Authors: Tori Amos,Ann Powers

Tori Amos: Piece by Piece (45 page)

SONG
CANVAS:
“Jamaica Inn”

I've always been drawn to fire. When I was seventeen I chased it, when I was twenty-seven I danced with it, and when I was thirty-seven I nursed it. Like women, fire changes. In one moment it can be warming, in another moment it can burn everything around you to the ground. These days I'm entertaining the idea of a flame contained. The idea of a lighthouse. When I was being told a bit of Cornish history I was fascinated with the stories of the wrecker. Wreckers did not bring accidental destruction upon a vessel. By holding up a light, wreckers gave ships the false signal that it was safe to come in. Daphne du Maurier's book
Jamaica Inn
goes into detail about the Cornish custom of wrecking. Apparently, even vicars would hold a false light up so that once a ship was wrecked they would be able to sustain the local village with the goods that were smuggled out of the water. When I was driving down the coast from Bude to Padstow, I was drawn into this modern-day idea of
I
homewrecking. In my car I started to sing the chorus for the song “Jamaica Inn” after seeing a small boat through the gales that I found myself in. Could I have written this song in sunny Southern California? Probably not. After all, I was physically in the land of Daphne du Maurier's
Jamaica Inn
, which was a real place, as well as
Rebecca
, another one of her books that took place in Cornwall. I reference both of these books in the song because they are the antecedents. I still don't know to this day if my character survives the shipwreck that she is in …

With the gales my little boat was tossed. How was I to know that you'd send her with a lantern to bring me in? “Are you positive this is a friend?” the captain grimaced. “Those are cliffs of rock ahead, if I'm not mistaken.” The sexiest thing is trust. I wake up to find the pirates have come, tying up along your coast. How was I to know the pirates had come? Between Rebecca's, beneath your firmaments, I have worshiped in the Jamaica Inn.

When I was younger I looked for lighthouses—as one of those wild ships on the sea in my twenties. I found a lot of other wild ships out there just like me. Some of us were trying to board one another's ships. But there weren't a lot of lighthouses.

If you look at it through the medicine wheel, my generation is moving slowly from west now to north. We're having to move because we're getting shoved out. You cannot always be the one with the blazing lights that no one has seen before. But a lighthouse is something you can depend on. You see land in the distance when you are that new ship, and little do you know that there are monstrous underwater cliffs with hooks that say “50 percent” on them, and boy, you could sure use a lighthouse.

There are women to whom I look for guidance, and they have been walking that dark walk. They have been around long enough. Having to carve out a path with just a little matchstick, in some instances. But still I could go have a cup of tea with these mentors; they had an open door. But that role has been so marginalized in our popular culture. To me, that's why you see so many people chasing youth. Yet these young ingenues who define our standards cannot be the high priestesses, because they haven't walked the road. They haven't gone to visit Persephone and faced their own reflection while on their knees.

A good way to think of it is, you're part of something. Not the center. You make choices to be effective, and telling stories is a way for people to step into different worlds with you without leaving our chairs. There are some days as a songwriter when you look out at five thousand people and say to yourself, “Well, I can either take them on a giant rollerskate ride or down the cave of a projectile-vomiting dragon.” And you really don't want to do the latter. So I apologize in advance if you find yourself in this dragon's cave at any of my shows. But I also know some cute dragons …

There are artists who really feel they are the seductress. And some of them are. Some of them hold the codes to this archetype, and watching them move is akin to watching flowers turn themselves into liquid perfume. This is a delicious archetype to play with, but it can also be a double-edged sword if the seduction has blinded the performer to her own inner beauty. This eventually can become a nightmare and a painful place to be because of the lonely narcissism of it, and the risk. The fall is great. The chroniclers who first defined the role of the artist understood this. In ancient days, there was no confusion about whether the artist was the king or the subject. He was not. But the chronicler was sovereign as he tried to pinpoint what was going on in the village. I'm trying to get back to a sense of what it means to be an artist in a community. The storyteller brings forth what is hidden, and what is being erased.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Tori:

First, a thanks to Husband for patience and perspective, and to Natashya for giving up “Tash Time.” Ann, it's been a privilege. Chelsea, I could not have done this without our daily two-hour international brainstorming. Johnny, many thanks for dealing with all the headaches so I didn't have to. To Mel for being so giving of your art and vision for the cover. Rakesh, you warrior you … Gerry for believing and Sheri for the beauty you give.

To Mom and Dad as always for their sense of humor.

To those who have given good counsel—Phil, Jim, the Wolf, Jamie, John, and Heather.

To the Crew, near and far, and for those interviewed: Keith, Andy, Matt, Jon, Ali, Joel, Jen, Dunc, Marcel, Miss Karen, and Dan. To Cody and Hayley for book nitpicking in the nicest possible way. Hugs to Marie, Beenie (Nancy), Super-Debs, Kelsey, Helen, Adam, Loren, Mike, Neil, Manny, and everyone at Martian.

Ann:

Undying thanks to Eric Weisbard for incredible patience in a time of great craziness, and to Rebecca, simply for existing. Tori, your brilliance, curiosity, and heart made this experience more than I could have hoped for. I echo all of Tori's thank-yous, from Chelsea onward, to the family that has formed around Martian studios and on the road. A special thanks to Alison Evans—my pally on the bus.

Rakesh Satyal had the vision and Gerry Howard had the faith to make this unique project a reality. My agent, Sarah Lazin, is unparalleled in fighting for what her clients need; this is one of so many thanks I owe her. Catherine Mayhew helped with the details. Bob Santelli and my colleagues at Experience Music Project gave much-needed time and understanding, as did Craig Marks and Rob Tannenbaum at Blender. Kelley Guiney transcribed hours of conversation and offered important insights. Carrie Lehenbauer gave crucial support and feedback.

This book wasn't the only newborn to enter my life during this period. I thank the staff at Open Adoption and Family Services, especially Katie Ruprecht Stallman, for leading us through an extremely intense experience; their support allowed me to keep sane enough to work. More than anyone, I thank Mallory Blaschka, and her mom, Kelly, for their incredible strength and generosity in joining the gift circle that surrounds our daughter, Rebecca Brooklyn Weisbard, the spark that lights all my writing efforts now.

ABOUT THE AUTHORS
tori amos is foremost among the artists who have redefined the role of women in pop in the last decade. Her piano-based music revived that instrument in rock and roll, and her complex yet accessible songs have pushed the parameters of pop writing. Since the double-platinum success of her solo debut,
Little Earthquakes
, in 1992, Amos's albums and tours have reached millions of listeners worldwide. She is the co-founder of the Rape, Abuse, and Incest National Network (RAINN). Her ninth recording,
The Beekeeper
, was released in February 2005.
ann powers has been writing about popular music and society since the early 1980s. She is the author of
Weird Like Us: My Bohemian America
and co-editor of
Rock She Wrote: Women Write About Rock, Pop, and Rap.
She was a pop critic for the
New York Times
from 1997 until 2001 and an editor for the
Village Voice
from 1993 until 1996. She has written for most music publications and her work has been widely anthologized. She is currently a curator at the Experience Music Project, an interactive music museum in Seattle, Washington.

PHOTO AND ILLUSTRATION CREDITS
Insert photographs by Loren Haynes, copyright © 2005 by Loren Haynes. And grateful acknowledgment to the following for permission to reprint: page 52, The Art Archive/Musée du Louvre, Paris/Album/Joseph Martin; page 80, Real Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando, Madrid, Spain/Bridgeman Art Library, New York; page 88, copyright © Herb Kawainui Kane/Hawaiian Paradise Trading Co., Ltd.; page 105, The Fine Art Society, London, UK/Bridgeman Art Library, New York; page 155, Dahesh Museum of Art, New York USA/Bridgeman Art Library, New York; page 162, Whitford & Hughes, London, UK/Bridgeman Art Library, New York; page 202, Louvre, Paris, France, Peter Willi/Bridgeman Art Library, New York; page 244, Scala/Art Resource, NY; page 325, Borromeo/Art Resource, NY; page 338, copyright © Mimmo Jodice/CORBIS.

TORI AMOS: PIECE BY PIECE.
Copyright © 2005 by Tori Amos and Ann Powers. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information, address Broadway Books, a division of Random House, Inc.

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Tori Amos: piece by piece : a portrait of the artist : her thoughts. her conversations. / Tori Amos and Ann Powers.—1st ed. p. cm.

1. Amos, Tori. 2. Rock musicians—United States—Biography. I. Powers, Ann. II. Title

ML420.A5874A3 2005

782.42166′092—dc22

[B] 2004057538

eISBN: 978-0-307-49204-3

v3.0