Crushing Krisis

Comic Books, Drag Race, & Life in New Zealand

krisis

Krisis has been creating Crushing Krisis since 2000, writing songs since 1996, and reading comics since 1991. He is a Customer Success and Digital Brand Strategy executive, serial organizer, parent, and feminist, among other things. Based in Philly through 2017, he now resides in Wellington, NZ.

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Sometimes there is a most perfect version of a feeling, and it is shockingly round and easy to hold in your mind instead of being edgy and representative of all the things you were expecting to experience.

There is lust and then there is the perfectly shaped want that is rational and tangible… one sticky and rushed and intense but the other fluid and expanding to meet you when you are near to it, turning all of your tangents into quickly filled-in gaps. Want will press itself up against you until it is another skin on yours, and then you are consumed and it is more than just the sharp angles you thought it would be.

Right now i am the perfect kind of tired, with heavy-lidded eyes and my mind feeling just perfectly soft.

Tonight i took the train home from work with Maggie and we had pizza and lattés and wound up sitting four feet away from Andy Stochansky, who is like Douglas Adams with a guitar. Now i am in her guest room with an internet connection and a pile of new cds but i am the embodiment of the perfect curves of weariness instead of the slope of exhaustion, and the crickets have told me to turn down my music and let them lull me in their cannon chorus … vibrating like a tuning fork until i match pitch and shut out like a light.

I am hoping for a fetal sleep, round and tucked.

https://crushingkrisis.com/2001/09/5796334/

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The liner notes to Strange Little Girls contain 13 pictures, each representing a character from one of the songs on the album (with “Heart of Gold”s delegates being a set of twins). It is from this perspective that i am attacking the album… not as a concept work, or a cohesive disc, but as 12 “girls” linked together in their separation from their original creators and in that Tori has chosen to harbor them as her own for the time being. Each is its own soundscape and commentary apart from the others, and dissecting every one is almost the only way to be able to connect any of them at all. Each of the preceding reviews was written in the length of the song they describe, and edited upon a repetition. Mouseover the pictures to view their caption, and click for some possible extra commentary.

https://crushingkrisis.com/2001/09/5774311/

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All your tomorrows start here.01. Tori Amos albums always start with something indicative, even if you least suspect that it truly is. The reverberating wurlitzer starts Strange Little Girls in a cloud of forlorn restlessness, but the first chorus of “New Age” tells us what this album is really about… pairing those glowing chords with quick stabs at an electric guitar that sound displaced by three decades or more. After coming out of this first harrowing experience of Tori’s new sound… sans piano, sans Caton, electrictrified and sleepy but so very vital, the tiny muted drum thump that follows is just carrying us forward to the next phrase. This all builds as Tori intones “I’ll come running to you if you want me” and the guitar begins squawking and barking as if the notes are squelching out of the sides of the neck rather than the pickup.

Suddenly, this unassuming song is proclaiming “the beginning of a new age” and Tori is riding the top of the wave, her voice rising to dominate the entire arrangement and carry it with her. And we are off.

https://crushingkrisis.com/2001/09/5774288/

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'97 Bonnie and Clyde: She wonders what her daughter will do.02. It is not Eminem talking to us as the beginning of “’97 Bonnie and Clyde,” but Tori speaking on the behalf of the woman so startlingly trapped behind this harrowing narrative that boys all around the country are prone to chant to. Tori here enlists an outside arranger to compose primary instrumentation for the first time ever, and the result is a strange Bates’ Hotel swirl of strings that ties itself up in one Psycho stab at the end. Tori trips through the internal rhymes of the song hardly paying heed to the other elements, at once the voice of the apologetic mother and the sinister but possesively loving father. “Don’t play with dada’s toy knife honey, let go of it” is said in that off-handed motherly way that betrays the cold hard killer who originally narrated the song, and makes you wonder about who’s really speaking to us in this version. The ghost of this mother is creeping around in the cracks, peeking from behind the horror-music veneer of the song in Tori’s soprano “just the two of us” (that sounds too much like “choose the two of us,” which has even darker implications considering the baby brother that the narrator brings into the picture) but then retreating as the sinister whisper takes over again.

Who is in charge of this car ride, this death march complete with a martial drum beat? Mama is speaking with daddy’s voice but in soft tones that no one could ever imagine coming from his mouth. And, whoever is speaking, they implicate the poor little girl that is along for the ride as Bonnie to Dada’s Clyde. What does this imply? The vision of the real life fugitive pair comes to mind, shot full of holes and draped over the interior of a car while their death was cheered.

Eminem is making money off of songs about killing his wife with his daughter as an unknowing accomplice, but Tori turns them around to put blood on both of their hands. Children bear the sins of their fathers, after all.

https://crushingkrisis.com/2001/09/5774281/

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03. “Strange Little Girl” sung by a man would be condescending… a song about little blue girls who have to escape the worlds that enclose them would seem to inherently imply that only such a strange wispy little creature could ever be susceptible to such a fate. Tori introduces something else into the mix… a kindred spirit who knows from experience what the act of running away feels like. Whenever it rains you think of her.Suddenly, this has become more familiar territory for us fans. A strange little girl is not a fragile creature of blown glass, but a spirit on the loose looking for something that can contain her. You feel her tear into you as Belew’s guitars slash past Tori’s wurley to assault your ears like the winds that she is wrapped up tightly against. This girl is not so fragile after all.

The song itself says the same thing about the album as it says about its character… something that seemed so tiny and careful at first surges up the same way Tori’s voice leads the way in “New Age.” It recenters your listening … it is telling you not to let the quiet deliveries and fragile vocals obscure the steely nerves and sinews beneath this record.

https://crushingkrisis.com/2001/09/5774273/