Tori Amos
Native Invader

The release of this new work by Tori Amos has gone somewhat unnoticed. One wonders why. Certainly not due to a general lack of interest in the American redhead's work. I, myself, have been a long-time staunch critic of her albums, yet I have continued to listen to her. Considering the significant flood of articles and indeed conflicting reviews, I simply tend to think that this “Native Invader” is a disorienting and difficult-to-understand album.

However, I believe I understood it perfectly and have no issues claiming that it's her best work since “From the Choirgirl Hotel.” After years of adjustments, refinements, ramblings, convoluted philosophies, and whining, Tori has achieved extraordinary balance and measure both musically and, finally, lyrically.

Musically, the production, curated by her husband Mark Hawley and trusty Marcel van Limbeek, has removed the author from the piano stool and relegated the piano to a secondary and ultimately accessory instrument. It was unsustainable to continue with the image of the girl at the piano with a ¾ posture! In its place, a river of languid 70's guitars and a rarefied electronics have extensively filled the textures. The same goes for the singing, which has completely abandoned that hysterical-uterine tone and has lowered in register, favoring the colors of a splendid contralto. At times, it seems like listening to Fleetwood Mac meeting the Carpenters. Additionally, the musical writing has become more concise (only 13 tracks) but more articulated: the melodic patterns have become less predictable, so much so that infatuations are indeed fatal but not immediate (the romantic special in “Broken Arrow” or the soft piano tangle of “Breakaway” open up after numerous listens but strike poignantly like a dagger).

But it's lyrically where the quality leap becomes evident and fascinating. Gone are the philosophical mists, gone are the convoluted symbolisms; the album focuses on three clear and meaningful concepts: devastated nature, the man-woman relationship, and, for me, the most successful and touching, the religious-Christological theme. In the song “Bang,” the track musically closest to her golden period, Tori sings about an ungrateful and outrageous humanity, citing in the long tail 23 elements of the periodic table! On the other hand, in “Climb,” the text describes with risky, yet equally wonderful ambiguity, the duality father/Father and daughter/Son. Strangely, but not really, the most acclaimed track by critics, the mother-daughter duet “Up the Creek” is so hipster that it quickly tires, despite being a good piece. Too demanding, however, is dwelling on that miraculous little theme on the edges of an epic as well as beautiful “Mary’s Eyes.”

Those who have classified Native Invader as a colorless mishmash of “contemporary Starbucks adult pop” have not understood and are still waiting for an anachronistically hysterical Cornflake’s girl. Wake up! The Lady, thank goodness, will not go back. The transformation has finally occurred. It took something like fifteen years but, as far as I'm concerned, it was worth it.

Among the best releases of this year