I recently saw Tori Amos on TV promoting her new book, claiming that her songs are cosmic spirits that float into her head at any given time.
Two things are possible here:
1. She's bat-shit crazy.
2. She'd rather look bat-shit crazy than admit to ripping off Kate Bush.
When I was younger and stupider, I worshipped at the church of Amos, and it was easy to rationalize her ditzy interviews and piano hump fests as the actions of a “true artist.” That was until I heard Kate Bush’s album Hounds Of Love, a hallowed, right-brained masterpiece that made Tori’s best songs sound like bad covers. Even though Aerial is Bush's first record in 12 years, it doesn't screw with the enthralling, breathy dramatics that she trademarked in the late ‘70s and mastered on Hounds. The record is a typically surreal and epic affair, split into two discs: A Sea Of Honey and A Sky Of Honey. Deciphering Kate’s lyrics can be quite the chore, and Aerial definitely has its moments (i.e. the repetition of “washing machine” that closes out the grippingly obtuse “Mrs. Bartolozzi”). But thanks to the album artwork and a metaphor-less ode, one of her muses is clearer than ever before – her son Albert.
Motherhood is the accepted reason for Bush’s extended artistic vacation, and the song “Bertie” proclaims her motherly love with smiling simplicity. “You bring me so much joy. And then you bring me more joy,” Bush sings in Irish-tinged triplets over the track’s climax. A Sky Of Honey’s opening track features Bertie whispering “Mother” and “Father” over light piano and a chorus of birds (including a syncopated mourning dove coo, something I wouldn’t mind waking up to every morning). The album’s inner panels show Kate and Bertie swimming, with unquestionable delight on their faces, and the lyric booklet features Bertie’s drawings.
This work didn't come from fairies or gnomes or whoever else lives in Tori’s twisted hippie hell – it came from a real musical innovator, who sounds ecstatic to be alive. Aerial isn’t revolutionary; it’s a more reserved brand of her classic formula, featuring hushed piano arrangements that serve as springboards for her soaring voice. No cosmic spirits or new age creations are at work here, just the reigning queen of art rock.
Appeared in the January 26, 2006, issue of Artvoice.