March 3, 2008

Tori Amos: an acquired taste still worth trying

American Doll Posse

Laura
Kelsey

assistant editor

     
 

Dee Amos has always had something
to say, but it’s usually hidden in cryptic
prose and left up to the listener’s
imagination to interpret. Now in her mid-
40s, the outspoken American songwriter
has been releasing albums for over 15
years and has never managed to break
into standard radio play. It has almost
been a year since her latest, American
Doll Posse, was released and, true to
form, it built on the success of her rabid
underground following but didn’t further
her mainstream popularity. It may seem
strange to be reviewing a record released
last year, but music should hardly have
a Shelf date, and every now and again, it
pays to revisit an artist or record that you
may have overlooked.

American Doll Posse comes off
as an eccentric ploy for album sales to
non-fans, but remains a sure favourite
for Amos-addicts. The retail album
special edition includes a. number of
perks to entice consumers to purchase
rather than download. Along with the
23-song CD, bonus visual DVD and
pack of Amos-image postcards, a 34-
page booklet explains the five different
roles Amos personifies throughout the
album: Tori, Pip, Clyde, Isabel, and

Santa. These characters share the vocal
duties on the diversified tracks, and each
personality has a unique appearance and
form of expression (something similar to
what she did for the 2001 covers album
Strange Little Girls).

“Yo George” starts off the album
with a blatant plea to President George
W. Bush. Amos, in her blonde, rebellious
Isabel incarnation, does nothing to mask
her disdain for the president, singing
that America is stuck with the “madness
of King George...you have the whole
nation on all fours.” Despite being
almost a year old, the song seems even
more immediate in the context of the
upcoming US election.

The first single from the album,
“Big Wheel,” is a honky-tonk danceable
number. Except for the midway
breakdown, where Tori proclaims she
is a “M-I-L-F, don’t you forget,” the
clapping beat throughout the song makes
it difficult for listeners not to tap their
feet,

Clyde, §Amos’s brunette
manifestation, is the most artsy of the
bunch, and it shows in the songs credited
to her form. “Bouncing Off Clouds” is
Amos at her dramatic best, reminiscent
of her 1999 album To Venus and Back.
It is easy to picture the singer floating
through the sky while playing her piano
during this upbeat tune. In the booklet,
Clyde optimistically states, “All works
of art start as potential. Similarly, all
relationships start as potential.” It’s that
thoughtful nature that shines through in
Clyde’s other tunes, “Girl Disappearing,”
“Roosterspur Bridge” and “Beauty of
Speed.”

 

The darker and more guitar-
driven tracks of the album, performed
by the raven-wigged Pip, including
“Teenage Hustling” and “Fat Slut,”
continue Amos’s tradition of writing
in girls and teens as the protagonists
(or antagonists) of her usually abstract
lyrics—a trend apparent in the albums
Little Earthquakes (1992) and Under the
Pink (1994).

The sultry Santa, pictured in
tight dresses and short blond tresses,
performs the more fun ditties on the
record (“You Can Bring Your Dog,”
Programmable Soda”). Unfortunately,
the last track, “Dragon,” ends the album
with more of a whimper than a bang, but
still manages to round out the set well.

As has always been the
case throughout her 11 albums,
piano dominates the instrumental

 

accompaniment. Along with the staple
Bosendorfer, a few unconventional
instruments find their way onto the
record, like ukuleles and tap shoes.

Fans will greatly appreciate
American Doll Posse, but those
unfamiliar with her work might not even
make it through the first song. The use
of Amos’s alter egos is an interesting
idea, but it seems rehashed since Strange
Little Girls employed a similar concept.

Amos will undoubtedly
continue to capitalize on her aging
eccentricities until her fingers grow
arthritic and unable to play her piano.
She is an acquired taste— those who love
her will keep listening until she is on her
deathbed but those who don’t understand
her now will be further alienated by her
blunt behaviour and ever-maturing body
and mind.

 

“Money” by Pink Floyd

By Pat MacKenzie

 

Oats on the heels of the federal
budget, the writing of this week’s

installment might sound like it’s
inspired by that hallowed day when, in
carefully chosen rhetoric, the minority
Conservatives will lay out how they
plan to spend—or not spend—Canadian
taxpayers’ money. Although budget day
does seem to be a guaranteed attention
grabber, it is my own financial concerns,
or rather woes, that have compelled
me to choose that staple of classic rock
radio, Pink Floyd’s “Money.”

Trying to describe “Money”
might be superfluous to most people:
it is after all probably played at least
once a day if not more on any number

of radio stations throughout the world
specializing in guitar oriented rock from
mostly the 60s and 70s. But perhaps
some people do indeed live under rocks.
Foundontheseeminglyimmortal
Dark Side of the Moon, “Money” begins
with Roger Waters’ famous bass line that
forms the template for many beginners
of that instrument. Accompanied by
now iconic sound effects—the repeated
opening and closing of cash registers,
the throwing of change and the staccato
of adding machines—the bass is given a
coldly mechanical rhythm over which it
lays down its almost funky groove.
Perhaps best described as
“blues rock,” the song does seem to
play out in a certain heaviness that
echoes back to bluesy era of bands
such as Cream. However, different
from Cream’s propensity for guitar-
solo dominated jamming, “Money” is
far more rhythmic, and in a way, thanks
to Waters’ bass playing, the song kind
of swings. Except for David Gilmour’s
screaming solo towards the end, guitars
seem to linger behind the rhythm section
and keyboards. As if adding texture, the
guitars in the song are played through
heavy reverb and a wa-wa pedal, giving
“Money” a definite raunchiness or

 

sleaziness—a sonic connection to the
song’s subject matter.

The song appears to be written
from the point of view of someone who
regularly worships at the unaltruistic
altar of greed: “Money, it’s a hit/don’t
give me that do-goody-good bullshit/I’m
in the hi-fidelity first class traveling set/
And I think I need a Lear jet.” Although

   

  

written apparently tongue-in-cheek,
“Money” seems to offer a first glimpse
into Roger Waters’ now famous disdain
for society’s shallow obsession with
wealth and fame—themes he would
pursue to greater depth on Wish You Were
Here, Animals and The Wall.
Now can someone give me
some money?
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