As an old dog, I often think back to the formative artistic experiences of my late teens & early 20s. I have left most of them behind for one reason or another; some, like Nietzsche have receded as I only want to read him in German which means one page per 10 minutes; others, like U2, have become shameless globohomo shills, and Bono’s voice and talent have both disappeared; Tori Amos is a little special – as an impressionable 17-year-old, I found this hot redhead enticing & exciting

and she led me to read Neil Gaiman’s Sandman series. I even saw a concert of hers and got the eerie impression she was repeatedly looking directly at me – though I suspect this was a mere performative trick. Little Earthquakes was (I think) the first CD I ever bought, along with Metallica’s …And Justice for All; I was mesmerised by it, by the gorgeous ‘Silent All These Years’

Lyrics like “Yes I know what you think of me, you never shut up” cut to the point with an everyday unpoetic poetry, if you like.

As I grew older, I lost interest in her new music and increasingly disliked her persona; in my 20s I had been a little bruised by narcissists, and also come to recoil from my own narcissistic tendencies, and so perceived the exhibitionism, vanity, and grandiosity in Tori Amos; not merely in her “shocking” cover art:

but in her very musical technique – too many pointless trills, to showcase her voice. Of course, every performer tends to be a narcissist but I found her blend increasingly offputting. A couple of years ago I realised I hadn’t played any of her music in a decade and so googled, and found this (quite good) song with her daughter:

It’s nothing special; just what you would expect from an expensive studio, producer, and sufficient vocal talent. I was struck, however, by the expressions on both women’s faces – a smug, knowing, “I am better than you” look which I call the Streep. It’s a look I saw on one of the narcissists I knew in my early 20s, let’s call her B, a largely talentless midwit who read a book every six months and has now become a Guardian-reading school teacher; B is now marked by a look of permanent sneering hauteur, and finger-wagging certitude:

– a look to which I respond with either the Mel or the Vince:

Recently, I’ve had some Tori Amos songs in my head; the one which returns most often is ‘Tear In Your Hand’, not one of the big hits but, more & more, my favourite.

It’s a great break-up song:

I don’t believe you’re leaving cause me and Charles Manson like the same ice cream
I think it’s that girl and I think there’re pieces of me you’ve never seen
Maybe she’s just pieces of me you’ve never seen well

All in all, my middle-aged self is glad she existed for my 17-year-old self.