Connect with us

Arts & Entertainment

Girl reappearing

Tori Amos celebrates 20th anniversary by revisiting her catalogue

Published

on

Tori Amos
Tori Amos

Tori Amos (photo by Danielle Levitt)

Tori Amos is straight but has a strong LGBT fan base. The Blade’s Joey DiGuglielmo is a long-time fan, having worn out a copy of “Boys for Pele” in the throes of closeted college-era angst. He talked to her by phone two weeks ago to talk about her new album “Gold Dust,” which features orchestral re-workings of 14 of her songs. It’s slated to drop Tuesday in the U.S.

Blade: Hi Tori

Tori Amos: Hi, how are you?

Blade: I’m good. I’m gonna try to cover a lot of ground really quickly so I’m just gonna jump right in. Tell me a little about the relationship you have going with Deutsche Grammophon. This is your second project with them. Are you under contract or are you just doing things on kind of an album-by-album basis?

Amos: Kind of album by album. … They came up with the idea of the variations on the masters (last year’s “Night of Hunters” album) but when I’d been working with the Metropole Orchestra the year before and they basically said, “We need recordings of this. This is the 20th anniversary of your work and this is how you do it with an orchestra.” I didn’t know, at first, if that made sense, but it seemed to make sense in their German minds. So it’s been very organic.

Blade: I’m just wondering how some of these arrangements came about and thinking back to some of those great remixes you had of your stuff back in the late ‘90s. Obviously I know remixing is a whole different thing altogether, but in terms of crafting symphonic arrangements or reworkings of your songs — where these songs are very much living in an alternate space from their original studio versions — I’m wondering if any of the same artistic considerations or principles apply as would if you’re crafting an alternate version in the form of a remix.

Amos: Wow, that’s a great question. I guess the thing about a remix is you don’t have to retain the narrative or even the spirit of the original work in the same way. So the “Professional Widow” remix, for example, became a very different expression of the song from the original. Some of that narrative was there but not the way it was on the (album version). And yet the remix still clearly did its job. But in doing something like this, you don’t want to lose the song’s story or her narrative in any way, so it was important to really, and sometimes very subtly, make changes. Some of the songs didn’t want a makeover. Some of them said, “Only strings,” or others said, “We’re open to a full orchestra but we don’t want to become completely overtaken.” It was almost like you were changing their outfit, but you were not changing their soul. Some were open to a more radical flavor. Like with “Flavor,” for instance, which was originally recorded with loops, it really stepped forward and said, “I want a completely different approach.” Or with “Precious Things.” It kind of said it thought its narrative could work with a more Prokofiev-inspired approach.

Blade: What was the time frame for this album?

Amos: I was rehearsing (with the Metropole Orhestra) for shows in October, 2010 and then we got back together in early 2011 and began recording some, but then we put it away because we went and did “Night of Hunters” with the octet. So that project came first, even though this was the first idea. Then we put the (“Gold Dust”) reels back on, I’d say maybe January 2012 and … began editing them together. Overdubs and mixing were finished in July.

Blade: Classical musicians can be notoriously snobby. Did you get any vibe from the Metropole players, even if they never said anything, that they were thinking, “Why are we doing this — can’t somebody bring us some Beethoven or something?” You do all kinds of stuff, obviously, but the grand scheme of things, your songs would be considered in more of the pop idiom than classical.

Amos: It was really a collaboration with them and I think the reason Alex (Burh, the Deutsche Grammophon exec who suggested “Night of Hunters”) suggested it is because he could tell there was a real conversation happening during the rehearsals (for the 2010 concert). There was definitely an affinity and a back-and-forth-type thing that was going on and I think that was why the decision was made to document and record it. There was a chemistry.

Blade: You’ve done a few theme projects now — a holiday album, some concept albums, a classical album, now orchestral reworkings of your songs. Do you have a private bucket list of stuff you want to eventually do? I’m not even necessarily asking what all those projects might be, but do you think, “Well, before I hang up my hat, I definitely want to do — blank.” Does your artistic mind work that way?

Amos: Yes, it thinks that way. I think right now I’m really focused on the musical, “The Light Princess.” Nick Hytner is very much a powerful force at the National Theatre in Great Britain and so hopefully the plan or the idea is that the piece will be ready to get put on its feet within, oh I don’t know, a year, maybe a little over a year. That’s what I have on my brain right now. But yeah, I approach things as a conceptualist and there are all kinds of thoughts that have come into my mind. I would love to someday do something where I just stay someplace and perform. I don’t know if you’d call it an evening in Las Vegas or what, but with a story and dancers. I would love to do something at Caesar’s Palace someday. And not just campy, you know, but maybe a bit of camp, but I love the idea of having dancers — not me dancing, I would be playing and singing — but have some dancers onstage and just make it an incredibly entertaining evening. Very much an old-school variety show with great costumes and an old Hollywood feel. Something like from the ‘30s or ‘40s where you get dressed up and come to a show and have dinner and walk away feeling like you’ve had a really glamorous evening.

Blade: Well, I would definitely come see it, that sounds fun. One thing I’ve always really admired about you is that you don’t always make things easy on the fans or present the material in such a way that it’s easy or accessible for the most casual fan, to say nothing of the material itself. I’m talking about things like those Icon or Playlist anthology CDs where they throw them together for all kinds of artists and make them something that’s meant to be a $7.99 impulse purchase in the checkout lane at Target. You never do things like that. And I’m not even saying it’s necessarily a bad thing ….

Amos: (interjects) … It is bad.

Blade: OK, why? Couldn’t you argue that it might pique someone’s curiosity and inspire them to then go dig deeper?

Amos: I’m telling you, it’s sinning against your art. That’s what you’re doing. It’s lazy.

Blade: Do you have business people approach you with these kinds of ideas?

Amos: Well, you know. There are all kinds of ideas that get spun about. But you have to have it in your head whether it’s a good idea or not. How are you going to feel about it in three months, in six months? What kind of statement does it make about you as an artist? And hey, sometimes I understand why they release these anthologies because something like (“Gold Dust”), I mean this takes a LOT of time to do. We started October 2010 so we’re talking two years from inception to this. It started with them inviting me to come play a show but it didn’t matter if it was one show or 200 shows or if we recorded the arrangements or not, the work still had to be done. The arrangements still had to be made for, like, 20 songs. (Arranger) John Philip Shenale and I were in touch everyday about this for one show, which is all I initially thought it was going to be. Not for one second did I think this would end up being a studio album. They invited me for this before the Alex, the German musicologist, invited me to come start messing with the masters. So that was the genesis and the time frame and doing a project like this with an orchestra is really tricky because people have attachments to the original versions. You really want to retain the soul of the song girl and like I said, some didn’t want extreme makeovers. That wasn’t really the challenge. It’s not about trying to shock people or try to decide how different you can make it. That’s almost too easy. It’s easy to shock people that way, to turn something totally on its head. I think what’s much trickier to do is to subtle because subtle changes can also become real banal and lifeless if you’re not careful.

Blade: I interviewed Sophie B. Hawkins a few weeks ago, who has a fabulous new album out by the way. I highly recommend it. I’m wondering if you feel any sense of sisterhood or artistic kinship with other women who came along in the ‘90s about the same time you did. You’ve managed to continue to forge ahead against the odds, while so many artists from that time have seen their audience dry up or move on. What advice would you give to other women who are highly talented musicians and still feel they have something great to offer?

Amos: It is really tough out there and it’s culturally tough because the masses seem to be gravitating to the next people and artists are seen as very disposable. They want to move on to whomever is next instead of growing with them. I have always wanted to grow with the artists and jump on the train with them. I wanted to know what they were experiencing and wanted to be seen as their patron. That’s how I think of my audience — I very much see them as my patrons, the people who come to my shows. Because without them, I couldn’t keep going. Also, philosophically, people seem to be of the mindset often, that it’s OK to just take something. I would never go to a wine show and slip a bottle of wine in my bag when the vendor wasn’t looking but people have talked themselves into thinking that that’s OK. Meanwhile orchestras are shutting down and you have … very accomplished musicians thinking about how they’re going to make a living doing their art. This is what I’m hearing from a lot of musicians. Do I have an answer? No, I don’t. I think it’s a cultural crisis.

Blade: Isn’t it partly short attention spans too?

Amos: Well yes, that and not wanting to grow. I would like to say that eventually people will realize how sad it is and that it will turn itself around but one of the reasons for the short attention spans is these shows where the next crop is waiting in the wings for its 15 minutes. These shows are making a lot of money but they don’t care about these singers. All they care about is the next show. Nobody is nurturing these artists.

Blade: A lot of people tape your shows and trade them around. Are you OK with that as long as they’re not trying to profit off them? Say they couldn’t make it to the show in Denver and you did this new song — which has always been one of the cool things about you, that your set list changes all the time.

Amos: I don’t have a problem with that but please, use good mics! Now obviously, if you’re trying to sell it, then I have a problem. I think my community knows how it goes. They know where I stand on stuff like that. I’ve even had people tell me they knew somebody who fell on hard times and couldn’t go to one of the shows. OK, but one day when you can, give back. I support the arts. Like visual artists — I go to galleries and support artists all the time.

Blade: I have a somewhat self-indulgent question I’m gonna squeeze in here but maybe it will apply to some other fans too. I play in a church so the challenge really becomes digesting so much new music all the time. What advice would you give to a church pianist or organist where there’s never time to polish anything or let it settle into the brain or fingers before you’re onto the stuff for next Sunday?

Amos: I think you should all be revisiting things on some kind of a rotating schedule. So maybe you revisit something, say, three months later and it becomes part of your repertoire and that way you develop a repertoire. I don’t think things just have to be performed one time. People will say, “Oh, I recognize that, I like that piece.”

Blade: I guess the cynic in me thinks they’ll think, “Oh, that again — he must have had a busy week.”

Amos: Well, OK, I guess some might think that but you can’t lie to yourself. The only other thing you can do is carve out more rehearsal time for yourself, but yeah, I can imagine it is tough.

Blade: Are you a keeper by nature? Do you have clothes from old video shoots and, like, all the “Doll Posse” wigs and stuff like that?

Amos: Yes, I have all that. And yes, (daughter) Tash dresses up in them all the time.

Blade: How many pianos do you own?

Amos: Well that’s tough to say because I have a deal with Bosendorfer so I can trade them out.

Blade: I can’t imagine what your tuning bill must be.

Amos: Well, we have different tuners in different countries. The Bosendorfer at the beach house in Florida, we have this lovely lady who has this twinkle in her eye. And then there’s the one where we record in Cornwall. But Ann has gotten the Florida one where it doesn’t need as much because it’s not being recorded. She’s really got it stable right now and it’s not being moved, so it tends to hold its tuning pretty well. When we’re recording, we tune once a week.

Blade: I love the new album, thanks so much for your time.

Amos: You take care honey, thanks.

Advertisement
FUND LGBTQ JOURNALISM
SIGN UP FOR E-BLAST

Photos

PHOTOS: ‘Defrosted’

Live drag musical performed at JR.’s

Published

on

'Defrosted' was performed at JR.'s on Saturday. (Washington Blade photo by Michael Key)

Highball Productions held performances of a drag musical, ‘Defrosted,’ at JR.’s on Friday and Saturday. 

(Washington Blade photos by Michael Key)

Continue Reading

Movies

Intense doc offers transcendent treatment of queer fetish pioneer

‘A Body to Live In’ a fascinating trip into a transgressive culture

Published

on

The late Fakir Musafar in ‘A Body to Live In.’ (Photo courtesy of Altered Innocence)

Once upon a time in the 1940s, a teenager named Roland Loomis, who lived with his devout Lutheran parents in Aberdeen, S.D., received a hand-me-down camera from his uncle. It was a gift that would change his life.

Small and effeminate, he didn’t exactly fit with the “in” crowd of his small rural town; but he had an inner life more thrilling than anything they had to offer, anyway, and that camera became the key with which it could finally be unlocked. Waiting patiently for those precious hours when he was alone in the house, he used it to capture images of himself that expressed an identity he had only begun to explore, through furtive experiments in body manipulation that incorporated exotic costuming, erotic nudity, gender ambiguity, and what many of us might call (though he would not) self-mutilation, including the piercing of his skin and other extreme forms of physical modification.

Young Roland would go on to become famous (or perhaps, notorious) in the decades to come, but it would be under a different name: Fakir Musafar, the focal figure of filmmaker Angelo Madsen’s documentary “A Body to Live In,” which opened in Los Angeles on Feb. 27 and expands to New York this weekend. 

Like Musafar himself, who died of lung cancer at 87 in 2018, it’s a documentary that doesn’t quite follow the expected rules. Eschewing “talking head” commentators and traditional narration, Madsen spins his movie from his subject’s extensive archives and allows the information to come through the voices of those who were close to him: collaborator and life partner Cléo Dubois, performance artists Ron Athey and Annie Sprinkle, and underground publisher V. Vale are among the many who contribute their memories and impressions of him, while evocative photos and film footage create a hazy “slide show” effect to provide a guided tour of his life, his art, and his legacy. Less a biography than a chronicle of profoundly unorthodox self-discovery, it details his development from those early days of clandestine self-photography through a continual evolution that would see him become a performance artist, a central figure in the burgeoning BDSM culture, a seeker who espoused eroticism as a spiritual practice, the founder of a “Radical Faeries” offshoot for the kink/fetish community, and ultimately an elder and mentor for a new generation for whom his once-taboo ideas and explorations had essentially become mainstream – thanks in no small part to his own pioneering efforts.

It’s a fascinating, hypnotic trip into a culture which might feel disturbingly transgressive to those who have never been a part of it – yet will almost certainly feel like being “seen” to those who have. It opens a window into a lifestyle where leather, kink, BDSM, gender play, and non-monogamous “situationships” are not just accepted but viewed as natural variations on the spectrum of human sexuality; and in the middle of it all is Musafar, on a deeply personal quest to connect with the deepest part of his essence through the intense and ritualistic pursuit of an inner drive that keeps pushing him further. As one reminiscing cohort remarks during the film, it’s as if he is “trying to find an answer to a question that” he “cannot form.”

Indeed, it might be said that Madsen’s movie is an exercise in forming that question; bringing his own “transness” into the mix as he examines the various aspects of Musafar’s ever-evolving relationship with self, identity, and presentation, he evokes a timely resonance in which the imperative to make physical form match psychic self-perception becomes an irresistible force, and draws a direct line between his subject’s fluid ambiguity and the plight faced by modern trans people over the bigotry of those who think gender is strictly about genitalia. Perhaps the question has to do with whether we are defined by our identities or by our physical form – or if both are malleable, adaptable, and in a constant state of flux.

In any case, with regard to Musafar, “A Body to Live In” is unquestionably a film about transformation, not just of physical manifestation but of consciousness itself. In his journey from being little Roland, the outcast schoolboy with a secret fetish, to Fakir, the spiritual psychonaut for whom sex and gender are only walls that separate us from a true and eternal essence, he is embodied by Madsen’s reverent documentary as a being in the process of breaking free from the restrictions of physical existence, of transcending all such distinctions by letting go of life itself – something underscored not only by the section of the movie dealing with the impact of the AIDS epidemic on Musafar’s deeply-bonded community, but by his own words, spoken in a deathbed interview that serves as a connecting thread throughout the film. We are kept unavoidably aware of the mortality which – for Musafar at least – seems little more than a prison that keeps us from the unfettered joy of our true nature.

But while Madsen honors his subject as a pillar – and an under-sung hero – of contemporary queer culture, he also addresses the aspects that made him a “problematic” figure; in his life, he drew criticism over perceived cultural appropriation from the indigenous American tribes whose sacred rituals inspired the kink-flavored practices which facilitated his own spiritual odyssey, and which he popularized among his own acolytes to give rise to the still-controversial “Modern Primitive” movement that has been criticized by some for turning meaningful cultural traditions into an excuse for trendy fashion accessories. Even Musafar’s survivors, whose love for him exudes palpably from the stories and memories they share of him throughout the film, make observations that point to his flaws; yet at the same time, Madsen’s documentary makes clear that Musafar himself never saw himself as perfect, either – just as someone willing to endure the kind of suffering that most of us might find unbearable in order to get closer to perfection.

Of course, it probably helped that he enjoyed that so-called “suffering,” but that’s perhaps too glib an observation in the face of a film that so clearly makes a case for the deep and sincere commitment he held for his quest for transcendence; but it’s also a helpful reminder that his practices – which might seem macabre and twisted to the uninitiated – were also an experience of joy, an exercise in rising above pain and making it a vehicle toward enlightenment, and in achieving a deeper understanding of one’s own place in this confusing place we call the universe.

Full disclosure: “A Body to Live In” is an intense experience, replete with candid sexual conversation, frequent nudity, and graphic scenes of extreme fetish practices – like suspension by metal hooks through the skin – which might be hard to handle for those who are unprepared to be confronted by them. Even so, as dark and menacing as it might be for the squeamish outsider, the world revealed in Madsen’s eloquent portrait is full of treasures and steeped in dark beauty, and it’s hard to imagine a more fitting way than that to portray a queer pioneer like the former Roland Loomis.

Continue Reading

Nightlife

In D.C. comedy, be sure to shop local

A thriving patchwork of queer-friendly stages in Washington, Baltimore

Published

on

(Photo courtesy of Jamie Mack)

Most people know stand-up comedy from Netflix specials or late-night sets on Comedy Central. The reality is far different for local working comics like me. A few times a month, I might get paid $50 for a 10-minute set and my photo on a bar flyer to show off to the ladies in my scrapbooking club.

Still, it’s a joy sharing laughs about my well-worn Washington career arc — from conservative reporter to openly trans organic grocery store worker and nightclub comedian. Or, as I like to say onstage, from Fox to foxy.

Stand-up is hard. Offstage, it’s even harder. It took more than a year and nearly 80 open mics to land my first paid set. Since then, I’ve performed in coffee shops, bars, restaurants and even on a city sidewalk. I once performed in the Catskills, which felt like a big deal — even if it was a bigger deal in the 1950s.

As an older trans comic in Washington, I’ve found it nearly impossible to get stage time — or even the courtesy of a returned email — at the big, corporate-owned comedy clubs. Fortunately, there’s a thriving patchwork of queer-friendly producers in Washington and Baltimore creating shows that reflect the diversity of our communities, instead of straight male-dominated lineups that look like the cast of “Ice Road Truckers.”

“There are so many kinds of funny people, but a lot of barriers exist for women and queer people because it’s a very masculine culture,” said Dana Fleitman, who runs the Just Kidding Comedy Collective and is helping produce the Woke Mob Comedy Festival in April, featuring many women and queer comics.

Full disclosure: I’m not performing in the festival. But I am proud to be one of more than 50 women and nonbinary comics Fleitman and her colleagues have helped “train up” through an incubator program she first ran through Grassroots Comedy and now through Just Kidding Comedy Collective.

Another trans comic, Charlie Girard, who splits time between New York and Washington, runs an incubator program called Queers Can’t Take a Joke. He has trained more than 100 comics in Washington.

Girard has one rule: no punching down.

“The best comics speak truth to power,” Girard said. “Making fun of marginalized communities is simple lazy writing based on tired, old stereotypes.”

Ultimately, Girard wants to prepare students not just for queer rooms, but to find their voice and expand into all kinds of spaces.

Comics trained by Girard and Fleitman have gone on to produce or help run shows like Clocked Comedy, Backbone Comedy, the Crackin’ Up open mic and Funny Side Up. Several have found a home on Barracks Row at As You Are — one of my favorite places to perform. In Washington, comic Jenny Cavallero’s show Seltzer is a sober comedy night frequently featuring local queer comics.

In Washington, performer and producer Arzoo Malhotra, who runs Zoo Animal Productions, said it’s a critical moment to support community-based comedy producers, often the first hit by worsening economic conditions.

“We’re losing spaces faster than we’re creating them,” Malhotra said. “We are in the use-it-or-lose-it stage. If there’s a restaurant you like or a performer you want to keep seeing, patronize them now — because they’re going away.”

I’m also grateful for producers in Baltimore, which has a thriving queer comedy scene. Comic Hannah Alden Jeffrey’s monthly “The Really Cool Open Mic,” created for women and trans performers but open to all, regularly draws up to 100 people.

Hannah’s mic and Kenny Rooster’s “Dramedy” open stage have provided safety and opportunity when other stages felt out of reach. Comedians Michael Furr and Jake Leizear also produce shows regularly featuring queer comics.

“We started the REALLY COOL Open Mic because every other mic in town catered toward straight dudes that dominated the Baltimore scene,” Alden Jeffrey said. “Contrary to the lineups of many shows today, people don’t want to see a show of eight guys being bigots. Go figure.”

One of the most important moments for me came when I attended a free showcase at a well-known Adams Morgan club. Like other big venues, it hadn’t responded to emails from a new comic looking for a shot. I sat in the back row thinking maybe these comics were just way funnier than I am.

Then a straight male comedian — with hair even more gorgeous than mine — launched into a long joke comparing eating pizza to performing oral sex on a woman.

At that moment, I walked out feeling better about myself. I remember thinking: nope. I absolutely deserve to be on that stage, too.

Lots of us do.

Jamie Mack is a stand up comedian, speaker and writer. Follow them on Instagram at @jamiemack_blt or email [email protected].

Continue Reading

Popular