Tori Amos is the kind of artist who saves lives.
Starting out as a classically trained lounge pianist, she burst onto the American alt-rock scene with her revelatory debut album Little Earthquakes (1992). This starkly explored the issues of sexuality, religion, upbringing and female identity which would become common threads in the tapestry of her career; which would inspire academic studies and graphic novels alike; and which would establish Tori Amos as our greatest living songwriter.
Exhibiting a voracious approach to genre, she has mastered many in her time. Industrial rock, classical crossover, gospel, electronic and folk are just a few of the myriad textures in her palette, all united by one linking thread: the piano. A famously virtuosic instrumentalist, she's customarily found at the bench of a nine-foot-long Bösendorfer, but has also had flings with Wurlitzers, harpsichords and organs over the decades.
A superlative live artist, who varies her setlist every single night, Amos has cultivated the kind of fanbase that will follow her from city to city, never missing a show. To these fans, she is alternately healer, confidante and muse. Her labyrinthine lyrics unfold themselves gradually over months or even years, soundtracking births and deaths and breakups, and her fans will devote countless hours to the work of decoding.
On a personal level, Tori has soundtracked my life, love and loss. She can provide a song to match every mood, to satiate every impulse, to make sense of every circumstance, in a way that no other artist can. Her songs tend to float in and out of my life, reappearing when they're needed. The fervent 'Crucify' has lifted me from emotional lows, the jaunty 'Wednesday' made me smile, and the liberating 'Precious Things' soothed my pain.
Having unleashed a breathless salvo of magnum opuses throughout the 90s, Amos continues to write and record to this day from her Cornwall studio, the most recent albums exploring U.S. politics, familial loss and female ageing. As she turns sixty, weeks after completing a 93-date tour in support of her Ocean to Ocean album, we're delighted to count down 20 of Tori's all-time best.
'Ocean to Ocean' photography (above): © Desmond Murray.
20. "Bang" (2017)
Amos' strongest work intricately intertwines the personal and the political, and 'Bang' is perhaps the best example. A highlight of 2017's Native Invader, the song was released at a time of great socio-political division during the Trump administration. As its entrancing medieval thump dissolves into blistering Wurlitzer B-sections, 'Bang' challenges its listener to confront America's systematically heartless treatment of immigrants. The deadly waltz ends with an impassioned listing of chemical elements ('Iodine / Iron / Manganese / Molybdenum'), a coda unlikely to deflect omnipresent comparisons to fellow art-rock songstress Kate Bush (who similarly—and infamously—sung pi to 100+ decimal places). However, the recital here serves to illustrate that "we're all made of stars", tracing every single human being's lineage back to the Big Bang which created us all, and, in doing so, pleading for a politics of empathy and unity.
19. "Time" (2001)
Tori Amos is the undisputed Queen of Covers. She regularly reinterprets others' songs live, providing a fresh take on classic compositions, and her exemplary cover of Nirvana's 'Smells Like Teen Spirit' is one of her most-streamed songs on Spotify. For 2001's Strange Little Girls album, Amos chose to reinterpret male songwriters' works from a female perspective, and whilst her version of Tom Waits' 'Time' gains little from this gimmick, the rendition is so strikingly beautiful in its piano-and-vocal simplicity that it more than earns its place on this list. When invited to be David Letterman's first musical guest since the 9/11 attacks, Amos chose to perform 'Time', an appropriately respectful meditation on love and loss.
18. "Etienne" (1988)
Before Tori Amos, there was Y Kant Tori Read. Named for its vocalist's refusal to read sheet music during her time at the prestigious Peabody Conservatory (where, naturally, she was the youngest student ever admitted), this short-lived 1980s new wave band dissipated after one album. As often happens, fans have warmed to Y Kant Tori Read considerably in the years since its initial commercial failure, sustained partly by Amos' gradual willingness to perform its songs live. The winsome reincarnation ballad 'Etienne' evokes the Scottish moors and the fields of France, as Amos encapsulates the sense of knowing someone your whole life or perhaps longer: "I know I've held you, but I can't remember where or when".
17. "Lady in Blue" (2009)
From the 'overstuffed but underappreciated' late-00s section of Amos' oeuvre comes 'Lady in Blue'. This seven-minute epic conjures up the simple but vivid image of a woman sharing a cigarette with a stranger, reminiscing on lost love and lost life. Over a stately thump of wispy synths, the conversation soon turns to the future: "Boys play well into midnight / 'Can I join you?' / Said the lady in blue". This doubtless autobiographical anxiety of ageing is a topic to which Amos returned for 2014's Unrepentant Geraldines, before heeding her daughter's advice to "go be at the height of your magical powers and just rock!" It may have taken Tori herself a little longer, but her Lady in Blue recognises her magical powers sooner; the song ends in a full-blown jam session in which she confidently asserts "I can play too".
16. "Cornflake Girl" (1994)
On first listen, 'Cornflake Girl' doesn't sound like a hit. It's a hellish barn dance, inspired by stories of female genital mutilation and featuring an idiosyncratic vocal performance of epenthetic whoops and snarls. And yet, the track became Amos' most successful international hit, and its success arguably lies in its unapologetically—bewilderingly—alternative nature. Responding to Alice Walker's Possessing the Secret of Joy, 'Cornflake Girl' processes the novel's discussion of familial betrayal through the prism of the cornflake girls and the raisin girls, their playground powerplay rendered in swirling piano melodies. Along the way, Amos finds time for not one, but TWO of the coolest piano solos in the history of rock music. Her catalogue's catchiest oddity, this colossus remains a staple of Amos' live shows to this day.
15. "The Beekeeper" (2005)
Amos' organ-studded 2005 album The Beekeeper houses some overlooked gems, despite a reputation for leaning too heavily into Adult Contemporary stylings. Far less toothless than much of its parent album, the title track augments its chirping Hammond organ lines with growling electronics and subtly padding percussion. Imagining a conversation with "the one who taps you on the shoulder when it's your time", Amos writes frankly about the shock of realising the mortality of one's loved ones, sparked by her own mother's cardiac arrest. Although its lyrics acknowledge that Mary Amos survived her brush with death ("maybe I'm passing you by, / just passing you by, girl"), 'The Beekeeper' asserts that this doesn't diminish the emotional power of the experience, or the awareness that it has brought. A stark and resonant addition to Amos' catalogue.
14. "Siren" (1998)
Amos' contribution to the soundtrack of Alfonso Cuarón's adaptation of Great Expectations, 'Siren' is a song about seduction and fulfilment. Its lyrics bridge the gap between Greek mythology and Dickens' novel, the titular temptress weaponising her femininity against a resistant man whom she knows is "gonna lie to you / In your own way". Amos' compositions range from sprawling classical epics to tightly focused pop masterworks; the laser-focused precision of 'Siren' hews closer to the latter end of the scale, producing one of her sharpest, most intense choruses on record. Over a bed of propulsive, swirling piano-rock, Amos' soaring vocal tells of a woman "almost brave / almost pregnant / almost in love". Alluring and arcane.
13. "Caught a Lite Sneeze" (1996)
Amos' seminal breakup album, Boys for Pele (1996) has to be heard to be believed. A tumult of piano, harpsichord and brass, its 18 tracks are haunted by an otherworldly sense of dejection. The album was recorded in an old Irish church, whose presence is somehow audible in every note of Pele, from the mournful opener 'Horses' to the delicate closing chords of 'Twinkle'. Fusing an intricate harpsichord vamp to an industrial percussion loop, album highlight 'Caught a Lite Sneeze' sees Amos attempt to rationalise a failed relationship as a 'lightweight lightning-seed'; the result is unlike anything she released before or after.
12. "Parasol" (2005)
One of Amos' best album openers, 'Parasol' begins 2005's The Beekeeper with sumptuous waves of Hammond organ and groovy percussion. Confronted by traumatic personal upheaval, Amos imagines herself as the subject of a Georges Seurat painting, exhibiting an ekphrastic desire to flee the real world and instead inhabit the world of art, where she will be "safe in [her] frame". A soulful exploration of coping mechanisms, the understated and underrated 'Parasol' found its apotheosis in a lighter-than-air piano arrangement on 2014's Unrepentant Geraldines Tour.
11. "A Sorta Fairytale" (2002)
Amos explains that 'A Sorta Fairytale' is about taking a trip to the desert and realising your soulmate isn't quite who you thought they were (hence "a sorta fairytale with you"). Whilst the concept is emotionally arresting, its impact is soothed by lyrics rooted in the honeymoon stage ("I knew then it would be a lifelong thing") and its classic instrumentation, a radio-ready mix of acoustic guitars and soft piano. Uncomplicated yet fulfilling, 'A Sorta Fairytale' stands as Amos' ultimate road trip anthem, and remains a fondly remembered fan favourite. Bonus points for the gloriously wtf body-horror music video, which sees Amos' disembodied leg fall in love with Adrien Brody's autonomous arm.
10. "Pancake" (2002)
Amos' superlative concept album Scarlet's Walk (2002) takes the form of a 'great American road trip' across post-9/11 America, examining the country's changing society. The gritty 'Pancake' intersects sharply with contemporary politics, challenging the trend of toothless activism ("a dash of truth spread thinly"). Over bubbling Wurlitzer and yelping stereo guitars, an uncharacteristically bellicose Amos tosses out lines like "seems in vogue to be a closet misogynist homophobe" like they're nothing, piercing the veneer of the limousine liberal. The song urges the necessity for actions to match words, its speaker bemoaning how "you used to look my god right in the eye" but how that confidence has now collapsed into a phoney façade of political awareness. An electric examination of how we engage with politics, allied to a formidable groove.
9. "Silent All These Years" (1991)
Tori Amos' debut album Little Earthquakes consists of twelve compelling meditations on personal struggles and their frequent links to the broader issue of female agency. Perhaps no song better encapsulates the themes of the collection than its early and enduring single, 'Silent All These Years'. Amos' shiver-inducing vocal sings of rape and rage, of fighting back against the suppression of female agency, and of a woman recognising and inhabiting her power: "sometimes I hear my voice / And it's been here, silent all these years". The piece also serves as a mission statement for Amos' incorporation of the piano (likewise "here, silent all these years") into rock music; the short chromatic piano introduction recalls a pianist's warmup exercise.
8. "Pretty Good Year" (1994)
Inspired by a letter from a fan, the opener to 1994's Under the Pink ruminates on the feeling of purposelessness, of life passing you by without anything to show for it. A masterwork of control, 'Pretty Good Year' is alternately gentle and intense, high and low, polished and unadorned, all the while encapsulating the sense of the whirling December snows, when your thoughts turn ruefully to the year that was. Its pre-chorus gathers intensity, a snowball crashing into the simple chorus lyric "well, still, pretty good year"; a sudden, explosive B-section is the crowning glory. You listen to the magisterial beauty of 'Pretty Good Year', its masterful sense of push and pull, its rom-com strings complementing tinkling piano notes, and it's obvious that Tori Amos was always going to be a star.
7. "Spark" (1998)
The first icy guitar tones of 'Spark' announce the art-rock stylings that characterise Amos' most accessible collection, 1998's From the Choirgirl Hotel. Prompted by her miscarriage, Amos delivers some of her most nihilistic lyrics as she confronts her newfound powerlessness, the song telling of a woman "convinced she could hold back a glacier / But she couldn't keep baby alive". From its volatile piano bridge to its soaring chorus ("you say you don't want it, again and again / But you don't, don't really mean it"), 'Spark' benefits immensely from a full-bodied rock arrangement, Amos searing her trauma into every chilling note.
6. "Bouncing Off Clouds" (2007)
The strong songcraft of 2007's American Doll Posse is frequently sullied by overproduction, the whole package mired in a creative but confusing marketing concept (whereby Amos' personality was fragmented into five 'dolls', each singing specific songs). Ironic, then, that the set's undisputed frontrunner 'Bouncing Off Clouds' is about choosing not to overcomplicate life or love: "we could make this easy / It's not as heavy as it seems". Tackling the anxieties common to many relationships (but leaving enough gaps in the canvas for each individual listener to personalise the picture), this uplifting piece of pop sees Amos urging "we could be bouncing off the top of this cloud", propelled by joyous guitars and appropriately perky drums.
5. "Crucify" (1992)
The first track of Amos' first album recognises what a terrifying place the world can be. The jagged 'Crucify' tackles the self-destructive anxiety which holds many of us back, and which is created from both without and within. As angular piano chords reverberate over heavy percussion, Amos demands "why do we crucify ourselves every day? / I crucify myself – nothing I do is good enough for you", unpicking a complex tangle of blame and shame in which men, Christ and the self are all enchained. The immortal line "got enough guilt to start my own religion" adds weight to the song's undeniable religious aspect, but the lyrics readily apply to any relationship or simply to an anxious attitude towards life. Live performances see the belligerent final assertion "never going back again to crucify myself" repeated in a rising fury, to the rapturous delight of fans. An empowerment anthem which promises that the chains will be broken.
4. "Cooling" (1998)
Much of Amos' best material doesn't make it to her albums; her gamut of B-sides includes fan favourites and career highlights alike. The perennially popular live staple 'Cooling' is one of these, an achingly beautiful conception of unadorned piano and vocal which first appeared alongside the 'Spark' single. Its initially opaque lyric reveals itself clearly as soon as you find yourself in the situation that it describes, for 'Cooling' is about the paralytic state of analysing a relationship that's ending before you're ready ("this is cooling faster than I can"). Possibly the ultimate breakup song, 'Cooling' derives its power from verbalising the trauma of having to find closure when that feels illogical and impossible. In an especially crowded field, "and is your place in heaven worth giving up these kisses?" might be Amos' most potent lyric.
3. "Precious Things" (1992)
Beginning in medias res with the percussive breaths of a hunted woman, 'Precious Things' sees Amos confronting the shitty ways that men treat women. A menacing maelstrom of pounding drumbeats and terrifying piano jangles, the song is at once exorcism and baptism, Amos recounting the times she has debased herself for men before begging "these precious things, / Let them break their hold on me". Amos' angsty renunciation of the patriarchy gives rise to her discography's most iconic line: "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". And yet, for all the pleading "let them bleed, let them wash away", there is no defined finality; the song ends in an agonised animal howl and the repeated confession that these male attentions remain "precious" to her. A monumental composition, eclipsing other artists' entire discographies.
2. "Gold Dust" (2002)
Amos closes Scarlet's Walk with the dynamic, rumbling 'Gold Dust', which traces a journey all of its own. At the end of her travels, the titular voyager considers all the people she's seen, and all the people she's been, recalling how "sights and sounds pull me back down, another year / I was here". Inspired by her own experiences of motherhood, Amos remarks that the true gold dust is to be found in every seemingly unimportant little thing that makes us who we are, and which we don't appreciate until it's too late: "'How did it go so fast?' / you'll say as we are looking back, / and then we'll understand: / we held Gold Dust in our hands". Texturing her reflections with billowing strings and beautiful understated piano cadences, Amos also dispenses her greatest philosophy on life, not as a regret but simply as an observation: "and we make it up as we go along".
1. "Winter" (1992)
A heartfelt and heartbreaking ballad about her father, 'Winter' is objectively Amos' best song. Little Earthquakes' towering triumph emblematises everything that she does best, from tearjerking lyricism to gorgeous piano melodies. Over resonant orchestral backing, Amos evokes the wintery atmosphere of the day she realised that her father wouldn't always be around to love her. 'Winter' is therefore an anthem of self-belief, of becoming your own person, and it boasts Amos' best vocal performance on record, collapsing to a whisper as she recounts her father's question "when you gonna make up your mind? / When you gonna love you as much as I do?" (incidentally, Amos' own favourite of her lyrics). A mesmerically beautiful piece of music, which more than justifies Tori Amos' place as our greatest living songwriter.
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