From: owner-precious-things-digest@smoe.org (precious-things-digest) To: precious-things-digest@smoe.org Subject: precious-things-digest V7 #74 Reply-To: precious-things@smoe.org Sender: owner-precious-things-digest@smoe.org Errors-To: owner-precious-things-digest@smoe.org Precedence: bulk X-To-Unsubscribe: Send mail to "precious-things-digest-request@smoe.org" X-To-Unsubscribe: with "unsubscribe" as the body. precious-things-digest Friday, April 5 2002 Volume 07 : Number 074 Today's Subjects: ----------------- Re: STRANGE ?? ["Courtney K. Whitmore" ] harvard crimson articles [invader woj ] Tori's astrology [Beth Winegarner ] ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Date: Wed, 03 Apr 2002 16:49:29 -0800 From: "Courtney K. Whitmore" Subject: Re: STRANGE ?? This sounds very familiar...I am sure this same item has been on ebay before. Just one more thing to illustrate that on ebay, it's buyer beware! ------------------------------ Date: Thu, 04 Apr 2002 09:37:00 -0500 From: invader woj Subject: harvard crimson articles stumbled across these two articles (a review of _strange little girls_ and an interview with tori) in the harvard crimson, courtesy of another mailing list (afraidofme, which deals with new jersey strange musicist marianne nowottny). i don't recall either article having made the online toriville rounds (they're not even on the dent! for shame, mikewhy! ;) ) and thought some of you might find them interesting. woj Published on Thursday, September 20, 2001 Tori! Tori! Tori! By ANDREW J. ILIFF Crimson Staff Writer For her new album, piano-wielding diva Tori Amos has created distinct personalities for each of her 12 songs, complete with photos featuring Amos with 12 different hairstyles, costumes and names for each of her incarnations, with enigmatic phrases by Neil Gaiman to explain them: The heartless vamp of Im not in love is labeled, She forgets him utterly and forever; while the serenely blonde figure of death from Time reminds: One day you will open your eyes and see her. Yet the strangest girl amongst the lot, and probably the most interesting, is the only one you wont see in the shoot, Tori Amos herself. The new album has music pundits slightly mystifiedsome have been describing Strange Little Girls as an album about the portrayal of women in pop music, and there may well be truth to that interpretation, but it is not nearly as simple or polemical as that. Tori has relegated her band to the background after their triumphant arrival on her 1999 release To Venus and Back. On Girls, she picks her way through a wash of reverberating keyboards, as on the Velvet Underground quiet-revolution opener New Age, and even some solo piano work that recalls her early albums on Real Men. All of these interpretations places the emphasis on her eerie masterful banshees voice. The song that may well get the most attention, and with good reason, is her cover of Eminems 97 Bonnie and Clydea song that was unnerving and spooky in Mr. Mathers hands becomes a horror story in miniature. Amos, without needing to change Eminems lyrics, assumes instead the personalities of the murdered wife and bewildered child. Her falsetto refrain of, Just the two of us is so full of quiet menace and mourning that it becomes almost painful. None of which helps to make sense of the rest of the albumAmos would never do anything as simple as presenting women as victims of male songwriters, or even as victorious over misogynist songwriters. Her take on 10ccs Im Not in Love turns a slightly cutesy heartbreak ballad into a mechanist over-you diatribe worthy of Kraftwerk in its soulless accompaniment. She deadpans so flawlessly that there really is no doubt about her feelings towards the unfortunate subject of her songlet us hope he can peel himself off the pavement before anyone else comes by. The first single from the album, the Stranglers Strange Little Girl, is the sort of quirky, electronic-influenced rock that Tori perfected on Venus, and will undoubtedly turn quite a few heads with its slick, sexy, guitar-driven hook. However, those who are drawn by this track alone will be deceived; though Rattlesnakes borders on the same territory, the bulk of the album explores radically different, uncharted ground. Her take on Tom Waits Time, is, despite the quantum difference in their voices, more or less straight on. She captures the sweet nostalgia of the track, giving it a particularly wistful feminine bent. Not so Neil Youngs Heart of Goldthis slightly mournful folk song she warps into a blistering Valkyrie ride atop distorted guitars and multi-layered wailing vocals. At this point one starts to lose the supposed thread of the albumHeart of Gold is no more obviously about women, or men, than, say, I still havent found what Im looking for. The Boomtown Rats I Dont Like Mondays, is an off-kilter pop song about a young girl who one day decides to shoot her classmates. But where the original gave perspectives from both sides of the gun, Amos entirely assumes the identity of the girl, singing a sugarcoated song of almost absent-minded violenceAnd the lesson today is how to die. The centrepiece of the album is Happiness is a Warm Gun. Instead of the Beatles metre-shifting, trippy free-association, Amos constructs a history of the Second Amendment. The song is particularly effective when you remember that the last time Tori Amos sang about guns was in her revelatory Me and a Gun on her first album Little Earthquakesa song about her experience of being raped. Shes well acquainted with the touch of the velvet hand, never sounded so sinister. The song stretches out and engulfs, this time with the bands accompaniment, laced with soulless defences of the amendment, while Amos intones, full of multiple meanings: Mother Superior jump the gun. If this is an anti-gun rant, Amos would be the last to make it simple or easy. The biggest change from the original, or at least the most obvious, is in Slayers Raining Blood. The bloodthirsty guitars of the unrepentant metal monsters are transmuted into pulsing, lowering keyboard wash, while the inarticulately angry lyrics are intoned in almost religious fashion. Again, the link to portrayals of women, or anything very much beyond sinister apocalyptic omens, is vague at best; the song is perhaps more a tribute from Toris days in her early metal band Y Kant Tori Read. The albums closing track is a gender-bending version of Joe Jacksons Real Men, in which the question about who the real men are becomes yet more doubtful in Toris endlessly transforming, role-playing world. Strange Little Girls is unlikely to win Amos legions of new fans, though those who are prepared to take the bizarre trip through her wires, down avenues of fancy and musical exploration, will be rewarded with some of the more intriguing music to emerge for quite a while. Intense, melodramatic and sometimes obscure, Tori Amos still leaves you vaguely wishing you were allowed to be as strange a girl as she. Published on Friday, October 26, 2001 The True Confessions of a Toriphile By IRIN CARMON Crimson Staff Writer By IRIN CARMON CONTRIBUTING WRITER I was filing when it happened: Ears plugged with the Finnish teen pop sensation I had to write a blurb about that week; mind occupied with little other than filing Lil Kims press photo between Lil Bow Wows and Lil Troys. My editor at my summer internship at the Village Voice was on the phone nearby, his voice muffled by my Walkman warbles. He cupped his hand over the phone. Hey, Irin, he called, Do you want to talk to her? Who? I asked distractedly, pulling a headphone an inch off my ear. Tori Amos. Theyre offering us interview time. It dawned on me that he was on the phone with the publicist at Atlantic Records, whom Id asked him to call. I needed an advance copy in order to review Tori Amos latest album. Five years ago, I probably would have wept at the very thought of conversing with that goddess of the teenage girls pantheon. Sure, I replied. Why not? Young women (and even some men) of a certain cultural predilection might remember what it was like having fearless singers like Amos form the soundtrack of their adolescence. Once upon a decade, a girl had her pick of impassioned and inventive women who were safely subversive yet still spoke to her experience, I would recall in my Voice review a couple of weeks later. I remembered well. Seven years ago, my sister, two years of teenage territorial exploration ahead of me, stuck a pair of headphones in my ear and told me to listen. She wanted me to tell her what I thought the song was about; I was 11 and couldnt say the word rape. The album was Amoss Little Earthquakes, and the song was Me and a Gun, an a capella recollection of Amos rape at gunpoint. When I was in seventh grade, my sister and I counted the days until our first Tori Amos concertwhich we attended with our mother, no lessand were introduced to a fervent fan base, whom Amos had dubbed Ears With Feet. Most prominent were the young, white women aping Amos flaming hair sporting fairy wings and glitter who lingered in the aisles and whispered along with every word. Toriphiles came in all forms, but I wanted to be that kind. By high schools wane, though, Id gained sufficient distance to be granted a review of Strange Little Girls, Amos 2001 effort, for the Village Voice. The writing Id done for them up until that point was a cache of femaleness, stemming largely from my avowed interest in feminism. By some accident of good luck, Id already been assigned to write about Amos when Atlantic Records announced that the album would be a collection of covers written by men like Eminem and Tom Waits and bands like Slayer and Depeche Mode, intended to explore the hidden female voice within them. A month later, just before shopping period and a mere day before terrorist tragedy hit the tail end of New York, I was getting antsy in a conference room at Atlantics New York headquarters. Id been waiting for half an hour, grimly anticipating the moment when the publicist would appear, frowning, and tell me that there had been some kind of mistake, that I wouldnt be allotted my hour after all. No such thing took place. Instead, Amos, tiny and red-haired, entered the room, smiled and shook my hand. Miraculously, I forgot that Id never interviewed anyone I didnt know before, least of all anyone famous, and settled right into interviewer mode. She peered at me with wide green eyes. Can I ask you a question first? she asked. I nodded hesitantly, wondering where this was going. So you work for the Village Voice. Are you a student? Clearly, she wanted to know how some teenager had landed on that couch with her, tape recorder in hand. I dutifully told her that I had just begun my first year at Harvard after spending the spring of my senior year and the summer thereafter writing about music for the Voice. She erupted with excitement. Youre just like that Elizabeth Wurlitzer, she exclaimed, blithely butchering the surname of Elizabeth L. Wurtzel 89, precocious journalist and author of Prozac Nation. After shed grilled me to her satisfaction, Amos grinned and said, Okay, now Im ready. Ive got the whole wonderful picture. Ask away. I had carefully typed questions to fire at her, but a grueling train ride and a copious wait had permanently burned them in my mind, so I didnt even take out my notebook. I began asking her about the album, about connections I thought I saw between her works, about becoming a mother, about her fans. The popular media portrayal of Amos as a frivolous, hyper-feminine mystic with a proclivity for gleefully impenetrable sound bites had always made me suspicious: It smelled of media spin. As it turned out, the latter part of that stereotype wasnt far from reality. Posed with the most straightforward of questions, Amos would deliver dreamy musings, rife with metaphor and personification of her songs. These women are serious traitors, they can play chess with the big boys, she declared, referring not to actual people, but to her versions of the mens songs. They infiltrate. Theyre tired. But are they mercenaries? I guess, in a way. But no blood is drawn. The 20 years that lay between us served more as a bridge than a gulf. Becoming a mother had soothed her and given her new perspective; much of the conversation lingered on ideas of aging and womanhood. [If] I wanted to be 18 again, she said earnestly, that would really scare me, if I were 18 and I was hearing a woman of 38 not wanting to be in [sic] 38. Because what do I have to look forward to? I mean, is it that bleak? Is that what it is? Patti, the publicist who had ushered me in, stuck her head in and begged a moment. When Amos reappeared, she settled on the couch and said, Where were we? Because we were in a place where most interviews dont arrive to. Women and aging, I reminded her. She nodded meditatively. Wisdom is something that you just dont have in your teens and your twenties, she said. Thats not what thats about. You have things that we dont have, that we carry somewhere maybe, as a memory. But you just have things that we dont have, and we have to value that. And we have things you dont have. And how great is that? After an hour, Patti discreetly slipped in and sat down nearby to nudge us into completion. I turned off my tape recorder. Amos turned to her and said, Patti, do you know about this girl? Shes only 18 and writing for the Village Voice, and shes a freshman at Harvard. See to it, will you, that Irin comes backstage to see me after the Boston show. I blinked. How had my seventh-grade daydreams been catapulted into reality? Amos wasnt finished. Bring your friends too. Oh, and if you can, please bring me books that have touched you, so that I can read them and, you know, see where you are. She stood up. I want to read what youre writing in 10 years. I want to read what youre writing now! You must be so excited, just starting out and starting college at the same time. She leaned in, daintily planting a kiss on each of my cheeks. Good luck with everything. Its going to be fantastic. Theyll be down daysbelieve me, Ive had thembut theyre justtheyre just salt! The stage at the Wang Center on Oct. 15 was shrouded in black, hung with a curtain that was jaggedly pierced with holes and lit from behind. From offstage, Amos duskily murmured Eminems 97 Bonnie and Clyde. After frequently commenting in interviews that the drowned woman was invisible in the original version of the song, Amoss implication was clear: She herself was nowhere to be found. Tension knotted the audience at each interval as they waited for her to appear, but the song ended without Amos presence. The piano appeared amid flashing beams, and Amos, clad in shoulder-padded white, hurtled onstage, straddled the piano and laid her fingers on the keys. Recent tours had seen her experimenting with a full band, whose bluster was in sharp contrast to the fiery solo piano that had been Amos trademark. The Strange Little Tour, as it was called, marked a return to the girl-with-a-piano paradigm. In that vein, only three of the songs Amos played that night were from Strange Little Girls, opting instead to grant a grateful audience their early album favorites and several obscure, much-loved b-sides. Each song began amorphously, with Amos cooing over the first few unrecognizable bars and eliciting joyful cheers when, at its own pace, the song fell into place. Amos was in top form: Sans band, her particular magiccrafting intimacy even in the vastest arenas, melding public and private spacewas shown at last to fruition. After the second encore, Amos left the stage awash in applause and cheers. Armed with two backstage passes, my chosen accomplice, Alicia Menendez 05 and I headed to the stage door, where the chosen few lined up to have their passes examined by Joel, Amos bleached-blond bodyguard. Wheres your pass? Joel demanded of the young man in front of us. He shrugged helplessly, clearly hoping to slip through. Joel shook his head. Bye, he said curtly. Ive been around way too long to fall for that. After the lawfully backstage crowd had been assembled, we were led down a series of staircases and hallways into a room, barren but for some tables and chairs. Another security official checked our names on the list and then informed us that we would be called. Most of our companions appeared to have obtained their passes through an Internet auction, the proceeds of which went directly to RAINN, the national hotline Amos founded for survivors of rape, abuse and incest. I asked the fan sitting closest to me, a middle-aged man, how much hed paid in the highest bid. He thought for a moment. About a thousand dollars, he said. I asked him how long hed been listening to Tori Amos. Since Bliss, he said, referring to a single released in 1999. You? Since Under the Pink, I replied, placing me at 1994. My eyes fixed nervously on the security guard with a clipboard who was heading in our direction. Were we next? Irin Carmon? he queried. Alicia and I rose slowly and, with scattered other press representatives, lined up outside a room down the hall. Amos was waiting inside, looking worn out, but smiling valiantly. She recognized me after a cloudy moment, her face clearing to exclaim, Well! Its been awhile! And how have you been? After I introduced Alicia, we briefly discussed the show and then gave her the books shed asked for. In addition to the latest album by Marianne Nowottny, a young independent artist inspired by Amos, wed brought Inga Muscios Cunt (my choice), Cristina Garcias Dreaming in Cuban (Alicias), and a book on the mythology and archaeology of motherhood, which combined her interest in archetypes with her own new motherhood. Amos accepted all gratefully, posed for a photograph, and gave me a warm hug. Id been anxious to retain impartiality in writing my review, and then realized that perceived objectivity wasnt as important as being able to both see clearly and speak candidly, fortified rather than hampered by my history of listening to Amos. In truth, the fan experience had come full circlefrom girl with the drugstore fairy wings to girl with the tape recorder and back. ------------------------------ Date: Thu, 4 Apr 2002 15:13:25 -0800 From: Beth Winegarner Subject: Tori's astrology A friend of mine works for astrology.com, and is always telling me about stuff he's working on. He just got a profile online for Tori and I thought some of you might like to see it. Here's an article which has an overview: http://astrozine.astrology.com/tamos.html And here's a detailed analysis of her chart, minus data for ascendant and houses: http://astrozine.astrology.com/stars/reports/tamos.html Enjoy! Beth - -- "The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right, white as a knuckle and terribly upset. It drags the sea after it like a dark crime; it is quiet ith the O-gape of complete despair." (Sylvia Plath) _._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._ music reviews + stories + poetry + photography + collage + Watchers selkies + froud-faeries + esoterica + links = http://echoes.devin.com ------------------------------ End of precious-things-digest V7 #74 ************************************