Strange Little Girls - Tori Amos > Reviews > Girls who are boys

Author's product rating:   

Originality	Definitely a cut above the rest
Lyrics	Thought-provoking
Quality and consistency of tracks	Mixed
How does it compare to the artist's other releases	Unmemorable
Value for Money

Advantages:	Some interesting and intriguing choices of covers,  A few excellent tracks,  'Real Men', 'Strange Little Girl'
Disadvantages:	Too much concept not enough content,  Some pretty tedious songs,  'I'm Not in Love', 'Raining Blood'

Recommend to potential buyers:

no

Full review

In anticipation of Tori's forthcoming new (and original) studio album I thought I'd take a look at this her last release. Now I’ll make no excuses before I begin this review, Tori Amos is one of my favourite artists and when I first heard news that a new studio album was on the way I’ll admit to feeling the odd palpitation of excitement. However, when further details of the release became forthcoming, a slight feeling of disappointment reared its ugly head. You see ‘Strange Little Girls’ is a not an ordinary studio album, instead Amos has chosen to bring out a collection of covers rather then a set of original material. Aside from the fact that it is Amos’ own songs that primarily form the basis of my love for her work, the words ‘covers album’ is usually enough to send a chill down the spine of any self respecting music fan. Infact since Bowie partially successful ‘Pin Up’s’ in the early seventies it is hard to think of an artist who has managed to create a decent album from the format. Instead it is the disasters that stick in the mind, particularly Duran Duran’s hilarious stab at unlikely covers a few years ago. Still Amos does have a good track record with surprising cover versions, her interpretation of ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ is undoubtedly a classic, whilst she has also recorded excellent versions of the likes of REM’s ‘Losing My Religion’ and Princes’ ‘Purple Rain’. Even so an entire album of covers arouses suspicion.

Tori first emerged in the late 80s as the lead singer of the rather dreadful glam rock group ‘Y Kant Tori Read’, Amos has subsequently ploughed as a somewhat more successful piano based singer song writer. She would probably not appreciate being reminded of her embarrassing musical debut, so it is best left dismissed as typical 80s excess, musically fairly awful and the dodgy S&M leanings of the cover art work are best left without comment. To all intents and purposes then 1991’s ‘Little Earthquakes’ was her real debut. Amos, a childhood prodigy on the piano returned to the instrument and crafted an exquisite collection of poignant and moving songs, characterised by a struggle for self awareness and the battles with past demons. Amos’ voice, by turn powerful and fragile essayed these deeply personal lyrics with rich and velvety melodies, deeply scared by rage and self doubt. It was an arresting and stunning debut which was rightly lauded on its release.

Critical acclaim was not followed by true commercial success however, until her second album ‘Under the Pink’. The chart success of the single ‘Cornflake Girl’ catapulted its parent album and Amos herself to far wider recognition. Curiously, the record itself was somewhat less accessible then it’s predecessor and was a sparser, darker album altogether. The lyrics too became more oblique and perhaps a little more self conscious, although both melodically and musically the album remained a treat. If Amos felt under pressure to acknowledge this mainstream acceptance she showed absolutely no sign of it on the follow up album ‘Boys for Pele’. This was her rawest, sparsest and bleakest album yet. Her vocals were infamously performed in a special sound proofed box in the studio and the feeling of claustrophobic enclosure encircles the entire album. Only a few tracks manage to feature a rhythm section, the majority of the songs performed by just Amos and her piano. The lyrics were jet black and heavily camouflaged by metaphor, whilst Amos made no attempt to shed her ‘kooky’ image, appearing suckling a pig to her naked breast on the front cover of the album. Repeated plays of album finally reveal a rewarding record, but as a collection of material ‘Boys for Pele’ is perhaps a little too hard going. It is perhaps ironic that Amos scored her best selling single from this release, a remix of ‘Professional Widow’ was a UK n.o 1 but was virtually unrecognisable from the original, containing little more then a 30 second sample of Amos’ voice.

1998’s ‘From the Choirgirl Hotel’ was however, very much a return to form. Having exhausted the bleak. sparse approach, Amos returned to a full palette of instrumentation and also toured for the first time with a full band. Tracks such as ‘Raspberry Swirl’ showed a new willingness to experiment with production whilst the delicious ‘Northern Lad’ saw her recapturing some of the spark which made her debut such a delight. The result was probably her strongest and certainly most consistent set to date. The follow up ‘To Venus and Back’ which was released a little over a year later was something of a more mixed bag. A two disc set, the second CD ‘Still Orbiting’ was an excellent live album recorded during the 98 ‘Plugged’ tour. Mixing classics with a couple of b-sides and rarely heard tracks, the sound quality was fantastic, maintaining much of the atmosphere whilst the arrangements used were often inventive and put an intriguing new spin on several tracks. The first CD ‘Orbiting’ was more problematic. Whilst it contained moments that could easily stand comfortably next to the best of Amos’ work, such as flyer single ‘Bliss’, the delightfully popy ‘Glory of the 80s’ and the quietly moving ‘Josephine’ there was far too much filler present. Too many tracks seemed more concerned with cutting edge production techniques and interesting sounds then lyrical or melodic quality. The collection was by no means bad, but after ‘...Choirgirl’ it was a little disappointing.

So to ‘Strange Little Girls’, Amos herself describes the album as not so much a collection of covers but a concept album. Amos performs these twelve songs, all of which were written by men, not as herself but in the persona of the women who suggested the songs to her. Confused? Good that makes two of us at least. In truth one suspects that only Amos herself has a real grasp of this ‘concept’, so it is perhaps best to largely ignore this supposed thematic link. The songs chosen range from the predictable: the inevitable Beatles track and a Velvet Underground song, to the more surprising: Depeche Mode and 10CC , to the plain bizarre, such as Eminem’s ’97 Bonnie Clyde’. Quite what fans of the death metal group Slayer will make of her cover of ‘Raining Blood’ would no doubt make interesting, if perhaps unprintable reading. The majority of the songs here are not massively well known, personally I am familiar with less then half of the original interpretations, although such ignorance may make the album a more enjoyable listen, at least on initial spins. It has been said there are two ways to perform a cover, play it completely straight or change it completely. Although Amos does occasionally pay lip service to the former, it would be fair to say the latter is the treatment mete out to most of the songs here.

The album opens with the Velvet Underground’s ‘New Age’. Not being a massive fan of the band, I can’t claim any great acquaintance with the track in question, but from the opening bars it seems clear that Amos has made it her own. Slow, almost methodically paced, Amos takes Lou Reed’s lyric and from it creates a world weary, passive persona. A character who things just happen to; with or without her consent. Amos’ resigned, almost clinical interpretation, strips Reed’s sex tinged lyric of any sensuality, the lack of self will in lines such as “It seems to be my fancy / To make it with Frank and Nancy” almost suggest rape if anything. The track opens with a dense, claustrophobic keyboard line, with Amos’ vocal a fragile and pained whisper. The songs chorus unfolds gradually, Amos’ voice exposing the irony in the line “Over the bridge we go / Looking for love”, there is no optimism in her words. A cranky guitar kicks up a fuss in the background, before being drowned under the keyboards once more. The second verse largely repeats the formula, the quiet despair of the narrator becoming ever more obvious with every couplet sung. The chorus is bleaker still, with an ethereal synth wail floating gently above the vocal, before the jarring guitar enters once more and for the first time passion begins to enter Amos’ voice. This rises into a crashing final section, where Amos sounds both enraged and increasingly drunk, practically slurring the line “All you little sick little f***ks”, a final release of tension, but offering no resolution.

Equally world weary and resigned is the tired sounding narrator of ‘I Don’t Like Mondays’. The original version of this track by ‘Saint’ Bob Geldof and the Boomtown rats always sounded slightly schizophrenic. Torn between the dark lyrics, concerning a school girl who coldly and inexplicably murders her classmates and the bouncy pace and unsubtle pop hooks of the melody. Amos here slows the song right down and caresses each line, smoothing out the garish blast of the tune and uncovering the quiet tragedy which lurked beneath. Those same, layered keyboards which characterised ‘New Age’ return once more, but this time they have a more childish, almost innocent quality to them, tinkling gently in the background yet their darker and dangerous subtext is clearly present. An initial speculation on this track, might have suggested that Amos may have tried to perform the song in a first person context, ie as the girl herself. When the vocal enters however, this proves not to be the case. The vocal is deep, cracked and almost dirty, this sounds like the voice of a much older and experienced woman them Amos herself, almost suggesting a less wracked Janice Joplin. Amos sighs the lyric, the woman who has seen it all before, expects nothing better but yet somehow is still shocked. Musically the arrangement is defiantly low key, blurring the line between chorus and verse by keeping the instrumentation consistent. As the second verse unfolds, the tragedy becomes more obvious, the vocal almost vanishing in restrained emotion on the line “The lesson today is how to die”. The final chorus is played much the same, an almost inaudible whisper leads into a final bleak keyboard solo, before the song vanishes.

Amos sounds far more recognisable on Lloyd Cole’s ‘Rattlesnakes’, one of the few tracks here that sounds like Amos could have penned it and indeed would have fitted quite comfortable on either ‘Under the Pink’ or ‘Boys for Pele’. Again the song opens with a bleak undertow, the treated pianos have a menacing hint to them but Amos’ vocal is instantly more engaging and alive then on say ‘I Don’t Like Mondays’. The song however, achieves true flight on the chorus, where a sprightly acoustic guitar enters the mix, throwing a dash of colour into what was becoming an increasingly drab pallet and illuminating the central hook delightfully. A subtle hushed symbol keeps the tempo moving on the second verse, creating a swishing rhythm which ties in with the songs title, before lifting the song back into the refrain. The final chorus is a particular treasure, with a counter point harmony warming the melody which threatened to turn to ice. In combination this is undoubtedly one of the most successful tracks present.

Amos also appears to utilise her own voice on a heavily re-worked version of The Stranglers ‘Strange Little Girl’, transforming the pub rockers classic into a cross between her own ‘Raspberry Swirl’ and ‘Cornflake Girl’. Developing out of a loping digital drum beat, borrows straight from ‘Bliss’ a jangling guitar line quickly takes hold of the track, setting the tone perfectly. Amos’ vocals are mid paced, unlike on many of the songs present here, she sounds relaxed and confident, trapping the melody immediately and bending it to her own will. The stomping chorus explodes suddenly with a roar of guitar, driving the song into your subconscious whilst some lovely soprano harmonies descend around the lead vocal and on the final refrain Amos’ voice forms concentric audio circles building to the final climax. A certainty for a single release and quite probably the best song on offer here.

Elsewhere, Amos’ treatment is more sparse. Depeche Mode’s electro classic ‘Enjoy the Silence’ is stripped of its beat and swirling synthesisers instead performed almost completely naked by Amos and her piano with only a slight string embellishment towards the close. The original melody is strong enough to survive this treatment and Amos’ treatment is both sympathetic and moving. The emptiness eluded in the original is made completely clear here as is the emotional response to the lyric “All I ever wanted / All I eve needed / Was here, in my arms.” More vividly then before ‘Enjoy the Silence’ becomes in Amos’ hands, a song about loss.

This sparse treatment however, is not always completely successful. 10CC’s ‘I’m not in Love’ is stripped of its elaborate instrumentation and manages to demonstrate that there was never a great deal going on below. A ticker tape rhythm and a random collection of sound effects and tape noise that sound like that they were borrowed from Trent Reznor decorate the track, but they are not enough. The song sounds hollow and empty, some interesting ideas present, but the melody was too weak for this kind of interpretation to make a satisfying song.

There a several moments on this album when one thought springs to mind. Why on earth try covering that? ’97 Bonnie and Clyde’ is one such track. Surprisingly Amos pulls this one off with a large degree of panache. Stripping back the rap cleverness to reveal the true nastiness of the lyric and to some extent the pain of the narrator. Rather then making any attempt to rap, Amos speaks the lyric as a cold and yet affecting monologue. The bleak string section gradually cranks up the tension as the song progresses. The twisted croon of a chorus “Just the two of us” sounds almost like a ghostly cry, almost as if Amos is voicing the thoughts of the dead wife rather than the narrator. The cooed baby talk of the second verse is particularly disturbing, contrasting with cool narration elsewhere. Somehow Amos manages to make us feel both empathy and disgust for the narrator.

Far less satisfying is the somewhat pointless stab at Slayers ‘Raining Blood’. Whilst I can not claim to have heard the song before one suspects that it was previously rendered with much heavy riffing and growled vocals. Amos captures some of the requisite atmosphere with a jet black roll of piano and a murmur of malevolent bass in the back ground. The distinct lack of melody and the slight hint of gothic banshee to Amos’ vocal however, make this more a vanity exercise then an in any way enjoyable track. A similar story applies to the somewhat surreal version of Neil Young’s ‘Heart of Gold’, which transforms Young’s guitar classic into a swirling distorted ball of elongated vocal expressions and circular twisted guitar noise. Interesting and laudable for the inspiration stakes, but tedious to listen to.

Whilst there are a fair number of slower tracks on ‘Strange Little Girls’ only two tracks could really be classed as ballads as such. Tom Waits ‘Time’ largely escapes Amos’ more experimental tendencies intact. Amos plays it almost entirely straight, with just her vocal and a piano providing the backing. The clarity and warmth of her vocals however, improve the song immeasurably, showcasing a pretty and delicate little melody that laps at the listeners ear in gradual wave, with a particularly lush chorus. The albums closer ‘Real Men’, is also performed as a straight piano ballad, with the hummed middle section a particular delight. Again the track sounds distinctly like an Amos written song, down to the lilting melody, which winds a weary course, without ever making any dramatic progress.

‘Strange Little Girls’ is an odd album, of that there can be no mistake. Some of it works excellently, the semi title track and ‘Real Men’ could easily pass them selves off as Amos originals, whilst her intriguing treatment of ’97 Bonnie and Clyde’ or ‘Enjoy the Silence’ manage to be both interesting and lovely. Too many tracks here however, are either ill suited to Amos’ approach or just plain weak to start with. As a result this rather stop start quality control both breaks up the album’s flow and ultimately irritates the listener. ‘Strange Little Girls’ is Amos’ weakest album to date by a fair way, certain tracks to just about cover the cost of entrance and a cautious recommendation can be supplied to most fans, out of sheer curiosity if nothing else. Those however, who are not familiar with Ms Amos’ oeuvre would be best served with ‘Little Earthquakes’ or ‘From the Choirgirl Hotel’. ‘Strange Little Girls’ is something of a clever folly, enjoyable in places but as a studio album after a several year wait, disappointing. Still with 'Scarlet's Walk' following only a little over a year later, and by what I've heard so far, being fantastic, perhaps one should critisise this little oddity too much.