What Owning Too Many Tori Amos Albums Might Be Saying About You!

I've always said that the music you listen to says a lot about you.

During my rambunctious years, the only thing that could stop my little steam engine dead in its tracks was seeing that a prospective love interest's music collection suffered from "Tori INXS". In other words, the sight of any more than three Tori Amos CD's, cassettes, or "vinyls" (f'kn millennials) is a red flag warning of drama-filled psychosis to come.

By living, loving, and learning the hard way, I finally put two-and-two together, realized that every overly drama-filled psycho event had been with someone whose Tori collection fell beyond the boundaries of mental well-being.

Thing is, who but a complete music nerd would a) know this, and b) warn others?

It's a two-way street, however, and those who find themselves staring at my music collection have no idea what the abundance of deep, deep, deep Waylon Jennings catalog (I'm talking Too Dumb For New York City, Too Ugly For L.A. and Right For The Time deep) and early Revolting Cocks says about my psychological make-up.

Uh-oh, somebody just got the Tori Amos side-eye!

Long story short, after some fireworks on the futon, I invariably extricate myself from the clutches of a snoring barnacle and decompress on the back porch with a Marley.

On my way there, of course, I take a closer glance at that music collection because, hey, why not?

Don't get me wrong, I adore Tori Amos. Thing is, I'm actually coo-coo for her Y Kant Tori Read album, which came out years before Little Earthquakes, yet no Tori Amos fanatic I have ever met seems to have heard of it.

Those who own Little Earthquakes are harmless. Seeing this album in someone's collection just means they had MTV in 1992.

This also applies to 1994's Under The Pink, her most successful album.

If you see Boys For Pele, the one with Amos in her bare feet holding a shot gun, that's when you start losing most of your keepers. The album itself, while as schizophrenic as any album recorded in Ireland and Louisiana should sound, was when Amos started getting a little TMI for middle America.

Tori warming up her cloak of invisibility.

Even so, I won't shudder at the sight of From The Choirgirl Hotel, which was her last full-fledged attempt to play nice with the record company. Meanwhile, everything about To Venus And Back says "This could just as easily have been a Chantal Kreviazuk album" so no reason to be too alarmed.

However, if you see latter day albums such as The Beekeeper or American Doll Posse, perhaps start to plan an exit strategy. If, upon closer inspection, you see Midwinter Graces, but not also Enya's Watermark or Shepherd Moons, run for your life!

Ah, who are we kidding, any amount of Tori is still preferable to the well-balanced boredom of being with someone who owns two or more Natalie Merchant solo albums.