Precious Things in a Spring Haze
The birds, the first blooms and Tori Amos
There are some small but formative moments which are burned into my psyche. Some good, some awful and some that have required intensive life long therapy. But one of the good ones involves the discovery of a musician who has been weaving her songs through the crumpled cloth of my life for the last 31 years.
It was early 1992 and I was just about to turn 15. I heard a song called China on the radio and I was instantly mesmerised. Secondary School felt like torture and I was already frequenting the local psychiatric unit, so music was one of my only escape hatches. With music I could retreat into an inner world of my choosing when surrounded by an outer world in which I had minimal choices. After hearing China, and feeling the chords and lyrics resonate so much, the need to possess the record became a matter of paramount importance.
In 1992, pre-internet and in a small town, the only way to find new music was on a limited number of radio stations and the local record shop. Or in my case, the local record shop and my local branch of Woolworths, which had a surprisingly awesome selection of records and cassettes. It was in this branch of Woolies that I bought some of my most treasured pieces of music. One of which was the single China, by Tori Amos. I had found it, and with it: 4 minutes and 58 seconds of happiness. Shortly after that, I bought her debut album Little Earthquakes and at that point I had begun the journey of a fangirl.
The first time I saw Tori Amos play live was at the London Palladium, in April 1994. She was touring following the release of her second album Under the Pink. I was 17 at the time, so my mum had to call the London Palladium box office to book tickets for us. They held them for us until they received my mum’s cheque in the post. Then they sent us the actual tickets. It all feels so antiquated when I look back at it, yet receiving them in the post was a seminal moment: for the first time I was going to hear music that made me feel happy, for a whole 2 hours, live. Nothing could compare with that.
I still hold these memories of promise and possibility close to the surface, because music has an ongoing transformative effect on me. I’m writing about this now, because I have just seen Tori Amos live again in London this week, and it still makes me feel the same way. Music, like nature, has the ability to fill me with hope when everything else feels uncertain.
Some of my own precious things this week have been moments spent outdoors: finding white lilacs, exploring unfamiliar footpaths and watching the birds from a blissfully people-free hide. I’ve been out seeking kingfishers, violets and apple blossom but instead I’ve found periwinkles, lungwort, and reed warblers, all in the prettiest hazy spring light.
Mauve, yellow and white wildflowers peek out from the new growth under the hedgerows. But these small pops of colour are more than just pretty petals. According to folklore, lungwort with its lung-shaped leaves was believed to have the ability to treat respiratory conditions. While wood anemone was thought to have prophetic powers: if it showed up in dreams, it meant your lover was being unfaithful and should be cast aside in favour of a better partner. My favourite though, is the tiny and much-overlooked ground ivy flower: lacking in dramatic folklore but making up for it in practical usage. Before hops were introduced in England in the sixteenth century, ground ivy was widely used to clarify and flavour ale. It’s also an aromatic herb of the mint family. There’s a lot of goodness in many plants which are considered weeds. I’m sure there’s a lesson in there somewhere.
