The Little Earthquakes Of Tori Amos Briefly Enlightened

Is Tori Amos powerful? Does her music have something to say that matters? Are Sirens sometimes lighthouses? Yes. She almost got through to me for a season.

Tori Amos was a minister’s kid with a deeply religious mother. At 21 she survived a horrific sexual assault at knife point. She was a child prodigy who studied at the Peabody Institute. At the age of 5 she was their youngest student. At 11 she had to end her studies there. The scholarships ended.

In the 80s she signed a 6 album deal with Atlantic Records for her band, Y Kant Tori Read. It did not do very well, but Atlantic told her in 1990 that they wanted an album by 1991 to honor her end of the contract. She went back to her piano roots and gave them Little Earthquakes. They hated it.

Atlantic sent someone to meet with her and get her to get away from this piano driven body that spoke about strict religious households, sexuality, kink, finding her voice, and rape. But the man they sent loved it and did the opposite of what they asked him to do. Instead of killing the project, he supported it.

But the record label still did not believe in it. They decided to release it and give it a tour in Europe in small intimate clubs in the hopes of squeezing a little money out of this project. The Earthquake that was Tori Amos would shake up an industry.

In a time of grunge ruling the alternative music space, this pure voice with songs that lacked guitars, and often percussion, shook the music industry.

Over 2 decades later, she is still performing and creating and shaking things up.

On paper she has 16 studio albums to her name, but outside the studio, she has 57 albums between 1992 and 2021. 57.

Tori Amos does not write about feminism, but she writes as a woman who wants a better space for women. Like Kate Bush she is given the title even though she does not grab the crown. But the truth of who she is and what she represents is in her music. Her music has songs of women owning their sexuality, singing against rape culture, and rallying against that which silences a woman’s voice. And love that is equal, even if it painful sometimes.

I discovered Tori Amos shortly before she became a hit.

For regular readers of this column, you will know some of the people mentioned. For new readers, follow the rabbit hole of hyperlinks.

Shortly after the death of a girl I had been dating named Sarah, I went into a deep fundamental religious immersion. It was toxic, but it masked the pain of loss and other traumas I had experienced.

That religious immersion included studying to be a minister and finding a Christian woman my church would approve of. I would also let go of my camera, it was an idol before God. I let go of secular music as it was demonic. Strong women had a jezebel spirit. And LGBTQIA+ people had an agenda to topple society. These were all things I had resisted at one time, but they had a grip on me. I was lost.

I would enter 1992 (only a few months after Sarah died) dating a woman the church gave a seal of approval to. That year we would get engaged. I do not remember what my sin was. I may have smoked a cigarette or a joint or said one too many swear words, but she briefly broke it off and gave me my ring back.

My ego was broken more than my heart and I had no idea what to say to my church and Bible College leaders. I walked into a record store for the first time in awhile. I was only getting my church approved Christian music from Christian book stores. This was naughty and it felt good.

My friend that had worked in the record store for years was now a store manager. He saw me and he lit up and gave me a hug. He asked me how I was. I shrugged and said I was doing okay. I did not want to talk about my life, I was different now and I did not like the difference, or myself, very much.

“Doug,” I said. “I need something new. Something different. Got anything for me? And it can’t be grunge! I don’t like grunge or flannel. Hacky sacks is as far as I go!”

“Follow me, Pat!” Doug said. He took me to the new releases and handed me a CD. It was Tori Amos’ debut album “Little Earthquakes”. The front cover was a barefoot redhead in denim by a toy piano coming out of a box. The back cover had phallic symbols on it. It disturbed me.

“I know you like Kate Bush and she has that kinda vibe.” I winced inside when Doug mentioned Kate Bush. I had stopped listening to her shortly after I lost a girlfriend, Cassie, in the late 80s to a mental health break that led to her aunt making sure we never saw each other again. Blondie and Kate Bush were off my play lists even before my full immersion into fundie faith. Avoidance was my solution to the festering wounds inside me. I think Doug recognized something in my countenance.

“It’s on the house, Pat.” Doug said. He handed me the CD. I left the record store, got in my red Mitsubishi Galant, put the CD in, lit a cigarette, and drove.

Her voice and compositions were nothing like Kate Bush. But the vibe had an echo to it. It shook me. It felt like a sin listening to it. The songs. You could tell she came from a strict religious background she had escaped. She was discovering her sexual nature and celebrating it. There was pain of love lost and her voice struggling to be found. This was unique and it was dangerous according to my masters.

Then came the second to last song on the CD. “Me and a Gun”. Acapella. Haunting. Honest. Shocking.

It was about rape. Her rape. It was violent and she was forced to sing a hymn while he raped her. She did not know if she would live the night. I was stunned. On the heels of that, the title track ended the CD. Now she had my full attention.

“These little earthquakes
Doesn’t take much to rip us into pieces”

I felt that. Sudden moments, little moments, could rip you into pieces. There was a fragility.

Then came a repetitive chorus that I felt.

“Give me life
Give me pain
Give me myself again”

Over and over again that lyric repeated. And it reached into me. There was no life inside me. I was numb to the pain and I lost myself. I pulled the car into a parking lot. All I wanted was to weep, but all I could get out of me was punching the steering wheel and screaming. I was in a parking lot of a bar. I did not want to get hammered, but I wanted my inhibitions down just enough to feel something again. So I went inside.

It was a karaoke night. In the bar was a girl I knew from high school. We were friendly, but not friends. I was friends with her brother in a different time and place. She was signing The Rose by Better Midler. It was beautiful. After her song she greeted me and introduced me to her friends at the table.

I did not say much, but it was nice being around people and hearing the laughter. I danced with her and one of her friends and just had fun. There was dancing and laugher. I could not feel the pain, but I lived a little that night and felt like myself for a moment.

I kept going to karaoke night and dancing. Dancing was forbidden by my church. Alcohol was forbidden. Secular music was forbidden. But I was feeling again and in between karaoke nights I was listening to Tori, Kate Bush, Blondie, Madonna, and others. The church would say it was a siren call leading a sailor to his doom. Looking back I would say they were lighthouses guiding a sailor through the fog I was lost in.

One night, my karaoke singing friend and I would find ourselves in each others arms after her college graduation party. Tori Amos played in the background as we made love. I wanted more than that night, but that night was enough for her and it was beautiful as it was. I had to be okay with that and realize that it was beautiful where it was and that a relationship would not work.

It opened up a window of exploration for a few months.

I lived in two different worlds again. In one I was deeply religious and becoming a minister. In the other I was going to the Rocky Horror Show every Saturday, Karaoke on Tuesdays. I was tasting life with normal people my age. And I had my hands raised to God.

On Saturday’s at Rocky horror I had a gay friend as part of my group. On Sunday’s we prayed for America to be delivered from the threat of him. Tuesday night I would dance with women and sometimes we would sleep together. On Wednesday nights I would pray for the music to end and women to discover the error of their immoral ways.

I just wanted to cry and I wanted one life. Tori Amos gave a glimpse of a post church life. A life with scars, but freedom. I wanted that but the chains were strong.

I still could not feel what I had suppressed. There were no tears. I desperately wanted the tears.

I met another woman I knew from high school. She worked at an auto parts store I was getting a new battery at. We went on a date. I was enjoying the date.

As we drove to her home she told me her mom could not believe she was dating someone studying to be a minister. Her deeply religious family never approved of anything she did and she felt intimidated dating someone of my station.

When I dropped her off, she gave signals that I could kiss her. I wanted to, but something else was going on inside me as I looked at her in her leather biker jacket. It reminded me of a leather jacket I bought for a girl I knew named Heather in 1988.With that memory came a flood of memories of Heather holding me as I cried after Sarah died. I couldn’t cry anymore.

And I saw this woman and recognized the trauma of abuse in a religious home. She was further away from religion than I was. She was on Tori’s path and there was hope for her.

I knew if I kissed her or had sex with her, I would not feel as completely as I wanted to. I also felt that I might restrict her growth. It was just a date, but it was a good one. Really good. I saw two paths if it worked.

In the first path our common trauma from religion would help us escape. The other path had me taking control and dragging her into the dark world of being a pastor’s wife.

This felt wrong. She deserved to be wanted for her, she deserved her beautiful freedom. We both deserved that, but I did not see me as mattering yet.

I dropped her off, never called her again, and drove home.

I put the Tori Amos CD into the player.

The song “precious things” caught me off guard.

I want to smash the faces
Of those beautiful boys
Those Christian boys
So you can make me cum
That doesn’t make you Jesus

These precious things
Let them bleed
Let them wash away
These precious things
Let them break
Their hold on me

I cried. I felt the pain. The scab had been ripped off and it was powerful. Cassie. Sarah. Being raped by my step dad and a leader in my church. I felt it all and I should have let the bleeding in my soul cleanse the wound. But after suppressing so much for so long, it was too much.

Life, pain, and being myself. I couldn’t have this.

I went back to my church approved girlfriend begging her to forgive me for whatever normal thing I did and turned off my heart.

Tori Amos was a little earthquake, but it just rattled a few dishes in a home that had already been destroyed.

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