Still sounding fresh 25 years on
Tori Amos
Royal Albert Hall, London
Tori Amos has moved through various incarnations in the quarter-century since her solo debut was released. Two elements have remained. One, the uncensored, unfettered, institution-skewering nature of her subject matter (sexual assault, menopause, miscarriage, the Church). Two, high-end songwriting with complex harmonics that defy expectation: a winking chord here, a surprising key change there.
Native Invader, her just-released 15th studio album, doesn’t shy away from weighty subjects. She addresses political violence in America, her mother’s ill health, and environmental disaster. But its horror and despair were absent at the Royal Albert Hall. Amos was thrilled to be with her adoring fans once again. “Oh, how I love you people,” she said, grinning gleefully at the crowd.
Red ribbons draped long from her wrists, part of a theatrical scarlet outfit with black stilettos and a cape that glittered with a spider’s web-style net. A large image of a burning forest – slash-and-burn farming, presumably, considering the eco concerns of the album – was an arresting backdrop. Later, it cooled to a snowy mountain range. Amos has never been one for the low-key.
First track iieee, an eerie number from 1998’s From the Choirgirl Hotel about death and sacrifice, had treated vocal effects and shuffled on a trip-hop beat. She established an intimate rapport with the audience from the off, looking out as if playing just to one person, kicking her heel out. The celestial Cloud on My Tongue was pure theatre and showed off Amos’s ability to convey emotion and tell stories with the dynamics of her voice.
She commanded the stage alone, with her trusty Bösendorfer piano, a Nord keyboard and a Nord Organ, which she often played at the same time. Her ability to play the piano as if it’s an orchestra – propulsive chords bashed out alongside haunting filigrees in the higher registers – meant I only clocked that there were no actual drums when a backing drumbeat appeared in the penultimate track Precious Things. She used her voice with great sensitivity, lurching from tenderness to raw power. In Bliss, her idiosyncratic breathiness gave way to an animal roar, rousing the audience to their feet.
Alongside rarities (Ruby Through the Looking Glass), spellbinding covers (Fleetwood Mac’s Silver Springs, Tom Petty’s Free Fallin’, Joni Mitchell’s River and a brief Neil Young Ohio bridge), and new tracks, there were plenty of crowd-pleasing, careerspanning favourites (Silent All These Years, Little Earthquakes).
Although many of these songs were released in a faraway time, her signature piano riffs sounded iconic, timeless and fresh. Small wonder that she continues to influence younger pop artists, such as Grimes, St Vincent and Taylor Swift.
An encore of Precious Things and A Sorta Fairytale was percussive and energising. The latter had a funked-up change of pace as Amos ended the show with a galaxy of stars twinkling behind her. It was time for us to enter the real world again – and we didn’t even need one of her biggest hits, Cornflake Girl.