Tori Amos's re-embracing of the classical music that dominated
her Maryland childhood has been gathering pace ever since her decision
to sign with Deutsche Grammophon and the subsequent release of her
2011 song cycle Night Of Hunters. Last year, she appeared at The Royal
Albert Hall with the Apollon Musagete string quartet and last night
she was back again at the home of the Proms with her latest
collaborators, the Metropole Orkest.
Scheduled to coincide with this week's release of her new
orchestral career retrospective, Gold Dust, also recorded alongside
the Metropole Orkest, the rapturous reception Amos received when she
entered the stage backed by swooping strings was evidence of the loyal
fan base she has accumulated during the two decades since her
breakthrough album, Little Earthquakes. Clad nattily in what appeared
to be some form of Japanese pyjamas, she proceeded to, in her own
words "fuck up" the first song, the relatively obscure Flying
Dutchman, before settling effortlessly into a flow of crowd-pleasing
favourites, with conductor Jules Buckley and his musicians offering
mostly understated, highly accomplished support.
Gold Dust left some reviewers (this one included) rather
underwhelmed, with many levelling the accusation that it simply didn't
take Amos's music to any particularly new or interesting places.
Regardless of whether one subscribed to that view of the record or
not, as a live proposition one could simply sit back and admire the
quality of the songs and the performance - which was often very high
indeed.
Perhaps predictably, the biggest cheers of the night were
reserved for Amos's best known songs like Winter and Silent All These
Years. Over 20 years after they were first recorded, they remain her
signature tunes and the backing of a 56-piece orchestra added heft and
grandeur to their sweeping melodies. Amos's voice is a thing of pure
beauty, ever bit as technically perfect and effortlessly flexible live
as on record, and her piano playing was, the early hitch aside,
confident and fluent throughout. On a couple of occasions, she even
played two sets of keyboards simultaneously, one behind her back, as
if determined to showcase the extent of her virtuosity. A handful of
songs - for example the sweet, gentle Ribbons Undone - were performed
solo, and it's only on a few interpretations, notably Primitive Girls,
where we get to hear the Metropole Orkest swell up to full force.
As a performer Amos is as enigmatic as her often baffling
lyrics. Although for most of the evening she has little interaction
with the audience, the odd manic smile or pumped fist at the end of a
song showed how much she was enjoying herself, and at the end of the
set proper she broke into a bizarre jig before returning to the stage
to deliver a welcome encore. These two bonus offerings were among the
show's highlights - the lush, exotic textures of the Christmas
carol reworking Star of Wonder and the jaunty, parping brass of the
silly but infectious Programmable Soda saw the Metropole Orkest adding
distinctive extra ingredients that improved the original versions.
Despite the enthusiasm of the Albert Hall audience, doubts
remain about whether this setting really sees Amos at her best. One
could argue that it's only when she's stripped down and unadorned,
with just her piano for company and her soul bared, that she can truly
excel, so for all the undoubted polish and poise of this show, the
bruised fragility particularly powerful on her early records was
sometimes a little lost.
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