Setting the Stage At the VH1 Hard Rock Live in 1999. This “Precious Things” holds a special breed of intensity. It fore- shadows with the ominous opening guitar chords of Steve Caton, and in the relentless drum figures Matt Chamberlain plays over the sus- tained rumble of Jon Evans’ bass. Tori repeatedly closes her eyes, burrowing for inspiration. She repeatedly scans upward, staring far away during the peach party dress bridge. There is a barely perceptible slowing of tempo. This is time travel, and we are going with her. After the angry delivery of with their nine-inch nails, and little fas- cist panties tucked inside the heart of every nice girrrrrrrrl, she touches her mouth to the microphone, allowing drool which has formed to slide off onto its windscreen. Remnants of saliva dribble down her chin. Smiling, she sticks out her tongue. With an emphatic Ho! she punctuates the unsettled, down-cascad- ing piano figure. It plays out three times. It tells of not fitting in, and of exile. Closing her eyes, she begins to sing the tag: Eeeee-EEEEE said I can let you, let you know, a-yes Precious, Precious, hey Holding the final piano chord, she beams with satisfaction. When I begin imagining what sort of a book I want to write on the music of Tori Amos, I keep the above performance in mind. I’ve attended many dozens of her concerts since she first hit the road the previous year on a club tour, designed as a public rehearsal space for sympathetic diehards prior to a long arena leg. I’ve managed to get myself to more than 30 concerts on the 1996 Dew Drop Inn Tour. Although each concert is designed to be a self-contained unit, to me, Tori Amos in concert ultimately displays a longer form of personal and artistic expression. After taking in so many of her concerts, 2 Be The Music—HowTori Amos Does It including many in long, continuous blocks, I want to convey some of the richness available in bearing witness to the development of the songs and concerts over time. I’ve long believed that Tori’s music was not as fully appreciated by the pop people as it might be, mainly because some of the lushness and humor was outside their typical experience, and the so-called classical people weren’t paying much attention to pop in the first place. And to be clear—in the standard music theory taxonomy of pop, folk, and art music, Tori’s falls square- ly into pop. But I feel there is much more focus on categorizing music than is useful, and I don’t want to linger on making such distinctions that neither affect nor explain the listener’s experience. As I continue to figure out what I want to say concerning the music of Tori Amos, words of a former boss who has written books lingers in my head: “What does it mean? Don’t simply catalog and describe.” What does the music of Tori Amos mean? How does the music acquire its meaning? How does any great music and art develop mean- ing? How can a listener cultivate the ability to more fully experience music that has so many potential meanings, from personal ones to the universal? What can a composer or performer learn from the example of Tori Amos, both from her life and her work? I set about answering these questions to my personal satisfaction. Many types of music exist, and they serve many purposes. Daniel Levitin groups them into six general categories in his book The World in Six Songs.1 But the way music affects people is highly personal. It can shift even through the course of a song. Music that especially interests me creates places, recognizable spaces built of emotional and sonic architecture. No one else has lived my life, but when an artist creates places with aspects which are emotionally familiar, each of us can experience what someone else has felt. Such personalized expres- sion through art encourages us to feel we’re part of something larger, even as if we’re connected to people we’ve never met. If I know some- thing I’ve felt is familiar to others, it’s easier for me to understand we share our world. The most direct emotional experiences happen in interior places which can neither be fully expressed nor understood through prose. An artistic device, or a combination of more than one, can be used to help us recognize our emotions and feel them as if they are happening Setting the Stage 3 now. Using words as poetry can prompt one to directly access experi- ence in ways that are different from those things which can be described with prose. The use of music along with poetic lyrics can create art that has more potential for touching others, by using both forms of expression combined. Visual elements added into a perform- ance can amount to still another layer, as can the incorporation of body movements with dance, special lighting, film, etc. To create art which directs others toward authentic experience means that we, as artists and composers, must first tap into places where we can have authentic experiences that carry value, and which hold meaning for others. This is not to say great art cannot have its basis in observing others, it means that if that observation is part of creating one’s artistic work, it must ring true to oneself before it might be used to make art that’s meaningful to anyone else. In August of 1963, Myra Ellen “Tori” Amos is born in Newton, North Carolina.2 Then, within a week, her pastor father, Dr. Edison McKinley Amos, participates in the March On Washington on the National Mall. 50 other local Methodist ministers and some of the younger members of his Dumbarton Methodist Church also attend. The Methodists are active in promoting the cause of civil rights, but when it’s announced that 300 of the marchers will be given permis- sion to hold a meeting in the sanctuary of his church, located in the elite Georgetown neighborhood of Washington, D.C., some of the older parishioners let it be known that they aren’t pleased.3 Widely remembered for the “I Have a Dream” speech of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., the march signals that these are heady times for the country, and for D.C. in particular. A charismatic former naval offi- cer sweeps into the White House with his young family a year after Dr. Amos, also a Navy veteran with young children, begins a five-year ministry at Dumbarton. The Amoses find themselves living next door to a sister of the president—Jean Kennedy Smith.4 Her husband Stephen has been a political advisor and finance chairman for JFK’s 1960 campaign,5 and is considered a sure bet to head up the reelection campaign of his brother-in-law president.6 But this is not to be, as three months to the day after Tori is born, President Kennedy is cut down by bullets while riding in an open convertible in Texas. The suddenness and finality of the horrific act traumatizes people 4 Be The Music—HowTori Amos Does It all over the world. Dr. Amos goes over to the nearby home of the First Lady’s family to comfort them, but is denied entry by the Secret Service.7 Kennedy family members celebrate Joseph P. Kennedy, Sr.’s birthday 7 Sep 1963 in the sunroom of Joseph P. Kennedy Sr. and Rose Kennedy’s home in Hyannis Port, Massachusetts. Front row (L-R): First Lady Jacqueline Kennedy; Joseph P. Kennedy, Sr. Back row (L-R): R. Sargent Shriver; Stephen Smith, Sr.; Ethel Kennedy; President John F. Kennedy; Jean Kennedy Smith; Rose Kennedy; Robert F. Kennedy; Eunice Kennedy Shriver; Patricia “Pat” Kennedy Lawford; Edward M. “Ted” Kennedy; Joan Kennedy. It’s a poetic fluke that Tori is born in Newton, North Carolina, the city of her mother’s upbringing. Mary Ellen Copeland Amos is ordered by a doctor not to travel for the remainder of her pregnancy, so summer vacation is extended long enough for her to deliver Tori in local Catawba Hospital.8 The relationship between Tori and her Poppa—her mother Mary’s father—grows especially close. He sings to her as a baby. Tori’s mother says he is the only person she ever com- pletely respects.9 Although brought up as the daughter of a Methodist minister of Scottish and French ancestry,10 her mother’s side of the family steeps her in traditional Cherokee culture.11 Many people have a mistaken impression that one’s legitimate claim to indigenous tribal membership is based entirely upon the provable amount of tribal blood one has. Although some tribes which own casi- nos require a specific provable amount of tribal blood to share in div- idend benefits from casino profits, and each tribe can apply its own membership rules as it sees fit,12 it’s entirely legitimate to self-identify Setting the Stage 5 as a member of a tribe if one is brought up steeped in its culture. Tribal blood requirements for sharing in casino dividends even leads to instances of socially accepted, lifelong reservation-dwelling families who don’t meet provable amounts of tribal blood being disenfran- chised, while, perversely, families who never lived on the reservation and who haven’t been raised in tribal traditions and culture do quali- fy for casino dividends. Cherokee storyteller Gayle Ross told of her own background each time she performed at the Kennedy Center in both 2000 and 2003.13 She explained that her great-great-great-grandfather was John Ross, the first elected Principle Chief of the Cherokee, known for guiding the people during the Trail of Tears, and who continued as Principle Chief after their resettlement in Oklahoma.