Passion Pit's rise has been a rapid one, rocketing in a matter of months from a local buzz on the Boston scene to making waves at last year's CMJ festival and reaching the Top 10 in the BBC Sound Of 2009 poll. But is it still worth having her around? You bet your life it is. Everyone has their place in the lineage, of course, and Tori Amos is the Kate Bush who actually tours (although, hearing her play "Space Dog" from 1994's Under The Pink, one could argue she's a Carole King who had one bad day too many). On the other hand, no Tori Amos? No Alanis Morissette, so let's burn the witch. No Tori Amos? No Joanna Newsom, no Amanda Palmer, no Regina Spektor, so come let us adore her. There are, of course, plenty of cause-and-effect reasons to celebrate her existence. When you're doing it at 46, it starts to seem all too real. When you do that stuff at 26, no one takes you seriously. (Amos may have a backing band, comprising Jon Evans on guitar/bass and Matt Chamberlain on drums, but they're tucked as far into the corners as courtesy allows, without asking them to stay in their hotel rooms and play via wireless connection.)Īt regular intervals, she flicks her waist-length russet locks aside and peers quizzically at us from between her two microphones, both tilted mouthwards at an angle reminiscent of gang porn, and generally shows incipient signs of becoming the mad old lady with cats in her hair from The Simpsons. Insanely talented and visibly unhinged, straddling a stool between no fewer than four sets of keys which she plays simultaneously, she's endlessly watchable. But even if you're resolutely not in the mood for shrieky menstrual music, you can't help being captivated by Tori Amos. You know, it's all too easy for the male concert-goer to feel disheartened and disenfranchised on the way to a show by an artist you need ovaries to fully understand.
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