I’ll Meet You in the Muck
How Tori Amos got me through the worst year of my life…again
I first heard Tori Amos when I was ten years old. It remains one of my most vivid memories. I was in the living room of the house where I grew up. It was spring of 1992 — and it was dusk. I was watching VH1, and suddenly I heard the first notes of a song that is now embedded in my DNA — Silent All These Years. I saw this beautiful, alluring, flame-haired woman singing a song the likes of which I had never heard, and it became lodged in my brain. I was going through a period of intense bullying at school, and even though I didn’t understand what the song was about exactly, this bit resonated — “Yes, I know what you think of me, you never shut up”. It evoked the image of my taunting classmates. I got the cassette single right away and listened to it so often I wore the tape out.
Nearly thirty years later, I am still a huge Tori Amos fan. But “fan” isn’t quite the right word. What is the word for how you feel about an artist who has literally saved your life over and over again? I could write a book on the number of times Tori and her music have scraped me off the floor, have given me strength, and have inspired me to do my own creative work. In this case I specifically want to talk about these past eighteen months, and how our personal stories and struggles dovetailed this year. And yes, how she saved my ass yet again.
In the spring of 2020, Tori released her beautiful book, Resistance, which details her process over her long career and how it relates to her personal and political journey. During that time, she did several book signings and talks over Zoom. We were in the thick of the pandemic, and things were still so terrifying and uncertain. I was on my knees at that point. My husband had just recovered from a mild yet nasty bout of COVID-19, which was a terrifying experience. I am a playwright and screenwriter, and I had several productions lined up as well as a potential long-term trip to Los Angeles where I was going to take meetings and see what it was all about. I watched helplessly as all it all fell apart, bit by bit. Worse — I was completely unable to write, which has always been my coping strategy. Usually my brain is pinging with dialogue and ideas and phrases. There was nothing but brief flutters, sort of like when you see sparkles in your peripheral vision. I felt utterly lost.
In May of 2020, Tori did a book event livestream with Noah Michelson — another writer who is also a huge Tori fan — there was the opportunity to write in a question. I decided to go for it.
My question to Tori was this: “As a playwright, watching my whole industry disappear overnight, I’m feeling completely paralyzed. What is your advice for an artist who needs to completely revamp their way of doing things and working without worrying so much about the result? I want to learn to love writing again and rediscover myself”.
Imagine my stunned surprise when Tori proceeded to read my question on the livestream, and not only that, but she also answered my question for about five minutes. Her advice to me was clear, strong, and unbelievably generous. She encouraged me to think of myself as an “Artist With a Big A…that is ass kicking, when the fucking shitstorm is on….we have to support each other to get out of bed in the morning and open ourselves up…that’s not easy to do”. And then she said the words that carried me through the rest of that terrible year, and up through today:
“I support you, Kari. I encourage you. And I can’t wait to see the play that you’re going to write. And then how you’re going to stage it. You know, this is really fascinating to me, I want to know how you’re going to do that. Because, not being a playwright, I can’t think like you great people, but I wanna know what cast is available. I mean, what people are quarantining during this time…maybe you write toward that, I don’t know, but it seems like there are possibilities, really interesting possibilities. But it’s having the fire, that’s the thing, you’ve gotta have the fire. And the water…maybe that’s your energy. I’m not saying one is better than the other…but we can do this. We can be resilient. That’s the key. Resistance is now about being resilient.”
I was stunned, overwhelmed, and moved to tears. I’ve met Tori Amos at fan events exactly three times in my entire life, and the woman probably couldn’t pick me out of a lineup. How did she know exactly what I needed to hear in that moment? Silly me, though — she always does, somehow. In these thirty years, she always manages to show up when I need her. I took her advice very seriously and felt incredibly fortunate to have received it.
Just as I started to get back on my feet, the bottom fell out for me yet again. My mother-in-law was diagnosed with terminal cancer in the summer of 2020. She had an undiagnosed neuroendocrine tumor that took over most of her liver. The doctors gave us a year, at the absolute best. It turned out to be much less than that. The only thing worse than dealing with a hospice situation is a hospice situation in a pandemic. I became more isolated than ever, knowing I could not risk giving COVID to her, my family, or her caregivers. The numbers continued to rise, and there was still no vaccine in sight. Over the course of the next several months, we watched my gregarious and lively mother-in-law waste away to nothing, completely helpless and bedridden. The woman had a more active social life than I did — even though she was in her 80s — and none of us thought this was the way we would lose her. But lose her we did. On November 29, 2020, with her family by her side, she drew her last breath. When she passed, I felt relieved that she was no longer suffering, but I was also devastated by the entire experience. No one should suffer the way she did.
After she died, my husband became an orphan, and in some ways, so did I. My grief was complicated. I am estranged from my mother, and it is one of the most painful truths of my life. It also happens to be a truth not many people can understand. My husband and I found ourselves walking separate emotional paths for one of the first times in our marriage. He was grieving deeply for his mother; I was grieving both my mother-in-law and the mother I wish I’d had. It was a brutal holiday season that segued into our second brutal pandemic winter. I was barely scraping by.
Then January 6th happened. The last time I felt that terrified for the country was on 9/11. I had no idea what was going to happen, and watched in horror as we just barely saved our democracy. Mercifully, Biden was inaugurated a few weeks later without further incident, but I was traumatized, depressed, and still grieving the events of 2020. I tried to find my fire. I tried and tried. I returned to a play that I had started writing before the pandemic and was struggling with it. I decided my energy during this time had to be water — and I took up watercolor painting, which has been a savior for me. It taught me to use my creativity differently, and not worry so much about perfection. I found new ways to collaborate and create. I had two Zoom productions of my plays, which were so rewarding even if I did miss the in-person aspect. I had a simple mantra: WWTAD (What Would Tori Amos Do)? I wrote it on the whiteboard next to my desk.
I kept trying to write. It slowly — slowly — started to come back. Summer came and went, and I turned forty in September. I started to feel a little bit more myself again. I just started outlining a new television pilot. That was more than I could do six months ago.
About a month ago, it was announced that Tori was releasing a new album called Ocean to Ocean at the end of October. Obviously, I was thrilled, as it has been the longest she’s gone without releasing a new album. In the initial press release for the record, she said “I am fascinated when someone has gone through a tragedy, and how they work through their grief….it’s about sitting in the muck together. I’m going to meet you in the muck”.
Tori’s mother — Mary — passed away in 2019 after suffering a stroke a few years before. After the third lockdown in Cornwall, where Tori lives, she said she hit bottom with grief both over her mother and from not being able to perform live. I understand this. A lot of my grief came from my career suddenly screeching to a halt, and grief I had avoided came crashing down on me all at once.
Recently, she was interviewed by Desmond Murray for Stereogum, and this part jumped off the page:
“And so I had to, I called it writing myself out of this private little hell of mine. Because…when somebody says to me, “Fake it until you make it,” I’m like, “Fuck off.” Sit, I will pour you some Patrón, and meet, and let’s have a discussion. I’m not interested in that… not Hallmark, greeting card. I’m allergic to those cliché, new age-y concepts that don’t make any sense to me.
In order to make her new record, Tori had to follow the same exact advice she had given me. She had to write her way out of hell, again. How was I to know that Tori Amos and I were in the same exact place of grief and despondency at the exact same time, an ocean away? She also said that she had written nearly an entire album of songs before the events of January 6th, and that combined with her own personal rock bottom meant those songs weren’t useful to her anymore. She threw them all out and started over again. She went to the coast of Cornwall for inspiration, and let nature be her guide.
That’s when it dawned on me — why the hell was I trying to write a play I started in 2019? I am not the same person that I was two years ago. As usual, Tori’s words told me what I needed to do. I need to write from where I am now, not where I wish I were, or where I once was. I am no longer at rock bottom, but slowly kicking my legs as I gradually rise towards the surface. I put that play on the shelf. I need to start over again — in fact, it’s no longer the same play at all. It doesn’t mean that old play will never get written, it just means its not it’s time.
It’s clear that in Tori’s case, Ocean to Ocean was the record she needed to make right now. I’ve been listening to it non stop since it dropped, and it’s a beautiful and haunting piece of work. I am so grateful to have this right now, just when I needed it.
In the opening track Addition of Light Divided, Tori sings the following:
You don’t need to stay broken/Break this chain of pain/You don’t want to stay broken
Message received. I don’t want to stay broken. Piece by piece, I’m putting myself back together again. At least I’ve got a great soundtrack for the journey.
It is my sincere hope that neither Tori nor I will find ourselves in that muck again. But if we do — I’ll bring the tequila.
