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Tori Amos @ The Royal Albert Hall The weeks highlight was of course my hot date, with Tori Amos. As it happens I attend college on Tuesday, just five minutes walk from the Royal Albert Hall, so although I had a ticket for the second night’s performance, I wandered on up there any how, to scope the surroundings, sample a slice of pre concert atmosphere to massage my drool glands, and plan my ‘kiss Tori again’ strategy for the following evening. The usual cross section of the Toriphile community were abound, with their E’s and their ease, and their green hair to please, in the celluloid stare of the traffic fuelled air. The ticket touts were in full effect, hassling passers by, but I breezed passed, safe in the knowledge my ticket was home. I considerd buying a ticket and attending both shows, but I didn’t want to become obsessive or anything, so I spoke to one of the gate guardians to find out which exit Tori would be using so I could stalk her there. I managed to find out that Tori would be leaving from door 2, and that the show would end at 10.30pm. However, not wanting to hang around outside all night, I sped off home, with a view to being glued to the steps of door 2 post show the following eve.
Wednesday drew itself out far too longley as anticipation kept my mind far from Pru. 6pm took a pop at me, and I shot off to High Street Kensington to meet Sharon, a Scottish work collegue of Wondercows, and a mutual friend. (I’m getting a bit bored writing this now, so I hope your not getting bored reading it!) Having navigate the streets of Kensington to find a cash machine awash the melee of rolling Toriphiles, and cabbed it on back to the Royal, we soon found ourselves deep in adrenalin fuelled (not to mention beer) and beer fuelled (whoops) conversation, as the beautiful (and sometimes hairy) people brushed on around the hall. I had never been to the Royal Albert Hall before, and it was quite the venue. It’s very large, bricky red colour with old stone carvings garnishing the outside, inside is equally large (cunningly) with the corridoors weaving an outer circle, to the auditoriums inner. All around the inside curves are tiers of balconies stretching up to the ceiling some height, and halo’d with chandeliers, while chairs sweep the floor to tiers. Thanks to a spot of crafty ticket booking, we had secured seats 11 rows from the front, and could barely see the people way back up high, so surely they couldn’t see us, let alone Tori! The ceiling had lots of large egg like balls suspended from it, and minions of small star lights twinkling in it’s sky. The domed skyline looked like a giant eye, and we were sat behind it, in the control seat, peering out to the space outside. |
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We’d barely sat down, when the support band rocked on, some Irish outfit called the ‘Devlins’ but they went as quickly as they came, and while not bad, the headline desire seems to mute the ears of support. More beer breached the interval (and I managed to irreversably stain the carpet in the Royal Albert Hall with a spot of spillage!) before we were poised for the main attraction.............
The lights dimmed, and a haunting wave of sound seeped from the electric guitar wielded on stage in the darkness. In the dim hue of amber, a small figure ran on stage, wearing pale blue jeans and a skin tight grey T-shirt, to the cheers of all who were scattered on the surrounding cliff face. Before the smiles had died down, the zip paced chimes of the keyboard, stenciled the opening frame of ‘Black Dove’, and the band kicked in full blast to the other side of the galaxy. The blasts from the front speakers were unfeasibly large, as the reverberated around the hollows of the hall. Sometimes it became quite hard to detect the delicate crystal cries of wee Myra as she became lathered in drums and bass, but it was an impressive feast before us. |
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Iiieeeeee, iiiieeeeee became the cries from each tap of the keys between refrains of song 2, and before long we were rocking out to an intense ‘Precious Things’ with reduced held note on every nice “giiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiirl” than usual.
We were so close! We could see every crack of a smile, every wink (and every lock of hair on the occasions when her back was to us for want of playing piano!) She regularly gestured to her belly and out with a smooth floeing arm, and we could even see the sweat (sorry- ladies perspire) gathering around selected points of her t-shirt! As if to nod at the potentially woeful souls, weeping at the plugged sacrilage, Tori spun out some classic acoustic tunes, unaccompanied (the my filling of beer made me run out around the circular corridor during silent all these years to find the wee boys wee room), which made a nice breather, though everytime I see her , I end up getting lumbered with ‘China’ which has never done much for me! This event was no exception, but I escaped ‘Me and a gun’ , ‘leather’ and ‘crucify’ this time! Surprise entrant came in the guise of ‘Honey’ which caused complete confusion for a minute as the giant cello was erected and a slow piano crept into the first verse, without the tell tale plucks of whatever instrument it is that usually guides her sweetness. ‘Pretty good year’ was a highlight as it brought back memories of MY ‘gonna see America’ when the audience at her concert there I attended, got out of their seats and ran to the stage during the bridge (myself included). A similar incident this time only occurred during the thumping bass of ‘rasberry swirl’, when two zealous fans ran up the isle and started rocking, then Tori sang ‘ok now’, ‘ok babe’ in the verse to move them on! A mad intro to this number, as the drummer stood up and went psycho with his drumsticks on some high vertical cow bells and symbols. As closure dashed closer, Tori rocked to her two encore climax. Waitress was another surprise number, heavily booming from the speakers when she believes in peace - BITCH!, to a fully lit stage, which smashed down into darkness post chorus, shattering the buttercup bone orchard. While a newly drum laden ‘Horses’ perplexed well into it’s second minute! The ultimate moment however, was when Tori returned for heer fist encore, after the thunderous rumbling of beating feet on the terraces bellowed throughout the hall, calling her back for more. The drums kicked in, and three giant glitter balls began to spin, casting a rotational constellation of inter stella stars across every arch of the hall, some feat considering it’s size. A truly awe inspiring sight, to the twists and turns of ‘She’s your cocaine’. A cover that I am unfamiliar with soothed us to the end, and Tori ran to the front of the stage, bowed , did her toodles wave, and shook hands with the small gathering, fast enough to reach her before she fled. So after lights up, Sharon and I, in sadness as to the speed it all went at, made our way to door 2. We spoke to a security guard on the way out to see if he knew when she would be leaving. Apparently her family had just flown 5,000 miles to come to the show, and they would be drinking at the free bar downstairs with Tori until 2.30 am- bugger! Sharon and I waited outside the door for a while, with the real die hard Toriphiles, the sort who follow her around the country attending every show. We spoke to the chauffer of the awaiting space cruiser, but he was only taking the band home. We later found Tori’s Mercedes hidden around near door 8, and three mad fans told us of how they’d talked an old lady on the door into letting them in for free, subsequently upgraded their back row seats to the front row, and they had met Tori’s mum downstairs in the bar! We felt like true stalkers and got really high on the excitement and atmosphere. But sadly we decided that it wasn’t going to happen, and there was little point in hanging around for two hours, missing our last train home just for a possible fleeting glimpse. After all, I’ve already had my chat, hug and kiss, so would be unlikely to have another such brushing so soon. But next time, next time we WILL be reunited!!!!!! Yours, in a puddle of glee, Jupiter. J |
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