Why do I need Tori Amos right now?
Living in a perpetually heightened state of anxiety – and having my friends share that anxiety because #MeToo inevitably brings up something for everyone. Having good men tell me they’re “shocked” that their friends, colleagues and family sexually harass and assault women – and finding out that some of the good men I know never were good men after all.
When I began working for girls’ rights I knew it would be tough. But I felt that I could do the work with my spirit intact because the emotional distress was softened in a landscape of continual progress. I was part of the good fight, and we were winning.
But what happens when it feels like progress is not only halting, but reversing? What happens when I wake up every morning to a fresh new misogynist hell? When I’m bombarded by news and blogs and conversations that reveal and excuse another case of sexual violence? When I feel like my life’s work is being trampled by cultural regression to a time when we simply accept that men assault women?
I plough forward relentlessly. I work harder, returning to my work after my kids are in bed. I put feelings on hold, muting emotion in the moment because that’s the most effective way to operate in a crisis.
And I listen to a lot of Tori Amos.
Since I was 18, Tori’s music has been just short of everything to me (hint: I’m not a natural redhead). It’s self-care. It’s a respite. Depending on the song it can be exciting or sobering, and it’s always reaffirming and recharging.
I was drawn to how she rocks out the piano and I fell in love with the feminine stream of consciousness she professes in heartbreakingly beautiful metaphors. In some songs she explores feminine archetypes and has conversations with characters like Persephone, a goddess in Greek mythology who was abducted and taken to the underworld. For someone who works with child brides, this has been a call to action, but now this metaphor is becoming more and more personal. On her new album, Native Invader, Tori imagines Persephone returning from this underworld:
“which taught you can’t escape anguish
But how to live with it
Then reports from the robins
Form in you an inner radiance
It’s as if they fused with a spirit you knew
Who’s come back again”
And boom, she just spat out a woman’s life in one song. And it’s not just about Persephone, but about me, too. And about #MeToo.
Right now Tori’s music is helping me process our culture as I struggle to continue my work with girls. She reminds me that it’s OK to feel angry and heartbroken and that we can’t always understand conflict. She also reminds me that pain does find a resolution because “one story’s end seeds another to begin.” And through her activism – her 23 years campaigning for US sexual assault helpline RAINN – I see her actively seeking out resolutions.
On her recent tour, Tori opened many of her concerts with her song, ‘Iieee’. To me, it’s always been a sultry song that evokes sex and male aggression and, like much of her music, mixes flirtation with vexation. When I saw her in concert this fall, I wasn’t sure how I would interpret the song that night and in this context, as her songs always prompt individual and quite visceral reactions.
Then there she was, opening the show with her red hair, funky glasses and dizzyingly high heels. When she wailed that “we scream in cathedrals,” I thought of #MeToo. When she then threw herself back as she cried out “why does there gotta be a sacrifice,” I thought of the tremendous loss of joy and dignity that so many of us are experiencing.
And then she tossed her red hair behind her shoulder and turned toward the audience in defiance as if to say, “we’re stronger than this.”
And we are.
For more information on navigating these potentially triggering times, read RAINN’s tips for survivors on consuming media.