Friday evening, I got a last minute invite to see Tori Amos at MSG. While I’ve never been a devoted follower the piano-humper, I do have a well-worn copy of From the Choirgirl Hotel that shared disc changer space with Sara McClachlan and Natalie Merchant. I think the trio came shrink-wrapped with my Intro to Women’s Studies syllabus.

Live, Tori Amos is amazing, a spectacle to behold. A pint-sized powerhouse, she sweetly executed disarmingly provocative song after song after song. Literally. For like, 2 and a half hours. Sandwiched between the grand and an organ, Amos gave both the what’s what, sometimes at the same time. Dirty! And the crowd was absolutely losing their collective minds.

A few things:

Amos fans like to go “whooooooooooo!!!” Like, a lot. Like, in my ear a lot. Also, they drink beer. A lot of beer, which fueled their insane enthusiasm, the second-coming-of-christ kind of enthusiasm. The women sitting behind me overtly wept when she played the first tinkles of Caught a Lite Sneeze. They didn’t stop until the guys behind them told them to “just shut the fuck up already.”

I sat mostly motionless, loving the Cindy Sherman thing Amos is working for her latest album, American Doll Posse. I did get a totally girly thrill when she jumped into the chorus for Big Wheel, because honestly, what’s more better than a 40ish woman sporting a one-armed bedazzled jumpsuit and blonde bettie page wig belting out “I am a M.I.L.F. don’t you forget!” So stone cold foxy.