Sex, God & Falling In Love With Tori Amos

‘So you can make me cum — that doesn’t make you Jesus.’ — Tori Amos, Precious Things.

I was a teenager of the 90s. When I hear certain songs from that decade it brings with it a kind of uncomfortable yet blissful feeling of nostalgia.

Especially when I hear songs from Tori Amos.

If you’re not from my generation or for whatever reason you haven’t yet discovered Tori Amos — you should really look her up. You’ll either love her music or hate it. Period.

I fell completely in love with her music in 1994, the moment I heard Cornflake Girl playing on the speaker in a dressing room while back-to-school shopping with my mom. Totally. Smitten. I even dyed my hair red for a time.

The music of Tori Amos had been around for a bit but I had never been exposed to her before that moment in the dressing room. I immediately went out and bought all her music.

Released in 1992, the song, Precious Things from the album, Little Earthquakes, encapsulated all of the angst and bittersweet joy of my 15-year-old world.

Tori Amos spoke of sex, violence, anger, love, and religion all at once with a raw, confident flare that still haunts me today when I hear her songs.

When Madonna came out with Like A Prayer in 1989 along with the subsequent controversy over her video showcasing a burning cross and an interracial kiss, people freaked out and thought that was pretty ballsy.

However, there’s not much depth to the actual lyrics of that song — in my opinion — in regards to making a statement about challenging the dark and repressed side of religion in regards to sexuality.

Tori Amos changed all that.

Her words resonated with me as a girl who grew up going to Catholic school yet also very curious about my own sexuality and the idea of what a sinner truly was.

The music of Tori Amos wasn’t so much about NOT believing in God as much as it was questioning what God was, what God meant, and how the culture of religion affected people — and in this case, Tori Amos was expressing how it had affected her.

Tori Amos sang about the hypocrisy and irony of religion in a way that had never been done before.

Tori Amos was my IT GIRL. She grew up with a father who was a pastor at a Methodist church but her songs often railed against religion with a cleverness and harmonious spite that begs the ears to listen.

“I wanna smash the faces of those beautiful boys Those Christian boys… So, you can make me cum That doesn’t make you Jesus” — Tori Amos, Precious Things

The way in which Tori’s lyrics described sex was often painful and disturbing. She wrote a song, Me and a Gun, about being raped when she was 21. This song sincerely resonated with people who had been through rape and sexual trauma.

Tori Amos also became the first national spokesperson for the Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network (RAINN), which is a toll-free helpline in the US connecting callers with their local rape crisis center.

“Yes, I wore a slinky red thing Does that mean I should spread For you, your friends, father, Mister Ed?

It was me and a gun and a man on my back But I haven’t seen Barbados so I must get out of this” — Tori Amos, Me and a Gun

What I love about Tori Amos is that her words always resonate with me no matter what mood I’m in. Her music is both melancholy and joyful at the same time. Her words have a way of addressing the crippling pain of life experiences yet also turning the other cheek to it with a sly grin.

Tori Amos exudes sensuality while remaining blunt in her depiction of sorrowful experiences. If you’ve ever seen live concert clips of her playing the piano (At five, she became the youngest student ever admitted to the preparatory division of the Peabody Conservatory of Music) you’ll be hypnotized by her intensity.

The way in which Tori Amos talked about sex, religion, and the guilt that comes with it in the 90s was and is still very relevant. Coming to terms with your own sexuality in spite of whatever religion you’ve been raised in or that you believe in is a brave thing to talk about — even today.

“I‘ve been looking for a savior in these dirty streets Looking for a savior beneath these dirty sheets I’ve been raising up my hands, drive another nail in Got enough guilt to start my own religion.’” — Tori Amos, Crucify

Talking about crucifying ourselves for feeling guilt, shame, and fear over our sexuality in the face of religion is as real as it gets. So many of us have been through that journey and so many of us want to know that we’re not alone.

Tori Amos inspired me to own my sexuality despite the whispers of shame in my head infused by religion. Her music nursed me through my own experience with rape. I admire her talent, honesty, and guts. I have yet to find another musical artist quite like her.

As I said, if you haven’t heard of or listened to the music of Tori Amos — I highly recommend it. Even 27 years later from that day I first heard her voice at a pivotal time in my own life her words are still impactful.

Tori Amos has produced many more albums since that day she affected my life with her music and lyrics — but those first two albums will never leave me — they are forever a part of my own self-discovery.

“God sometimes you just don’t come through Do you need a woman to look after you God sometimes you just don’t come through…” — Tori Amos, God

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