Give me myself again.*
Today, one of ’90s alt-rock’s most seminal albums (and one of my lifetime favorite Desert Island Discs) turns twenty: Little Earthquakes, by my favorite polarizing ginger, Tori Amos.
Twenty years ago, I was in 5th grade. I was still listening to Weird Al, Kris Kross and Boyz II Men. Mariah Carey was my #1 gal. MJ’s “Black or White” was the #1 song in the country (U2’s “Mysterious Ways” was #1 on the rock charts). Nirvana were still riding Nevermind to the bank. I had no time (or emotional maturity) for this kind of shit. I had suffered through years of piano lessons; I would not suffer it on my Walkman.
It wasn’t until a couple years later when she released her second album, Under The Pink, and the lead single “God” — her highest-charting hit and best music video (filmed at the rat temple in India) — that I was roped in. It was 1994. Darker urges and melodrama were seething below my pubescent skin. A little band called Nine Inch Nails was about to change my world. I was ready to join Club Angst.
Snatching up her entire discography to-date — singles, bootlegs and EPs included — I dove head-first into the back catalog, starting with her debut album. Some melodrama is expected with all Tori Amos fans, so let me just get this out of the way: the first time I heard “Precious Things,” I started to cry. Sitting in my bedroom, head resting on my new compact disc stereo (kids, “compact discs” are what we used to call CDs), I let the opening piano riffs and shallow panting soak into my ears. I had never heard this kind of passion, fury or intensity coming from a woman (or a piano) before. I had never been so emotionally moved by a song. I had never reacted so physically to music before. By the time the song swelled to its final crescendo and came crashing down, I was breathless and my cheeks were wet. What the hell just happened?!?
The rest of the album is equally untouchable. Though not my personal favorite in her discography (see: Under The Pink, Boys for Pele, and From The Choirgirl Hotel), I cannot deny that it is her best. Uncomfortably candid and personal, touching and heart-breaking. This is why debut efforts are usually classics: they are the cumulative effort of the artist’s entire life up until that point, including the pain, misery and confusion that come with growing up. Their big unveiling to the world. Their mission statement.
There isn’t a skippable song on here (save for the disturbing, yet necessary, account of her rape, “Me And A Gun,” which I still cannot listen to). Empowerment anthems “Crucify” and “Girl.” The heart-wrenching familial loss on “Winter.” Radio-staple “Silent All These Years.” Kinky “Leather.” The weepy “China.” Even the b-sides were stunning (including the best cover of “Smells Like Teen Spirit” you’ll ever hear and a take on Zep’s “Thank You” that bests the original). I was hooked for life. I felt like she was opening a door — for me and me alone — into her soul. Through a crappy set of speakers on the outdated shag carpeting of my bedroom floor, we forged a lifelong relationship.
When I met her in 2003 (*faint*) I asked her to autograph the lyrics of “Tear In Your Hand,” which contain the line “If you need me, me and Neil will be hanging out with the dream king/Neil said hi, by the way” (this refers to her BFF Neil Gaiman, but a crazed fan can pretend). Every time I hear this song (or any of the other Neil-referencing songs in her catalog), I glibly smile. I’ve grown up with this woman and, even though she has no idea who I am or what I’ve gone through in life, she’s shared her pain with me for 20 years and counting. When I reflect back on the past two decades, she’s one of the few constants. This album started it all.
Minutes Before Fainting...
*Lyrics from title track, “Little Earthquakes,” the final track of the album.
ilikethesoundofit 