Amongst friends, I can easily consider myself to be a Tori Amos fan. But once I arrived at the Jazz Cafe in Camden Town, I was promptly reminded of the hierarchy firmly established amongst Tori Amos’ devoted following.

‘Devout’ can be a bit of an understatement in this case. The lucky hundred or so fans present at tonight’s concert have queued outside a high street music shop in the very early hours of this wet day in order to grab one of the coveted wristbands that would grant them free entry for this very intimate, one-off gig in London. Some of them coming from places like Bristol, and even as far as Poland just for this gig.

I myself had a laid out plan, of waking up at the crack of dawn, grab my coffee flask and take the 38 bus at 5 am from East London into town, to the said shop. But the opportunity to review the concert for this rather wonderful magazine has made my action plan somewhat redundant, and I am not complaining!

Tonight Tori enters to the small stage where a piano and a keyboard await, dressed in a stunning bright red silk gown. She seems absolutely at ease in this pocket sized gig as I imagine she would be also in bigger venues. A club like the Jazz Cafe might as well be reminiscent of the earlier days in her career, when she would perform in bars, since the age of thirteen accompanied by her supporting father, a preacher.

She improvises a song to entertain the audience whilst re-arranging the settings of her portable keyboard – making jokes about her apparent dyslexia. She mentions the fans that she recognizes from the audience during the track “London Girls”, literally mentioning every country they had been following her to. She gives me the goose bumps every time she plays both instruments simultaneously and completely at ease.

She does not play any of the well known hits, and none of the seemingly more personal material either. Instead she alternates tracks like “Mrs. Jesus” (the Gospel changes meaning/ if you follow John or Paul/ and could you ever Let it be/ the Mary of it all ) and “Rattlesnakes” (Jodie never sleeps/ ‘cause there are always needles in the hay – hay/She says a girl needs a gun these days/ Hey on account of the rattlesnakes) with numbers from her, as she puts it, “solstice album” – and I wish some mulled wine was handed out every time she played them.

“Midwinter Graces” is an album made by a spiritual rebel at heart, someone who has questioned God, authority and the patronising aspects of masculinity – and yet seeking into reintroducing her audience to these traditional forms of yearly celebration.

At the core of her rebellious spirit, Tori Amos is an extraordinarily talented artist, oscillating between suffering and redemption on her way to personal and creative transcendence.
Tori Amos is a singer, songwriter who’s been around since the 80s, a prodigy who has played the piano since the age of two, and a musician who prides herself of the fact she cannot read sheet music (as the name of her 80s outfit “Y Tori Kant Read” hints at).

Tori’s (many) painful personal experiences became mythologized in her albums (From the international breakthrough ‘Little Earthquakes’ to the haunting and yet alluring songs from ‘From the Choirgirl Hotel’). Her lyrics can come across as bluntly honest, revealing, and yet, sung in some sort of self made language at times – ever so often touching every single facet of every taboo to ever associated with femininity, religion and American society.

Tonight Tori Amos has cordially invited us all to join in this intimate experience – in her rather mysterious, captivating and charming way – and in the audience one could see the sheer bliss in every staring, startled face, watching this remarkable lady onstage. And as for me, this year, there is nothing more to ask Dear Santa for.

Written by Luciana Saldanha on Thursday December 10th, 2009 4:27 pm

Tags:

Jazz Cafe, live, music, review, Tori Amos

Similar Posts:

• Micah P. Hinson @ Hoxton Hall
• CHROMEO Live @ PUNK
• Music: Album Review, Lia Ices
• Loverman – A Live Review – Prom Night of the Living Dead
• Vanilla Swingers