though, Little Earthquakes is also stunningly musical. String flourishes occasionally add some orchestral depth, the melodies develop rich complexity over time, and Amos repositions her classical origins into a pop context. She also introduces her idiosyncratic phrasing, both on the keyboard and in her singing. Like Frank Sinatra, Bob Dylan, or Elvis Costello, she instinctively knows how to stretch time and then catch up to color the meaning of her lines.

If that first solo album tried to erase the bitter memory of Y Kant Tori Read, two years later, she had become confident enough to integrate more of her rock and pop side into her music. Under the Pink still had the piano foundation, but Amos was willing to tap into a stronger rock feel on some songs, adding fuzzed guitar and harder edges. The richer stylistic palette gave the collection a more immediate feel. Like Little Earthquakes, though, these songs were the opposite of pop fluff. Even when she followed a verse-chorus structure, her progressions offered nice surprises and she gave her artier side free rein on songs like "Bells For Her".

The opening salvo of Under the Pink whipsaws between extremes of texture and emotion. The wistful piano line of "Pretty Good Year" provides sonic continuity to Little Earthquakes, but it incorporates a trigger moment accented with a gut punch of bombastic guitar before settling again. Then, Amos begins the album in earnest with "God", where she breaks loose from her past with spiky cactus guitar riffs, a funky rhythmic groove, and the cleansing fire of sarcasm. She had appropriated religious imagery on "Crucify" to make her point, but now she challenges the whole order, offering heretical condescension for the Patriarchy. The chaotic guitar noise seems symbolic of both the outraged reaction she expects and her own childhood conscience. Either way, it's unable to break her cool rationality, "Tell me you're crazy, maybe then I'll understand." It's a powerful moment, and Amos wisely leaves room for it to digest by changing gears with the dreamy "Bells for Her", which features a softly chiming prepared piano.

Both "God" and the catchy "Cornflake Girl" were rock hits, but Amos hadn't ignored her lusher musical side. The sprawling "Yes, Anastasia" revels in rich piano expression as it references both Joni Mitchell and Aaron Copland. But rather than a sharp divide in her musical persona, these two extremes were now integrated and gave a truer sense of who Tori Amos was as person, performer, and composer.

These two reissues celebrate that milestone, not only by cleaning up the mix -- Little Earthquakes sounds quite a bit crisper now -- but also by collecting most of Amos' early B-sides and several live versions. Many of the bonus tracks on Little Earthquakes were rejected songs from the recording sessions and demos she did for Atlantic Records. Some of these, while good, don't fit the mood she established on that album, but others like "Upside Down" and "Take to the Sky" would have been right at home. The peak is her stark performance of "Smells Like Teen Spirit", which is as far from grunge as possible, but it captures Kurt Cobain's intent better than any other band has managed to do. The concert takes that round out the bonus material are all fairly good; in particular, her arrangements of "Mother" and "Little Earthquakes" are both quite intense.

The Under the Pink extras include "Honey", which was cut late from the album for "The Wrong Band". It's a tough trade-off and Amos has publicly regretted it. Head to head, "Honey" is a stronger song, but "The Wrong Band" lightens the mood between the introspective "Baker Baker" and the bitterness of "The Waitress". Some of the other bonus tracks for Pink feature Amos' improvisational skills, including the Gershwin-esque "All the Girls Hate Her", and the live material gives a great sense of how confident she got playing with the rhythms of her phrasing.

With so much extra music, there are a few misfits -- C.J. Bolland's remix of "God" doesn't do it any favors, "Humpty Dumpty" and "Home on the Range" are both fairly weak -- but these deluxe editions do a great job of showing how Amos recovered and reclaimed her Self and found her path towards becoming such an iconic musician.

What's cool - Denk an Musik

Accessible high-brow

Like most American's, cartoons served as my introduction to classical music. Even now, the only thing that dilutes my association between Elmer Fudd and Wagner's "Ride of the Valkyries" is an occasional flashback to Apocalypse Now. While I am much more familiar with contemporary popular music, I can still appreciate classical music, especially when a virtuoso performance is involved. The thing is that, while those great musicians are always impressive and the music can be very moving, I don't tend to find them particularly entertaining. I'll be the first to admit that I'm an ignorant cultural Philistine, but most of those performers are so focused on their playing that they convey little more than their intensity and perhaps a hint of their personal appreciation for the power of the music itself. That brings me to a radically different experience this week.

Pianist Jeremy Denk blew me away with a solo program at the Griffin Concert Hall at Colorado State University. Impressing me with his considerable technical ability was no particular challenge, instead -- or rather, in addition -- it was the combination of his physicality, his interaction with the audience, and the structure of his program that challenged my expectations. He began the show with Haydn's Sonata in C Major, H.XVI:50, which did a lot to define his persona. Haydn's music often reflects his sense of humor and Denk capitalized on that with his approach. His movements and facial expressions were large, humorously acting out his performance. Speedy sections seemed almost to slip away from him, but then he'd steel himself and attack the piano with greater ferocity only to fall under the spell of a quieter, more delicate section of the piece. Even as he flirted with caricature, it never distracted from his dexterity or perfect sense of dynamics. It was a knife-edged balance between the brilliance of his technical skills and his humanity.

He deepened that connection when he moved into the next section of the program, which mixed a set of pieces by Franz Schubert and selections from On the Overgrown Path by Leoš Janáček. As he explained his rationale for this iTunes shuffle of compositions, he spoke of the connections that he had found between these two fairly different men, rooted in Eastern European interpretation of major and minor scales, similar uses of ambiguity, and ultimately a single note that grabbed his attention. His casual lecture walked the audience through this idea, using excerpts to show the musical thread that stretched across the 80 odd years separating these composers. Aside from providing the context to appreciate his intent, Denk's lack of condescension leveled the playing field for neophytes and aficionados alike.

When he began playing through these pieces, it was easy to hear the points he had made. And even without the broad humor he displayed during the Haydn, the visual impact of his stage presence loomed large during this performance as well. His body interpreted the work of producing this music, making it clear that this was not effortless, but it was highly directed. Where some performers are fixated on economy of motion, Denk appeared to be no more economical than necessary. His left hand might raise up high and create the tension of expectation, waiting for it to swoop back down to the keys. His fingers were a blur relative to his relatively static hand position as they zipped through a trill of notes, but then his whole arm might soften as the music became less demanding. Oftentimes, I'll close my eyes at a concert to shut out distractions as I listen to the music, but I was unwilling to do that here because I didn't want to miss the extra dimension that Denk added to his show.

The second section of the program featured Mozart and Schumann, with the latter providing a great opportunity for Denk to show off his amazing technical chops with some lightning fast fluid runs. It was an exhilarating treat to witness, but his engaging performance made an even deeper impression. Think about music? Sure, I'm ready for that. 

History lesson - Tori Amos, Under the Pink (1994)

Amos defines her artistic voice, cloaked in metaphor 

Tori Amos’ 1992 solo debut, Little Earthquakes, served as the first step in a revisionist negation of her beginnings with Y Kant Tori Read. That synth pop outfit offered occasional hints of how she might develop: Heart Attack at 23 has a sweet piano intro and features Amos’ expressive phrasing. But the band’s pop veneer was too thick and both the music and the band experience chafed. While Little Earthquakes offers more musical depth and expressiveness than Y Kant Tori Read, her second solo album, Under The Pink, is where Amos truly defines her artistic voice.

In particular, her piano steps forward, enveloped in richer, orchestral arrangements and she perfects an oblique writing style that hints at the stories behind the songs rather than telling them outright. Where Little Earthquakes’s "Me and a Gun" told a straight narrative with a powerful simplicity, the songs on Under The Pink are cloaked in metaphor, augmented by the music. On "Bells For Her", the dark, hollow sound creates a sense of doom and inevitability. The lyrics acknowledge this, “Can’t stop what’s coming/ Can’t stop what’s on its way,” but otherwise the thread of the story is hard to unravel. In interviews, Amos has said that the song refers to a break with a good friend that never healed. Rather than explain that overt message, the arrangement conveys the feelings behind the story with a brittle vocal and chiming tones that are vulnerable with regret.

This use of masking has become central to Amos’ writing style. On the one hand, her voice is deeply expressive and the songs feel like private gems of personal experience. But even as she confesses or exposes herself, she cloaks the revelation in metaphors that soften the focus on the details. It’s never clear whether this is to give the songs a broader stage or to distance herself from conflict or pain. Outsiders perceive that disconnect as a kind of shallowness. They dismiss her as a less experimental version of Kate Bush and it’s true that both women are singer/songwriters with a history of classical piano. But fans appreciate that Amos hasn’t shielded her internal perspectives as much as Bush. They find a sense of depth in the layers of metaphor. They surrender themselves to the emotional truth of the songs and accept that the lyrics may never deliver clarity.

Aside from developing her artistic voice, Under The Pink explores themes that confront gender role and religious expectations. This is another aspect that alienates some listeners. Amos takes a strong feminist position in her writing, but rather than becoming strident, she generally finds ways to surprise. So, on a song like "Baker Baker", she reverses the stereotypes. Instead of the man, she’s aloof and unable to commit and it’s costing her the relationship: “And he tells me I pushed him away/ That my heart’s been hard to find.” But even as she describes herself in that situation, her perspective is more nuanced. She’s torn and regretful about the loss even as she accepts the truth that she couldn’t have faked her way through that commitment. The track is overtly sentimental, with Amos’ tortured, emotional vocals and the orchestral accompaniment, but the song survives the schmaltz.

By contrast, "God" jolts the listener with casual blasphemy. Condescending to God, she compliments His daisies but scolds Him for His absence. The funky groove crosses Steve Miller’s "Fly Like an Eagle" with "One Thing Leads to Another" by the Fixx. Spiky shards of guitar chaos rip loose in the spaces around the choruses, like a guilty voice in Amos’ brain reacting to her heresy. This kind of feminist response to patriarchal Christianity becomes another common thread throughout her work. Unlike "Baker Baker", the risk isn’t about her feelings; it’s about making her disdain public.

Much like her first solo album, Under The Pink establishes a soft-loud dynamic shift, alternating from song to song. But even the softer tunes have their jarring moments. The first track, "Pretty Good Year", eases in gently. The delicate piano and Amos’ aching voice are wistful and the added strings increase the poignancy. Still, the piano hints at darkness every now and again by toying with the song’s key signature. Just as the tune seems to fade down to an open, twinkling piano line, angst spews out like a lanced wound: “What’s it gonna take,’til my baby’s all right?” This blindly grasping frustration is the heart of the song’s undercurrent of loss. Amos clearly chose her opening track carefully to lull the listener with pretty piano and strings only to disrupt complacency with that hot flash of tension. When the sweet sound returns, it can’t be fully trusted. This becomes Amos’ stage persona as well. Loose and flowing, attractive and talented, Amos nurtures hidden edges and darkness underneath which she allows to surface periodically for effect.

The theatricality and showiness carry the songs. Sometimes, the plot line becomes tenuous, like "Past The Mission", "The Wrong Band", or "Space Dog". But even then, lyrical phrases catch the ear and the musical mood is strong enough to gloss over any confusion. The breakout hit from the album, "Cornflake Girl", is proof that this kind of stream of conscious flow can connect. Listeners may not be sure what’s going on with cornflake and raisin girls, but they get the picture of cliques and betrayal.

Amos closes out the album with her most ambitious artistic statement, "Yes, Anastasia". She turns away from traditional pop music structure, developing the progression with rich musical ideas that reflect her time at Peabody Conservatory. Running nine and a half minutes, she has time to break the song into mini movements with solid dynamics. The story itself is stylized, loosely tied to Anastasia Romanov. Amos was apparently inspired by a vision spawned by food poisoning. Regardless of the trigger, her piano work swirls through crescendos and gentle pauses. Similarly, the emotion of the piece ebbs and flows, sometimes leaving Amos staring off in the distance, not quite sure how to move forward. Then a moment later, her voice is strong and knowing. The powerful orchestration shows Aaron Copland’s influence, but lightly applied. Ultimately, the piece is all about the expressiveness of a piano and a voice. "Yes, Anastasia" closes with Amos’ challenge to herself, “We’ll see how brave you are.”

Since Under The Pink, Amos has bravely tackled a wide range of projects, from gender-swapping cover songs (Strange Little Girls) to more recent work in orchestral settings (Night of Hunters and Gold Dust). But it’s this early step of her journey that seems most intriguing.

Recording review - Naama Kates, The Unexamined Life (2012)

A unique aesthetic of theatrical vignettes, piano pop, and some deep retro sounds

It seems appropriate that Naama Kates' debut, The Unexamined Life is rooted in theatricality. I get the sense that her musical taste is thoroughly integrated with her background in acting. The album pulls a lot from early Kate Bush (like There Goes a Tenner) and Tori Amos' artier songs. But unlike most of the women influenced by Bush and Amos, Kates doesn't affect the twee vocal stylings. If anything, she has more of an edgy pop voice. It's really that mix of storytelling, theatrics, and piano accompaniment that begs the comparison. It wouldn't surprise me if Kates has a full length stage musical opus hiding somewhere in her portfolio.

For much of The Unexamined Life, she settles for songs that unfold like little vignettes, with stylistic shifts to indicate scene changes. Price of Company is a great example. It starts out as a moody, descending bass jazz-blues. The track establishes a standard song structure, but the feel and imagery suggest a video, perhaps with a rain splattered window and a glimpse of Kates pacing in her room. But the bridge shatters that mood with a manic energy. The frantic beat has an amphetamine soaked 1920s sound.

Those sonic shifts can be a touch unnerving, but plenty of the other tracks maintain more consistency. The opening track, Before You Lose It has a more conventional arrangement. The earnest piano beginning is one part John Lennon's Imagine and three parts Ben Folds. Kates voice has a feigned weariness. About the time the chorus should drop, the rest of the band kicks in. The relaxed beat supports the sparse lines of a singing slide guitar and a warm caress of string. The music conjures the feel of a stroll through the past, taking stock of chances lost and fine choices made. The lyrics don't fit the mood, though. This musical interlude mutes the impact of lines like "Wash that blood off your hands/Before you stain them". Turmoil coalesces in the tail end of the track, finally bringing the music in line with the lyrics. While it might have been better to hint at this earlier in the song, it a powerful finish.

Kates' piano work throughout The Unexamined Life is strong. Her playing hits its peak on кошмары, which lays down a nice retro Eastern European sound. She's accompanied by a small, rich orchestra that provides an ominous Tom Waits vibe. While the main piano line is fairly repetitive, Kates opens up during the chorus. Then, on the bridge, she improvises off the melody to slip a little outside.

Naama Kates has a unique aesthetic that stands out from the crowd. The Unexamined Life shows a fine musical range. Dropping by her site, I was surprised to see that she's done a set of Radiohead covers as well. Such an intriguing artist should do well if she can reach the right audience.

CD review - Vincent Minor, Vincent Minor (2010)

"Those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it"...Well, those who know the past can often improve it. Vincent Minor's new self titled CD (due out September 21) expands upon the classic piano based singer/songwriter model. With inspirations like Harry Nilsson, Paul Williams, and Tori Amos, Minor has created a unique sound using piano and orchestration. Many of his songs are moody with a kind of clingy darkness, but they're not whiny. In fact, the overall sense is one of documenting or overcoming, not wallowing.

The album opens with The Trap, which pulls a play from the Wilco songbook. There's a tone in one ear, a clock tick, and sparse piano intro. Minor's voice has a plaintive Jeff Tweedy quality. The sound swells as the song accrues elements. If Minor had put more guitar on it, I might have mistaken this for a Wilco cover. Like Tweedy, the lyrics here a bit abstract, but the song satisfies, even as it ends with a more hopeful musical tone.

Jack and the Waltz sounds like some of Janis Ian's earliest work or Paul Williams crossed with Tori Amos. It's piano driven pop from a singer/songwriter point of view. While it starts out introspectively, it opens up into more of a wistful mood. The arrangement is clean with a lush piano and slight accompaniment on the verses. The chorus has a stronger pop focus. The bridge also reminds me of Rufus Wainwright, who comes from a similar place.

One of the more upbeat tunes is Heavy Metal Lover, which comes from somewhere between Tin Alley and the Brill Building. It's a different flavor of retro pop than the standard sources. The lyrics are clever and amusing as Minor sings of a misguided obsession:

Pseudo dictator, handsome Hitler
Putting drugs in my tea again
Arsenic for flavor, you're a heavy metal lover,
Why can't you just say you don't want me around.

The feel is relentlessly cheery, despite whatever might happen to the singer as he sticks with his bad choice.

Be sure to look for Vincent Minor once his album is out and try to catch one of his shows. He's been organizing a Craigslist tour, with pick up musicians in each city. I might try to catch his Denver show, sipping a Manhattan.

CD review - Vienna Teng, Inland Territory (2009)

Shallow comparisons are such a waste of time. If it's a male singer-songwriter with a guitar and obscure lyrics, he's the next Dylan. The slightly self-indulgent jam band is like Phish (or maybe the Grateful Dead). And, of course, a female singer-songwriter with a piano is emulating Tori Amos. In Vienna Teng's case, the mapping goes a little deeper because her vocal tone often mimics Amos and the backup vocal arrangements are similar. Still, she has her own approach, for better or worse.

On the positive side, Teng has done a good job of integrating in some electronic sounds and percussion. She also shifts gears and throws in some interesting old-timey sounding material. On the other hand, those gears can grind a bit when the transitions between songs don't work, such as the jump between the dreamy coasting of Kansas and the jaunty bounce of In Another Life. Either song is good on its own, but they break the flow of the album.

Another problem is that, while her voice is very pretty, it's also a bit detached and impersonal. Like Tori Amos, Vienna Teng uses that trick to contrast with more personal storytelling lyrics, but Amos often follows that up with a fierier song to prove her connection to the material and her audience.

The standout track here is Watershed. This starts out with a tentative solo piano start and cool ambient sounds. This section is very close to the Who's Love, Reign O'er Me, as reimagined by Tori Amos. Moody, it grows into a sense of majesty, much like the Who's song. The flow is gripping: waves break before a confident, defiant island, then the waves come again. The link here is for a live version with a fairly long, detached, ironic intro.

There are other decent songs on the album. White Light has a Suzanne Vega feel on the verse, but a catchier, poppy chorus. Stray Italian Greyhound has jerky piano rhythm that lurches forward as it intrigues the ear. None stand out as much as Watershed, though.

Inland Territory is a Long Island ice tea of an album: there's a lot going on here, but it's not for everyone.

CD review - Regina Spektor, Far (2009)

Regina Spektor is a quite interesting piano-based singer/songwriter with her own vocal style. She is usually direct, often playful, and occasionally coy. Her voice reflects Rickie Lee Jones, Joni Mitchell, Bjork, and Tori Amos. The Tori Amos link seems most relevant for Far, given some of the edgier arrangements, but Spektor mines a brighter vein than Amos.

A great example of the contrast is on the first single, Laughing With, which could easily be a Tori Amos song. The piano arrangement is simple and clear. It's a song about irony: "No one laughs at God in a hospital...", "but God can be funny". It's really more about us humans than about God. If Amos had written this, the focus would have gone the other way.

Another cool song was Blue Lips, which has a nice collection of sections from simple to orchestral to pop. The vocals convey an emotional distance that matches the lyrics. It also has the best line of the album: "Blue - the most human color".

Machine features material recorded with David Byrne's art sound installation, "Playing the Building". The vibe is detached and slightly threatening; the ghost of Laurie Anderson hides in the background. It's very interesting, but it doesn't really fit the flow of the album. Especially coming right after the retro feel of Folding Chair.

This is symptomatic of the problem with Far: there are too many producers. Spektor worked with several great talents here, like Mike Elizondo and Jeff Lynne, and she wrote some good songs, but the album lacks a coherent feel or flow. This is easier to accept on a greatest hits album. Instead, the main consistency is her quirky voice, which is not enough to make Far stand up well against her earlier work.

This is best paired with an aromatic herbal tea, maybe something like a cardamom tisane.