Recommendations of the Editorial team
Tori Amos has just released her 18th studio album: “In Times of Dragons,” a dark, allegorical work that is also her most politically charged long player. At the center is a character called the Lizard Demon – an embodiment of powerful, ruthless men. Over Amos keeps the role models silent: “I’m not saying this is based in Washington, DC. We’re not naming names,” she explains when asked. Instead, she creates a story in which her protagonist is trapped in a life of luxury, married to this enigmatic villain – until she finally manages to break out.
Although Amos typically writes alone, “In Times of Dragons” marks a rare exception: The album features contributions from her 25-year-old daughter Natasha “Tash” Hawley, who is graduating from law school this year. The collaboration came about almost by chance. After Amos mapped out the narrative structure of the album, she got stuck on the music. The breakthrough came when Tash resurfaced recordings of the two of them casually improvising at the piano that had been forgotten for months. That’s just one of many things that makes this album stand out in a career full of surprising decisions.
ROLLING STONE caught up with Amos ahead of her European tour to discuss the urgency of the new album, music business lessons, why she stayed away from Lilith Fair in the ’90s, and the creative journey that has shaped her career from early rejections to reinvention.
Daughter Tash as co-author
Your daughter has three co-writing credits on this album – a rarity for you. How did this come about?
I had trouble with this record and told her so. Then she said, “Mom, six months ago in Florida we were just jamming around on the piano and I recorded it.” And I thought, in my menopausal state of mind, “We jammed?” Then she sent me “Strawberry Moon” and “Stronger Together.” That was the starting signal.
They’ve made political albums before, but this one feels more raw and urgent. What makes it different from the others?
Honestly, no one really needed me during the Obama years. [Auf diesem Album] the Lizard Demon is based on real people. He is a condensation of several men. We don’t name names. Now we go down a fork in the road that goes way back. What if I had chosen a different man in my life? I had to allow myself to make that choice in order to write this record – because this had to be a narrative. If you want to document our time, I think the only way to do it is through allegory so that other people can come in and become part of the story.
How did you find your voice as a singer early in your career?
That took a while. I imitated everyone. I’ve been called a third-rate Pat Benatar. I played in piano bars and covered covers – that was my big school. You listen to other singers, Stevie Nicks, the whole range, and look for the ones you can do yourself. I stood in front of the mirror and tried to sing “Magic Man.” You try to imitate these women and find your own voice.
Advice to the younger self
What advice would you give your younger self when you released your debut Little Earthquakes?
Don’t mess with the suits. Instead of thinking you can pee on her desk, open some champagne. Just open the champagne, drink it and tell them how great they are – instead of telling them the truth. That would have done so much for me.
What do you wish you had known earlier about performing live?
Study Prince, Robert Plant and Jim Morrison. That’s what the muses told me and I did it. So I did that right. I watched her. I’ve seen them plug into a tension. If you’re yourself out there, you’re doing everything wrong. You gotta fucking leave yourself in the dressing room. Be a channel. Let the muses and the songs flow through you. Performing is not about you. Anyone who understands this is doing it right. Ego stays at the door. You serve. You surrender. The piano has to play you.
When did your muses start showing themselves?
Very early on – but then I lost sight of her when I started chasing success in the music business. After seven and a half years of rejections and the thought: “I can’t keep this up with the piano bars much longer…” Luckily, the piano found its way back to me. But that crash before “Little Earthquakes” [1992] was necessary. I’m so grateful for that because in the difficult times surrounding “Boys for Pele” [1996] – that was such a controversial album, such a hard time – without the experience of 1988, when [meine frühe Band] Y Kant Tori Read burned, couldn’t have withstood the heat of 1996. That’s exactly why I vowed back then to stay true to the muses.
Lilith Fair and Sovereignty
They never played at Lilith Fair. In your 1998 ROLLING STONE cover story you said: “This isn’t about eating chicken and listening to your favorite singers. Whoever comes to my show enters my world. It’s a movie every night. I can’t force that on Lilith and vice versa.” How do you see it today?
I would Sarah [McLachlan] send – they would find it strange. She would laugh her ass off. She has a real sense of humor. [Lilith] was a great business model. She created something significant. To be honest, I have to give her credit for that. She asked me to headline. I have great respect for Sarah. At that time I was trying to find my independence. Being part of a festival like this didn’t feel like my path to get there.
What is your favorite city in the world?
London. Without question. I came to London for the first time in 1991. I didn’t know anyone. So I went to the Tower of London with my sandwich and talked to the dead queens. I imagined Anne Boleyn walking through the Traitors’ Gate. I sat on a bench and waited for her to come. And she came every time. And we had these conversations. They were mostly very commonplace.
What did you talk about?
She told me things like, “Tori, don’t try too hard to make friends. Keep coming back to the Traitors’ Gate. I’m here every day. You can talk to me. Just take a step back, don’t be too eager – and everything will be fine.”
Photographs in illustration:
Kasia Wozniak; Rob Verhorst/Redferns/Getty Images