To paraphrase Sandy Denny, who knows where the time goes? It's only when your reviewer was scanning through the press release for "Tales Of A Librarian" that it struck him that it's now more than a decade since the release of TORI AMOS'S seismic debut album "Little Earthquakes."
So, what with the decade down and Christmas coming (he says cynically), I guess this is good a time as any for a career overview such as "Tales Of A Librarian", although while it's basically a Greatest Hits job, there's also room for a smattering of great early B-sides and a couple of new tracks.
More about those shortly, but firstly let's enjoy "Tales Of A Librarian"'s main function, which is of course to remind us how many classics Ms.Amos has committed to tape over the past 11 years.
To be honest, this reviewer's always tended to view Tori's work with a distant reverence: impressed and full of admiration, yet never really desperate to dive headlong into her back catalogue. Yet, "Tales Of A Librarian"'s an unbeatable collection for the more casual observer: the opening "Precious Things" alone is hauntingly evocative with that tremulous piano and breathless backing vocals making it transparently obvious that Ms.Amos has always been far more than a flame-haired, Stateside Kate Bush wannabe. Besides, not many collections can open so stylishly and wheel out a lyric like "So you can make me come, it doesn't make you Jesus" without breaking sweat.
Naturally we get a generous spread of the crucial stuff. There's "Crucify", of course and it's still every inch a classic human condition story; there's the icy, chillingly beautiful sweep of the orchestrally-inclined "Winter" and - naturellement - there's the mighty folk-pop stomp of "Cornflake Girl." All of which demand serious respect, though I'm a little bit more cautious about "Silent All These Years". I can empathise with the bruised female partner lyrics, but the tune's always been a bit Beverly Craven for my liking. There again, I can't imagine Bev letting loose with a line like: "I got the Antichrist in the kitchen yelling at me again," so what do I know.
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But the strength of Amos' work is that even the oddities sound cool. Coming halfway in, "Professional Widow," for instance introduces killer disco basslines and a Moby-ish hi-NRG tendency to the plot and comes up smelling wickedly of roses; "Spark"s essentially kooky tale of the girl addicted to nicotine patches somehow makes perfect sense and is hauntingly wonderful and the spooked acapella of "Me & A Gun" bristles with both the lure of oblivion and a weird sexual frisson.
Brilliantly, "Tales..." also thinks to include a couple of great early flipsides and to this end we get the autobiographical, rites-of-passage story that is "Mary" and the excellent "Sweet Dreams", which is seductive, hip-shakin', dirty Tori blues: drum-heavy and her own personal take on the patented Bo Diddley beat. It goes without saying that she's a bit handy on the ol' Joanna here, incidentally. The song features another classic image of America as "the land of liberty run by constipated men," which seems pretty cogent post-Iraq.
The real selling points for fans, however, are the two new tracks, both of which are more than capable of holding their own in this esteemed company. "Angels" is a lush, dreamy affair, with cool vocals, a spacious backbeat and echoey, tremolo guitars. It's a stately, affecting beauty, but - if anything - is usurped by "Snow Cherries From France", which is again of an orchestral leaning and has all the hallmarks of a future classic.
At worst fascinating and at best a solid gold classic, "Tales Of A Librarian" then, is nigh-on exemplary and - for confirmed fans and the curious alike - a volume that bears renewing virtually indefinitely.
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