Number 1 of 2005 — Tori Amos: The Beekeeper
“Everyone’s got one good record in them if they’re half decent. But then once you’ve done that, you’ve used the best of your picks. That’s your style. People know your style after the first time and then you have to develop skill as a songwriter” (Tori Amos, Piece by Piece)
It could be argued that after Tori Amos’ ‘proper’ debut Little Earthquakes, her subsequent albums merely ambled away from that record. Each release being slightly different to its predecessors, but obviously teasing the Tori musical galaxy in new directions as she developed new skills and became more confident in her abilities as a songwriter, musician and artist. Each release scattering autobiography amongst her ever present triad of myth, religion and female empowerment, culminating in the reflective but political Scarlet’s Walk – perhaps the most Tori-like of all her albums.
Because The Beekeeper is markedly different to what has come before. Big Momma, Tori’s new B-3 Hammond organ is partly to blame, given to her by her husband one Christmas. Sat in her Cornwall studio, oozing its sonic sensuality, impossible to resist, and a contrast to the demanding relationship that Tori has with her Bösendorfer. The other influence: her family, more obviously now than on Scarlet’s Walk.
But before I get into The Beekeeper, I need to say a bit about reviews. I’ve written before about the ludicrous nature of reviews in newspapers, and the recent content from Music Guardian has done little to sway me. Let’s face it, outside the realm of obsessed music journals and bloggers, music reviews are dreadful. Is it any wonder that popular music is in such a dire state, or indeed that its industry commodifies music to such an extent that it becomes worthless in the eyes of many? I couldn’t be a professional music reviewer. Imagine being thrown a bundle of new albums, and given only one week to provide a review. That’s a shocking prospect. Some albums need time to ‘bed in’, otherwise they might be disregarded. The Beekeeper is one such album (and that term is appropriate). Listening to it again whilst I write this review, I’m startled that my original opinion of this album (which thankfully I never blogged) was so wrong.
The Beekeeper is not what I expected, but it’s the album that changed my relationship with Tori’s music forever. My Last.fm play-count is witness to this. Let’s find out why:
Like Scarlet’s Walk, The Beekeeper is founded on concept. This time, a hexagon combined from a merging of the archetypal chalice and blade symbols, each resulting segment a separate garden, and the whole referencing both Demeter (from Greek mythology) and Deborah – with the beekeeper tending to all gardens. Each of the 19 songs (20 if you include Garlands, available on the limited edition DVD version) is planted in one of the six gardens, but the album is not sequenced garden by garden: Tori might have a concept, but she’s not going to let that override the music. What’s astonishing is that now as I write this review, it becomes obvious to me why each song was placed in a particular garden. Correspondingly, unlike many of my reviews, this one is difficult to discuss sequentially, so I’ll be flitting all over the place. Bee-like, if you will.
Still, Parasol, launches the album. It’s a type of song which could turn up in one of those mid-album lulls that many albums seem to have. It doesn’t appear to be a great start to The Beekeeper, being fairly subdued, but, by the time you’ve heard it a handful of times, the opening lines ”..When I come to terms to terms with this / My world will change for me” turn into a statement of defiance rather than mere acceptance. The immediate introduction of the Hammond (it holds the first note), and the blink-and-you’ll-miss-them funky electric guitar riffs signal the intent for the rest of the album. Sweet the Sting follows, with the Hammond underpinning the entire track and marking the first appearance of the London Community Gospel Choir. It contains the smoothest transition to and from a break I’ve heard in years – illustrating Tori’s mastery of songwriting. The same occurs between verses and chorus. However, this isn’t an album dominated by organ – there are many piano-led pieces. If anything, this album is more dominated by her voice, because ultimately there’s less of everything else on this album.
The third track, The Power of Orange Knickers, returns to the now familiar ‘band’ structure with Matt Chamberlain on drums and bass played by Jon Evans. It’s a duet (of sorts) with Damien Rice, using underwear as a means of defying personal terrorism (and emotional blackmail), whilst noting that the ability to terrorise lies within everyone. Astrology and the breaking of china come together in Goodbye Pisces. A nice burbling love song that indicates that whilst Tori is driven by her emotions, she realises that she and her partner are basically the same, matched. It’s not entirely clear – Tori tends to inhabit persona in songs.
General Joy is perhaps the best illustration of the vocal emphasis of the album: the piano work is indeed present, but muted, particularly on the choruses, and there’s greater use of backing vocals. It continues Tori’s disquiet with the wars being raged in the name of terror “and I know you will always love Sorrow”, suggesting the need for a “soldier girl” which itself might be a nod in the direction of the 2008 U.S. elections. Mother Revolution continues this idea, and recalls again terrorism and apocalypse, through the misuse of power – “Lucky me / I guessed the kind of man / that you would turn out to be”.
Sleeps with Butterflies is the first of a handful of familial songs – Ireland (more on that later) and the terrific Ribbons Undone being the others, that show that Tori has reached peace and contentment in her life. Sleeps with Butterflies might be the most commercially accessible song Tori has written. It asks “Are you having regrets about last night?”. Feisty Tori’s not, apparently, because despite this, “I’m worth coming home to” and “This girl only sleeps with butterflies”. In amongst a rather traditional musical arrangement is a song about love, passion and above all else, fidelity. Jamaica Inn, from the same Roses and Thorns garden, however uses the Daphne du Maurier novels Jamaica Inn and Rebecca to build an allegory for the ultimate betrayal of trust in a relationship. This idea is continued on Martha’s Foolish Ginger, the name of a boat in which the female character sails, backed by military percussion and similarly rhythmic piano.
A dancing piano line underlies Barons of Suburbia, which segues back and forth through a slower Hammond-led section. It’s a song about “takers” – work colleagues or friends who stick with you until one critical moment causes them to take on their own interests, and grab what’s in it for them. Vocally, it’s the fiercest Tori gets on this album. As she remarks in Piece by Piece, “Can somebody tell me what is wrong with the idea of a win-win” (thereby noting the relationship between bee and flower). In that book, this text is located in the chapter The Lioness: Surviving the Music Business, because it recounts the terrible dispute she had with Atlantic Records. The lyric “I am piecing a potion / To combat your poison” recalls the use of the live CD on Boys for Pelé and the Strange Little Girls project as means of fulfilling her contract with Atlantic. The furious finale of song “She is Risen / She is Risen / Boys / I said she is Risen” shows that victory was achieved.
Ireland is either a rank reggae-funk song with execrable lyrics, or a quirky joyful ode to friendship, that rapidly switches to Irish myth and beyond. Personally, I believe it to be the latter. Instead I reserve the occasional lyrical blundering of Cars and Guitars to be the low point of this album, despite its attractive musical interludes. Ribbons Undone is one of the loveliest songs Tori’s written, with the softest backing – strummed guitars, brushed percussion and multi-tracked vocals – a song of love for her daughter Tash and Tori’s mother. In a sense it’s a companion piece to Winter, from Little Earthquakes. However, these blissful songs are balanced by the themes in The Beekeeper – her mother’s illness – remarking that death is merely part of the cycle of life, hence “Don’t be afraid / I promise that she will awake / Tomorrow.”, and finally “I’m just passing you by / But don’t be confused / One day I’ll be coming for you”, and even then, everything will be okay. Then there’s the elegiac final track Toast (a tribute to her brother, Mike, who died in a car accident in November 2004), which is one of the best songs on this album, having the sparsest arrangement, where the nuances in the delivery of piano, voice and guitar mean everything.
The cycle of life reappears on Marys of the Sea. Born from historical Ring Lord culture (implemented as part of Sumerian municiple government) and a folktale based on the power of the ring myth (which also led to Tolkien’s trilogy), Marys of the Sea also acts as an excuse to use the Gnostic Gospels to confirm her view that Christianity is a patriarchal religion. Tori has brought this subject up before – indeed it’s one of the continuing themes throughout her music, driven by her experiences as a child – and on many interviews in support of this album. Those who don’t know this album might expect to find The Beekeeper dominated by such material, but it isn’t – although concert opener Original Sinsuality directly employs the story of Sophia as a instruction to “penetrate the patriarchy”.
Which brings me to Witness. It’s phenomenal – and I’ll accept no argument to the contrary, okay? It’s this song that changed my view of this album the first time I heard it, using the gospel choir as both backing vocals and instrumentation. First, the staccato falling elevator vocals get you, then, towards the end and out of nowhere comes the break with the Voice (“Is there anyone? / Is it any wonder… / I’m out the door” etc.), before the song revs up again. Some songwriters would write an entire song around this break. But perhaps in Tori’s case, she wrote the rest of the song for this break.
Hoochie Woman lives in the same garden as Witness and Cars and Guitars. Its foundation is a strong repetitive piano bass line, which shows that the Bösendorfer can do sexy just as well as the organ, but only temporarily so, because as Tori states in Piece by Piece, “Wearing the same garment does not a hoochie woman make.” She takes this idea further, because Hoochie Woman also derides those women whose pinnacle in life is to be owned, subordinate or trivial, hence the “I bring home the bacon now” refrain which, in my head at least, surpasses the live actioning favourite of “girls that eat pizza but never gain weight” from Father Lucifer (Boys for Pelé).
Now, do I count Garlands as belonging to this album? Maybe: its presence in Piece by Piece indicates that it might have been intended for this album. It’s a solo piano piece with lyrics chronicling the relationship between two lovers through the lithographs of Marc Chagall. As such, this doesn’t really fit into the concept of The Beekeeper, but it’s glorious.
Given all of this, how has the album changed my view of Tori’s music? I think maybe, it’s not just the album. Sure it’s an album which has grown considerably in depth and complexity over the months that I’ve listened to it, and I weep for those who have dismissed it. Indeed during one listen I felt physically embraced. But there’s also Piece by Piece, the book Tori wrote with music journalist Ann Powers. I listened to all of Tori’s albums back-to-back whilst reading the book, leading me to a greater understanding of her and her music than I had before. She’s remarkable.
[Amazon UK]
[iTunes UK]
[Tori Amos: Piece by Piece]
