Oh boy, I know I’m gonna get crap for this one. Making sense of Tori Amos’ little piano-side diatribes is like trying to figure out why Pynchon feels the need to have a giant adenoid wreck havoc on London in Gravity’s Rainbow. When she skips the talking and sticks to singing, she’s actually quite talented. We always used to find it really sexy the way she grinded her piano bench and looked as if she was going to swallow the microphone. The irony is, of course, she’s usually singing about rape and abuse. Guys are sick.
