Review: Tori Amos does it all in Clearwater during triumphant, sold-out Father’s Day show

Midway through her first show in Tampa Bay since her 51st birthday in 2014, Tori Amos dedicated “Frog On My Toe”—which has not been played live since 2017—to whatever dads and grandpas were lingering in the crowd for Father’s Day. The 1996 B-side is literally a reflection on advice she received from her Cherokee grandfather about handling men when they’re assholes, and especially people who shit on Native Americans.

“In funny little chants like an Indian Brave/You said ‘we all grew fat when the old white man came,’” Amos sings, referring to how Native Americans reacted when white people succeeded in stealing their land.

The 59-year-old scarlet-haired cornflake girl finally emerged from a five-year touring hiatus in 2022, and is hitting a few east coast towns she missed last spring touring her latest Ocean To Ocean LP. Considering how Amos has a house three hours southeast in Sewall’s Point, there’s no question that her local demographic—consisting of coffeehouse millennials, hipster Gen-X’ers, and WMNF-loving boomers—deserved a visit. “It’s been a long time. Too long, so thank you for being here,” she softly acknowledged.

Bassist Jon Evans and drummer Ash Soan—described by Amos as two of her “favorite, favorite people in the world; not just musicians, but brothers”—were the only people backing her up last Sunday night, and they took the stage at 9 p.m. on the dot. Evans, while still slapping one of his Atlansia Garland basses, started off by recreating the overdrive guitar—as well as his boss’ “ooh-hoo’s”—originally heard on “God” with a looper of some sort. Amos—draped in a tulle floral dress, with matching leggings, and gold high heels—fluttered her way onstage.

She sandwiched herself between a Bösendorfer model 190 grand piano, and a keyboard rig featuring a Nord C2D and a Yamaha Montage 8. Very quickly, it became clear that Amos would be sporadically spinning herself around for 100 minutes, and differentiating—or duetting—between the two types of ivories. She played on both sides simultaneously during “Ocean to Ocean,” so you’d think she was channeling someone from the progressive rock world or something.

Oddly enough, that was the only song performed from the tour’s namesake album. Calling the setlist a full career retrospective might be a step too far—only consisting of 14 tracks—but there was no doubt that she seemed to be in a Scarlet’s Walk mood. Feeling that way in Florida isn’t totally unheard of, though. It’s a 21-year-old concept album about someone recovering from the horrors of 9/11, seeing how world politics were changing, and watching the rise to popularity of bigotry, especially towards Native Americans—which hits close to home for Amos—and the LGBTQ+ community, all while walking across the country from L.A.

Amos dusted off “Sweet Sangria,” which deals with struggling to physically fight for what you believe in, followed by “Crazy,” which reflects on a seductive figure Scarlet who temporarily acquaints herself with during her travels. And later in the main set, Amos stayed at the grand for “Don’t Make Me Come to Vegas”—about the titular character facing bad personal memories after a phone call from her niece in a bad relationship—and again for the homophobia-tackling “Taxi Ride,” which received a massive ovation, even when Amos flubbed near the end. “Fuck, there’s another verse!” She chuckled, still being cheered on anyway.

Amos made it blatantly clear that she isn’t the kind of artist on the road for a quick buck, either. Her charisma first leaked out during “Daisy Dead Petals,” when the first note plucked out by Evans—now rocking a double bass—humorously startled her, possibly leaving her thinking that some kind of ghost pounded a note in the first octave of her piano. One song later, Amos slammed the piano herself on “Lady In Blue,” while lamenting “wronging the right man” in a spoken-word manner.

Once the band was back in full swing from a quivery, solo piano set, it opened “Mother Revolution” while Amos stood up, turned away from the crowd, and took a long, stretch-slash-water break. But mid-song, the microphone on the grand piano kept falling off. Thankfully, Amos had already knocked most of the song out on the keyboards at that point, and while a roadie fixed the issue, the band didn’t miss a beat.

And frankly, Amos didn’t either. Leading all the way up to the encore of “Take to the Sky”—which featured her repeatedly yelling “gay” in the middle of the “You can say it one more time/What you don’t like” chorus—and the mighty “Tear in Your Hand,” she had the entire room under her foresty spell. Everyone suffers in life, but to say that Amos has seen some shit is an understatement, and I have to wonder how many attendees—kept intact by Amos’ honest, diary-esque lyrics—have survival stories as brutal as their queen’s.

All in all, Amos is now bigger than a flea, and bigger than that old poison ivy tree. Just as her grandfather envisioned.

This article appears in Jun 15-21, 2023.