Ruth's Dew Drop Inn Story

Added January 26, 1996

Greetings and Salutations from the UK. Just a quick note to tell you that I think your tori web site is groovy and I feel like a bit of a voyeur reading all your IN stories. I'm happy tori played Killing Me Softly for you. I managed to get her to play Mother for me in Phila. She said she wasn't sure if she remembered her or not since she hadn't played in over a year. Boy am I glad she didn't forget her because she's my favourite. Anyway, attached is a copy of my account of the Pele tour. Enjoy.

My Summer in the Girl Zone..... by Ruth Eichmiller

I gingerly approached my boss, with a cup of coffee and a fresh scone from the local bakery , to request a few days off in an effort to join the Pele tour. Afterall, I was employed by the city of Philadelphia, the city is bankrupt and won't miss me, a lonely criminologist, I argued. After a few hours of contemplation my boss relented with a few stipulations. He required me to take my laptop with me and keep the statistical crime charts up to date as well as having a beer in his honour in each new city. No problem. I was off to a few dates of the Pele tour , 21 shows along the east coast to be exact.

My adventure began on April 26th, I packed a few essentials into my auto and headed off in search of Constitution Hall located, appropriately, in Washington DC. I arrived just in time for the concert. I quickly took my seat, in the third row. After the lights went down, the crowds screams raised to an unparalleled level. Quietly, Tori assumed her position behind the Bosendorfer. She plunged head first into the set with her head and arms flailing into a moving rendition of Beauty Queen and Horses. During this set she surged into an old favourite of mine, Pretty Good Year: varying from silence to screams, pushing the limits of her seemingly endless vocal range. The set was marked by blatant dissident piano thrashing coupled with the harmony of Caton's guitars. And her newest friend, the harpsichord, did not leave the stage without first weaving her magic spell. For Blood Roses, the harpsichord relented angry broken chords matched with Tori's biting accusational lyrics. Perhaps, the most moving song of the evening was a tearful performance of Marianne. Her voice had eerily slipped into a dirgeful riff. Tori performed an always emotional, sometimes caustic, sometimes introspective set to a sold out crowd. Tori left the stage that evening seemingly triumphant, yet humble and appreciative through thoroughly exhausted and in need of a good margarita.

On Monday, I anxiously opened the morning paper eager to read a review of Tori's shows. Afterall, the reporter was sitting next to me and scribbling on a notepad throughout the entire performance. Much to my surprise and dismay the reporter abhorred the shows. If I recall correctly he stated that her lyrics were impossible to follow and appeared to have been penned after spending an evening with refrigerator poetry...blah, blah, blah... You get the idea. I was so angered by the review that I promptly threw it into the bin and lit a match (besides being a statistician I am an avid pyromaniac). Absentmindedly, I forgot that my bin was located directly beneath a looming smoke detector. Soon, the entire population of juvenile delinquents were being led from their cells to the streets below. It was hard to make out the sound of sirens above all of the joyous laughter from the delinquents. Shamefully, I hid behind my boss. Who kept inquiring, `tell me again why you were burning the Washington Post?' Feebly, I explained that some less than intelligent reporter had given Tori Amos a less than favourable review. To which one of my favourite delinquents, Honey, responded, `I hope the babe gets a lot of poor reviews. I ain't seen the sun for days. Isn't she the girl who don't believe in God? An who lets rats crawl on her? She sounds like half my hood [neighbourhood]. Can you borrow me her cd?"

After all of the hoopla had ended, I went back to my office grabbed my copy of Under the Pink and headed over to the cells. Perhaps, Honey would appreciate Tori more than the reporter had. At least they both had an affinity for rats, although, Tori was a willing participant. I seemed to think that Honey was an unwilling rat companion. Honey grinned from ear to ear as I presented her with a copy of Under the Pink. I told her she could keep the cd. In exchange for the cd, Honey offered me some advice that she thought I might find helpful. I should point out at this juncture that Honey is a convicted arsonist. She filled me in on all the tricks of the fire setting trade. Upon reflection, I decided Honey may not be the most appropriate teacher, afterall, she was in jail. I did, however, store the information bestowed upon me in one of the many deep cavities in my brain. One never knows when it may come in handy.

I was fortunate to be able to attend Tori's shows in NYC. During each of these shows a young man kept yelling out for Professional Widow. Having been to over 40 Tori shows since the Earthquakes tour, I am well versed in the audience request component of Tori's shows. However, it does become a little tiresome and slightly annoying when individuals go on yelling after Tori has selected a song. Tori eloquently, replied to thunderous song requests by stating , "I am not a juke box." However, she did find Frankie rather amusing and told him to be patient and he would get his wish. After the show, I was standing outside waiting for Tori to leave the theatre (with about a hundred other Tori admirers). After about an hour, Tori came outside and looked as though she could use a big bowl of pasta smothered with butter and garlic. She smiled and said hello as she headed for her limo. As she was walking towards her limo, a large boy with slicked back hair and a black leather jacket with a Winnie the Pooh doll stuffed under his arm was yelling in his best Amy Fisher accent, "hey, Tori wait. It's me Frankie. I have something for you." Tori stopped turned around and was greeted by Frankie and Winnie the Pooh. She gratefully accepted Winnie and looked as though she might cry. She replied "isn't he the sweetest?" With a wink and a faery smile Tori got into her limo and was gone. To this day I still smile like a Cheshire cat when I think of Frankie running down the street with Winnie the Pooh tucked under his arm.

As I travelled from show to show (stopping off in Phila. to shower and change my platform shoes) I was left mesmerised by both her performances and her fans. Outside every show, I encountered some of the most understanding, compassionate, intelligent and oftentimes humorous (see above) individuals that I will ever know. I also discovered that no one leaves a Tori show unaffected , not even the seventy-six year old woman I gave a ticket to in Wilkes Barre, PA. After the show she hunted me down to say that I had tricked her into seeing the show by telling her that Tori was a piano player. Then she smiled and said that was the nicest trick anyone had ever played on her. As a tear streamed down her face she gave me a hug and thanked me for the ticket.

Throughout my journey Tori never ceased to amaze me with each show she seemed to delve into her soul and pull out another fire to ignite underneath her audiences. I found that Tori has the ability to place her head gently on your shoulder while simultaneously hitting you in the chest knocking the wind out of you.

Tori, keep the piano hammers pounding. And I hope to see you all at my various stops on the next tour. Albeit, they will be in the UK not the US as I now reside in Britain as a full time doctoral student and part time pyromaniac. If you happen to read an article with the by-line: `Crazed Doctoral Student Arrested for Burning Newspaper Headquarters After Tori Amos Show' you will know that she received less than favourable reviews and I retaliated. And, who says that females are the passive gender?

Cheers. With Happiness and A Little Peach Juice....Ruth

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