Tori Amos
From the Choirgirl Hotel

THE REVIEW

This album came back to my mind just yesterday when my friend Fosca called me saying, “I was listening to Playboy Mommy and thought of you!”
I took it from the shelf where it had been buried for a long time because it is a painful album linked to a painful memory, but it is also one of my favorite works by Tori Amos, which played in my player for a very long time and which I often thought about reviewing.

I love Tori Amos because she is one of those artists who has made her art her therapy, her way to soothe wounds, to express her complexity and her contrasts.
Tori Amos is a woman who comes from an extremely religious and strict family; the rebellion against imposed schemes and values makes up the very essence of the sin itself. Anyone who has seen her concert, even just on video, can clearly perceive it from her practically physical and visceral connection with the piano and the sensuality and mischief that emanate from her every fiber and every look.
“From the Choirgirl Hotel” is her fourth album; in her previous ones, she had already exorcised almost all her fears, in her complex lyrics she had already clearly explained what she thinks of herself and what she thinks of men. But there is an event before this album that shook her right at the peak of her success, an event as unforeseen as it was painful, perhaps one of the most painful for a woman, namely the loss of the child she was expecting.

This is “From the Choirgirl Hotel”, the re-elaboration of that same pain, of those emotions, and that suffering. What one will find inside is already understood from the beautiful cover in which Tori seems trapped in a glass urn. The album is extremely complex and articulated. The piano, which characterized albums like “Boys for Pele” so much, is here somewhat in the background to leave more space for electronics and percussion. However, the real charm of this album lies in the lyrics that are sharp as pieces of glass.
“Spark” opens the album and appears like a tender ballad, but the text is full of guilt "She was convinced she could hold back a glacier\ But she couldn’t keep the baby alive\ Wondering if there's a woman here at all\.
The sense of guilt joins with the sense of powerlessness toward her very essence in “Playboy Mommy” where she says "I never was the fantasy of what you want\ You wanted me to be\ Don’t judge me so harsh, little girl, you’ve got a playboy mommy...".
In each track, there's a piece of herself, and the final result is a sort of confession, both in the calm and electronic “Liquid Diamonds” and in the elegant “Pandora’s Aquarium,” highlighted by the piano played in a strong and energetic way, almost to engrave every word and concept. There's also a bit of disdain for the much-hated/loved men in “Black Dove,” “Cruel,” or in “Hotel” itself, where she says, “You were wild, where are you now?\ Give me more, give me more, give me more\ I’ve got to learn to let you fall..."

Perhaps by writing this review, I have exorcised a bit of the suffering linked to this album myself.