Atlantic
Alternative Rock, 1996
Ah, the grand tradition of singer-songwriters using their love lives as fuel for chart-topping success. You might think Taylor Swift cornered the market on this, but no, Tori Amos was out here decades earlier, slashing through her past relationships like a red-haired vengeance goddess with a harpsichord.
Boys for Pele is her post-breakup opus, written and produced entirely by her after splitting from her longtime collaborator and lover, Eric Rosse. What does she do with that newfound freedom? She writes an entire album about him and the various men she hooked up with afterward. Iconic behavior.
And wouldn’t you know it—this emotionally raw, experimental, harpsichord-drenched confessional also became the biggest debut of her career. But the real kicker here is that her biggest hit from this album (and let’s face it, probably her biggest hit ever) is… a dance remix. Yes, the Armand Van Helden remix of Professional Widow transformed a snarling, rage-fueled song into a pulsating club anthem where the only recognizable lyrics are “Honey, bring it close to my lips.”
Imagine being absolutely hammered at a nightclub, mid-groove, and suddenly realizing—wait a second—is this Tori Amos?! The funniest part is that remix wasn’t even on the original album.
Naturally, this album was “controversial” among Ms Amos’s more, uh, dedicated fans. You see, these people were expecting another round of delicate, piano-driven ballads where she whispers secrets to the universe. Instead, they got an album where she’s shrieking about chickens over harpsichords, pump organs, and brass sections. Absolute sacrilege! The horror! Fans wept. Critics scratched their heads. Somewhere in the distance, a harpsichord cackled.
Now, people call Boys for Pele “experimental” but it’s really just louder than Under the Pink. The melodies are pure, classic Tori Amos. Also, she brought back the fire and intensity of Little Earthquakes, which is more than we can say for the very sleepy Under the Pink.
Of course, Ms Amos’s idea of “experimental touches” would be considered completely normal on any other mainstream album. The difference is that here, those touches don’t ruin the songs; they electrify them. Caught a Lite Sneeze has a creeping, unforgettable riff that burrows into your brain and refuses to leave, while Father Lucifer proves that yes, she can absolutely throw down with a full band without losing an ounce of her signature chaos.
The rest of the album is equally solid, making Boys for Pele feel like the true spiritual successor to Little Earthquakes, a much-needed jolt of energy after the midtempo nap that was Under the Pink.
The only catch is that the songwriting is more cryptic than ever, to the point where you could write an entire Game of Thrones-length dissertation on what Blood Roses actually means and still be completely wrong.
In short, Boys for Pele is an album best enjoyed without paying attention to what Ms Amos is actually saying. Which, come to think of it, might explain why it was such a mainstream success. But once you get past the initial shock of this album not being Under the Pink 2: The Pinkening, you’ll realize that this album proves she isn’t afraid to shake things up when a formula starts feeling stale. And for that, we thank her.
