rhapsodies in green and gold as seen through gauze
This is something I want: Fade To Red.
This here is a collection of Tori Amos' videos. I was first introduced to Tori Amos through her video for the song "Crucify". It was several years back; it was after Loyola, and in the summertime, so I imagine this must have been the summer of 2001, in those days when we didn't have to take our shoes off when going through airport security. Dave Anson (and there's a name from the past) and I were hanging out, just cruising around with nothing to do, which is what you have to do when neither one of you had friends from college because you were in a period of transition and when you're not old enough to drink.
We decided to hit up the Hollywood Video on Chippewa near Hampton long before the new Target with the cart elevator was put in. I think we went there because both of us had fines at Blockbuster and didn't want to pay them. It must have been late summer because I had already read Lolita for the first time, which was June of that year, and because the humidity wasn't oppressive in the least - late spring and early summer here is like living in a concrete bayou. The sun was nearly set, but still clearly visible on the horizon, and all the glass and plaster of the buildings gleamed with the golden light of the sun's last rays. It was the sort of sun that didn't just warm your skin. It was the sort of sun that warmed your soul.
We walked into the store and since we weren't in any sort of rush we just hung out. Dave wandered into the stacks while I started reading a video game magazine - specifically a preview of the Blair Witch 2 video game. Later I read that the game was mediocre at best, but still better than the movie. Can't say I've been curious enough to check the accuracy of either part of that assessment. Once I'd finished with the magazine, I decided to hunt for Dave. This Hollywood Video had a wall of televisions that displayed one large image broken onto twelve screens. As soon as I rounded the corner of the horror films, I found Dave - and I was confronted by the arresting image of of woman with soulful blue eyes, a bright head of hair only a shade or two off orange and skin so white that it was nearly chalk. A piano chord rang out, and that haunting, seeking voice echoed from the overhead speakers:
Every finger in the room/was pointing at me/I wanna spit in their faces/but I fear the consequences that may bring
It is a rare and great moment when you hear someone else singing the words of your heart. I had heard it before in the complexity and confusion of Pink Floyd, but this was more naked. It was vulnerable and defiant, scared and bold, angry and soul-searching. Those moments let you know that you're not alone, that the feelings in you are both individualistic and universal. I have since had that experience with other musicians, only Van Morrison has ever hit me in the core of my being the way this chance encounter did.
We didn't talk through the entire video, noteworthy especially since both of us were (are) voluminous talkers. That night we went to Vintage Vinyl and I bought Little Earthquakes. I've played the album so much and taken it so many places that it's developed enough scratches that I really ought to replace it.
I didn't expect to get so nostalgic about it. It isn't really nostalgia - Tori Amos' music has been part of my life since that early evening. So much has changed since then. A lot of pain and a lot of joy. And I know that in the grand scheme of the world I've had less of both than some, and more of both than others. Makes me believe that the stories of our lives are important. There's no such thing as a boring person - just sometimes people don't have the words to tell their story. Authors write fictions, but there are incredible stories that aren't being told, but lived, every day.
In the end the only conclusion I can come to with a degree of exactitude is that my desire to acquire the Fade to Red is undiminished. Besides, isn't it good storytelling to start and end with the same note? Or is that essay-writing...
This here is a collection of Tori Amos' videos. I was first introduced to Tori Amos through her video for the song "Crucify". It was several years back; it was after Loyola, and in the summertime, so I imagine this must have been the summer of 2001, in those days when we didn't have to take our shoes off when going through airport security. Dave Anson (and there's a name from the past) and I were hanging out, just cruising around with nothing to do, which is what you have to do when neither one of you had friends from college because you were in a period of transition and when you're not old enough to drink.
We decided to hit up the Hollywood Video on Chippewa near Hampton long before the new Target with the cart elevator was put in. I think we went there because both of us had fines at Blockbuster and didn't want to pay them. It must have been late summer because I had already read Lolita for the first time, which was June of that year, and because the humidity wasn't oppressive in the least - late spring and early summer here is like living in a concrete bayou. The sun was nearly set, but still clearly visible on the horizon, and all the glass and plaster of the buildings gleamed with the golden light of the sun's last rays. It was the sort of sun that didn't just warm your skin. It was the sort of sun that warmed your soul.
We walked into the store and since we weren't in any sort of rush we just hung out. Dave wandered into the stacks while I started reading a video game magazine - specifically a preview of the Blair Witch 2 video game. Later I read that the game was mediocre at best, but still better than the movie. Can't say I've been curious enough to check the accuracy of either part of that assessment. Once I'd finished with the magazine, I decided to hunt for Dave. This Hollywood Video had a wall of televisions that displayed one large image broken onto twelve screens. As soon as I rounded the corner of the horror films, I found Dave - and I was confronted by the arresting image of of woman with soulful blue eyes, a bright head of hair only a shade or two off orange and skin so white that it was nearly chalk. A piano chord rang out, and that haunting, seeking voice echoed from the overhead speakers:
Every finger in the room/was pointing at me/I wanna spit in their faces/but I fear the consequences that may bring
It is a rare and great moment when you hear someone else singing the words of your heart. I had heard it before in the complexity and confusion of Pink Floyd, but this was more naked. It was vulnerable and defiant, scared and bold, angry and soul-searching. Those moments let you know that you're not alone, that the feelings in you are both individualistic and universal. I have since had that experience with other musicians, only Van Morrison has ever hit me in the core of my being the way this chance encounter did.
We didn't talk through the entire video, noteworthy especially since both of us were (are) voluminous talkers. That night we went to Vintage Vinyl and I bought Little Earthquakes. I've played the album so much and taken it so many places that it's developed enough scratches that I really ought to replace it.
I didn't expect to get so nostalgic about it. It isn't really nostalgia - Tori Amos' music has been part of my life since that early evening. So much has changed since then. A lot of pain and a lot of joy. And I know that in the grand scheme of the world I've had less of both than some, and more of both than others. Makes me believe that the stories of our lives are important. There's no such thing as a boring person - just sometimes people don't have the words to tell their story. Authors write fictions, but there are incredible stories that aren't being told, but lived, every day.
In the end the only conclusion I can come to with a degree of exactitude is that my desire to acquire the Fade to Red is undiminished. Besides, isn't it good storytelling to start and end with the same note? Or is that essay-writing...