Tori Amos
Night Of Hunters

Getting old is an ugly thing, right Tori?
You, who have always managed to be yourself, free from society's beauty standards and creator of chilling musical manifestos ("Boys For Pele", primarily, but also "Little Earthquakes", "Under The Pink" and "From The Choirgirl Hotel"), who infused the piano with erotic energy the way you played it when you still knew you could be yourself. You were unforgettable, in those evening gowns, with your red hair blowing in the wind, sweaty and dirty with your legs apart and your head thrown back. You violated the piano, you made love to it with your fingers, and your embraces were often whirlwinds of pure beauty. It worked with the harpsichord too, and that's why I consider "Professional Widow" the perfect song for lovemaking.

And now? What happened to you? Could it be the new millennium, or perhaps age creeping up, or the botox traveling across your fresh face, but it seems you can't take it anymore. "Scarlet's Walk" was a good album, but somewhat scattered, and then? A pleasant but bland "Beekeeper", an "American Doll Posse" whose only beauty was "Bouncing Off Clouds", a terrible "Abnormally Attracted To Sin" where very little was salvaged and an unclassifiable Christmas album. From bad to worse. And now? Now you've returned, for a classical music label. You appear on the cover like a messiah, like our own Lady of Fatima, very restrained, not at all sensual, somewhat like in the video of the bland lead single, "Carry", where you are practically immobile, vainly trying to recapture that lost girl look from your beginnings. Where have you gone Tori?

What is the point of a song like the dreadful "Snowblind"? An unnecessary prewar-folk piece aiming to be à la Cocorosie, but failing. "Battle Of Trees" is the medieval version of any song from "The Beekeeper", dragged out for nine minutes and not at all exciting, despite the technical beauty of the track. And the songs dangerously flow the same, objectively beautiful, but often boring, heavy and airy ("Start Whisperer"), as if time never passed.

Of course, magnificent pieces are not missing. And thank God, you've placed a splendid "Shattering Sea" at the beginning, a crucible of captivating violins and dramatic buildups. There's also "Fearlessness", a morbid and sepulchral lullaby that grabs the heart and squeezes it until the violins wrap around the listener, taking them somewhere.

The insights, flashes, and hope are not lacking and, compared to the latest tumbles, the (ex?) beautiful red-haired pianist has risen again, but the distrust remains: too normalized over time, resting on her laurels and devoted to an academic search for sound, partially rejecting emotions. Certainly, at over forty, one can't expect a song to end with "Give me peace, love and a hard cock", but oh, how I miss that Tori who asked God if He was frustrated and if He needed a woman to calm Him down.