FEATURE:
The First Taste
Fiona Apple’s Tidal at Thirty
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IT is inarguable…
IN THIS PHOTO: Fiona Apple in Gramercy Park, N.Y.C. in 1996/PHOTO CREDIT: David Corio
that Tidal is one of the greatest debut albums of the 1990s. Fiona Apple one of the most extraordinary and distinct artists there has ever been. Even if some prefer later work, I think that Tidal is her peak. That phenomenal right from the start! The first taste of her genius, Tidal was released on 23rd July, 1996. I am looking ahead to its thirtieth anniversary. Criminal won a GRAMMY Award for Best Female Rock Vocal Performance in 1998. Shadowboxer and Sleep to Dream the other singles from the album. Slow Like Honey and Pale September these gorgeous and almost soulful songs. Maybe some felt Tidal is not as experimental or bold as later albums. However, there is a great mix in terms of genres and styles. Beautiful string arrangements, great percussion and piano. Fiona Apple’s voice so expressive and stunning throughout. A good chart outing and an album that won critical praise, I did want to bring in some features and reviews about the album into this feature, as we prepare to mark thirty years of a classic debut. In 1996, there were few artists like Fiona Apple in music. She was being compared to artists Alanis Morissette and Tori Amos. That is what people do with women in music: they tend to lump them together and not distinguish them as individual artists. Only eighteen when Tidal was released, Popmatters looked at the legendary waves behind Fiona Apple’s grand debut. They note how “Using the spirals of poetry and jazz that formed her, Fiona Apple’s Tidal established the 18-year-old as an honest and revolutionary voice in music”:
“The first track on Fiona Apple‘s debut album Tidal, released in the summer of 1996, opens with a rumbling start. In “Sleep to Dream”, written when Apple was only 14, she comes in tough as any giant, her voice a towering beacon of dignity and self-respect as she rips this unserious lover to bits. “I tell you how I feel, but you don’t care / I say tell me the truth, but you don’t dare / You say love is a hell you cannot bear / And I say ‘gimme mine back and then go there for all I care.”
Fiona Apple’s smoldering rage hits a blazing peak: “I have never been so insulted in all my life”, “I could swallow the seas to wash down all this pride”. Like the pounding of a drum, each word hangs heavy in the air, accompanied by the hard-stricken piano keys, which she bangs like a percussive instrument. Apple’s bracing bluntness and unbound sound are a defiant stare back at a world that would expect her to harbor all this pain rather than release it.
It’s beyond any doubt that Fiona Apple and her landmark debut album Tidal, continue to make legendary waves on the pop music landscape today. Following Alanis Morissette‘s album, Jagged Little Pill, Tidal’s release a year later rocked a heavily male-dominated indie and pop scene away and transformed 18-year-old Apple into one of the most famous – and scrutinized – pop icons at the time.
Filled with candid clever songs, the record went platinum within just a year. Its influence and charm would only grow more potent with time. As Apple’s messages of individualism and resilience ultimately redefined the status quo and what it meant to be a confessional female singer-songwriter, ushering in a new wave of outspoken, stunning artists into the spotlight.
The magical story of Tidal plays out almost exactly like a teen movie. When Fiona Apple was 17, her self-made demo tape miraculously found its way from her friend Anna, who was babysitting for a music executive, to Andy Slater, who immediately signed on to be Apple’s producer and manager. Together, Slater helped Fiona devise a sound for Tidal based on Fiona’s most significant musical inspirations: hip-hop and jazz.
“She didn’t have all the songs written, and for a long time, it was just me trying to find out what kind of sound she liked— Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holiday, and the hip-hop records. So, we started from there.” Slater said in an interview with Spin.
Although not as experimental and fluid as Apple’s later works, Tidal stands as a cohesive blend of these old and new styles. A strong and palpable ‘rap-like’ cadence cuts through Apple’s plainspokenness and jazzy score across Tidal. A feature that finds its roots in the distinctive influences of Ella Fitzgerald, Nina Simone, and hip-hop, which have collectively come together to form something unyielding and unclassifiable.
Before recording Tidal, Apple had never entered a music studio or even performed a single show. More impressively, Apple had no formal musical background whatsoever. She had taught herself to play the piano with a compilation of jazz standards called The Real Book. “I would teach myself a song that I’d never heard before.” she shared in a MuchMusic interview, “and then I’d go out and buy the albums to see if I got the song right or had totally screwed it up.” As an intensely introverted child who’d struggled to feel heard by authority figures, she’d been pouring her heart and feelings into words and music to set her side of the story straight. “I would love the way that it felt to have your side of an argument right here in front of you. If I wrote a letter, I didn’t even need to win an argument.” Fiona shared with The Washington Post.
“My mother always said there was a series of noises that followed an argument in our house — a lot of yelling, me stomping down the hall, my door slamming, and then the piano. When you’re young, another language to express yourself in, that people can’t make fun of, is very important.” Apple recounted with MOJO.
Above all else, like most teenage girls, Apple longed to feel understood. Undoubtedly, some of the greatest musical works of all time have blossomed into existence out of that same garden as well, an impulse to grow and reach an all-opposing, unaware audience of any number – or in the staggering case of Tidal, three million.
That grand debut came out in the wake of the success of unabashed female rockers like Alanis Morisette, Liz Phair, and Tori Amos. When Apple joined the Lilith Fair tour in 1997, it felt inevitable as the popularity of women in mainstream pop and rock grew. However, in a music industry mostly centered around male artists and conventional numbers, no other mainstream musician in the 1990s had been so daring, provocative, and unapologetically sincere in their explorations of female adolescence in the way Apple was”.
Consequence of Sound wrote a brilliant essay about Tidal for its twenty-fifth anniversary on 23rd July, 2021. That sense that Fiona Apple appeared in summer 1996. That was a time that weas so geared towards make artists. How intimidating it must have seemed launching a debut album then. However, the impact and legacy of Tidal is unmistakable. It was a remarkable offering from a prodigious, brutally honest and genius songwriter:
“In the summer of 1996, the music industry was largely dominated by a sea of male artists. Before Tidal’s release, the commercial successes of artists like Sheryl Crow and Tori Amos helped make room for the possibility of more women on rock radio, but it was Apple, then 18, who upended the whole enterprise.
Like Alanis Morrisette, Shirley Manson and Liz Phair, Apple was radically honest about sexuality and power dynamics, but they were the few in the mainstream who dared to be so outspoken, rebellious, provocative and unapologetically angry at the world. “I’m so sensitive — meaning I feel things very intensely — that when things happen to me, they happen through me, and in me,” Apple explained to Billboard in 1996.
Unlike the more saccharine songs from boy bands like Backstreet Boys or the radio-friendly guitar rock of Goo Goo Dolls, Apple’s music was an eccentric, jazz-filled opus that explored female sensuality, fragility and trauma — topics that were decidedly taboo at the time. With Apple’s husky vocals soaking every lyric, Tidal was poetic defiance paired with piano. “I guess there’s a certain maturity to what I write, but there’s no way to say what an 18-year-old should be writing,” she also told Billboard.
What’s more impressive is that much of Apple’s debut was penned when she was only 16. It shocked even Andy Slater, who would produce her debut LP. ”I was not entirely convinced that this person sitting in front of me — who was clearly 17 — had written those words,” he told The New York Times.
But those who simply wrote Apple off because of surface-level judgments didn’t grasp the weight of “Criminal” or Tidal — and she simply didn’t care to make anyone comfortable with her work. Instead of being lauded as an artistic genius, she was seen as a “diva” and a “bad, bad girl.”
To the public, an acceptance speech for Best New Artist at the 2007 MTV Video Music Awards fueled her “reputation.” Apple went off-script and took aim at the pop machine: “Everybody out there that’s watching this world: this world is bullshit. And you shouldn’t model your life around what we think is cool, and what we’re wearing and we’re saying and everything. Go with yourself.”
Her message, while decried then, is more prescient now. The “sit down and shut up” attitude that once encumbered Apple has dissipated. More than ever, individualism and candor are celebrated within the pop music industry.
In a then-squeaky-clean pop world, Tidal was messy, moody and rife with self-loathing. And yet it was brilliant. The maturity of Apple’s work was refreshing, palpable; fierce. Written when Apple was only 14, the striking opener “Sleep to Dream” is an amalgamation of teenage frustration and self-assuredness. Second track “Sullen Girl” manages to be even more affecting, as Apple confronts the aftermath of her own rape at age 12: ”They don’t know I used to sail the deep and tranquil sea/ But he washed me ashore and he took my pearl/ And left an empty shell of me.”
While Apple was at one point a total newcomer, she has since become the absolute industry standard. From her vulnerability and authenticity to her lyrical prowess and the experimental nature of her sound, it’s impossible not to see her influence abound. No longer is Apple up for debate. The tables have turned.
Apple and her landmark album Tidal remain canon. The album inarguably recast what pop stardom could look like and set the stage for artists — particularly complicated women — to remain uncompromising in their vision and boldly outspoken. There’s no doubt that the album remains a masterclass in confessional songwriting that will continue to reverberate for generations to come”.
Prior to wrapping up with a review, there is another twenty-fifth anniversary feature. Albumism wrote how Fiona Apple got her three-track demo to Sony Music executive Andrew Slater. Blown away, he signed Apple to his Clean Slate label. Songs written by a seventeen year old. So open, mature and extraordinarily candid. An accomplished pianist and with this incredible voice that had wisdom and age – despite Apple being a teenager -, it was a revelation. This incredible artist who would endure to this day:
“Not simply a “fuckin’ piano album,” albeit a beautifully crafted one, Tidal is a profoundly brave and confessional song suite fueled by Apple’s fearless candor and self-possession. Nowhere is this more evident than on the soul-baring “Sullen Girl,” a stark, minimalist composition buoyed by aquatic-themed references throughout, most eloquently articulated in the song’s chorus (“It's calm under the waves / In the blue of my oblivion”). Throughout her career, Apple has openly discussed being raped at the age of 12 outside of her mother’s Manhattan apartment, a life-altering experience, the psychological and emotional aftermath of which she alludes to in the song’s second verse, when she sings “But he washed me 'shore / And he took my pearl / And left an empty shell of me.”
Depending on your interpretation of the plaintive “The Child is Gone,” a somber examination of innocence lost that seemingly functions as a thematic extension of “Sullen Girl,” Apple may be referencing the same experience here as well. Some have latched on to a more literal meaning within Apple’s lyrics, suggestive of the actual loss of a child by way of abortion or miscarriage. Whatever your particular reading may be, this is unquestionably one of Tidal’s most poignant moments.
The soulful, sultry “Shadowboxer” examines the emotional damage inflicted by a fair-weather lover’s penchant for manipulation and mind games. The lover that Apple portrays therein is so inconsistent and conniving that she’s hard-pressed to take him seriously. Instead, she spars, as the title suggests, with an imaginary, intermittent presence that comes in and out of her life whenever he feels so inclined.
Presumably the most recognizable single from the album, thanks in no small part to its controversial video, the Ozella Jones indebted “Criminal” finds the penitent Apple owning up to her misdeeds and infidelity at the expense of “a delicate man,” as she seeks redemption for her sins “before there’s hell to pay.” An act of contrition, to be sure, but the song also seems to double as Apple’s retribution for all of the boys who have done her wrong. Quite remarkably, Apple claims to have written “Criminal” in all of 45 minutes.
“Sleep to Dream,” which includes the first lyrics Apple ever penned, at the age of 14, is an impassioned kiss-off to an unworthy lover with his “head in the clouds” and a grand declaration of self-empowerment, as Apple proclaims in the chorus that “This mind, this body and this voice cannot be stifled by your deviant ways.” The mid-album, back-to-back punch of the seductive, slow-churning ballads “Slow Like Honey” and “The First Taste” is an undeniable highlight as well.
For my money, however, “Never is a Promise” was, is, and will forever be Tidal’s most indispensably devastating track. A heartbreaking ode to a love that remains out of reach, but also a subdued “fuck you” to the guy who’s too naïve to recognize what he’s giving up in letting her go, this was one of the three songs included on Apple’s original demo (the other two songs have never been released). On the strength of “Never is a Promise” alone, it’s no wonder that Andrew Slater signed her without hesitation and vowed to shepherd her career.
Knowing full well that the precociously talented and boldly provocative Apple represented a critical and potentially commercial goldmine, Slater and the label promoted Tidal aggressively, by way of discounted retail pricing and six singles released over the span of a year or so. And it paid off in heavy radio spins, pervasive MTV play, and ultimately, 3 million units sold.
Unfortunately, though perhaps not completely unexpectedly, Apple’s music was often overshadowed by the media’s fixation and scrutiny of her public persona, which was only exacerbated by her infamous on-stage meltdowns. As previously mentioned, the notorious “Criminal” video provided her critics with plenty of fodder for their largely misguided vitriol, with the New York Times referring to her as a “Lolita-ish suburban party girl” and The New Yorker likening her to an “underfed Calvin Klein model.”
Fortunately, as Apple’s career has developed over the past quarter-century, critics have found less and less to take umbrage with, forcing them to acknowledge her artistic gifts above and beyond all else. Unlike many of her singer-songwriter peers, though very much like her Sony Music labelmate Sade, Apple has opted for a more methodical, less workhorse-style approach to making music, having released just four long players— each of them excellent and distinctive—during the last two-and-a-half decades since Tidal arrived.
Beginning with Tidal all the way through to her universally acclaimed most recent LP Fetch The Bolt Cutters (2020), Apple’s music embodies the triumphs of quality over quantity, substance over semblance, sincerity over superficiality. Which is precisely why despite the long stretches between recordings, we’re always eager and grateful to discover her new songs and revisit the old”.
Produced brilliantly by Andrew Slater and recorded at Sony (Los Angeles), Ocean Way (Hollywood) and 4th Street, Los Angeles, Tidal is one of the most astonishing debut albums ever, in my view. I can see why there were some comparisons with Tori Amos and her 1992 debut, Little Earthquakes. Songs where she talks about trauma. How honest and raw she is. The phenomenal piano talents of both women. I am going to finish with Pitchfork. They observe how Fiona Apple “grapples eloquently with isolation, retribution, and the oceanic ups and downs of being young and being a woman. Rare is a debut so fully formed”. That is hard to argue against! It still sounds so remarkable thirty years later. I can feel some artists today very inspired by that album:
“Sleep to Dream” and “Shadowboxer” are the bones of the persona Fiona would come to project: skeptical, sensitive, and very smart; a lone young person betrayed by the ways of the world, summoning a colossal rage to match them. On these songs, she is a woman of herculean strength with her fists out, gloves on, building muscle to chip back at whoever has played her. “Once my lover/Now my friend/What a cruel thing to pretend,” Fiona sings on the latter. “What a cunning way to condescend.” One of the great wonders of pop music: that something so common could inspire a song so spectacular. She once said “Shadowboxer” is about “angry desperation”—“when your mind is fighting with your heart, when you know something isn’t good for you but you want it anyway, you’re trying really hard to do the right thing for yourself, but then finally you’re like, ‘I’m gonna do what I wanna do, I gotta do what my heart wants me to do, otherwise I won’t learn anything.’”
If “Shadowboxer” is her training ground, then “Sleep to Dream” is pure flexing. She rips the truth out of this idiot, she drags this guy who wronged her, all the while sounding self-possessed, feet on the ground, eyes wide, head clear, voice loud. It rumbles open, each word a drum: “I tell you how I feel, but you don’t care/I say tell me the truth, but you don’t dare/You say love is a hell you cannot bear/And I say ‘gimme mine back and then go there for all I care.’” Kanye said he was inspired by Fiona (and “Sleep to Dream” especially) because he wanted to rap like he was “at the top of a mountain.” On “Sleep to Dream,” Fiona sounds eight-feet tall. It’s full of classic Fiona missives, complete sentences of self-respect: “Don’t even show me your face ‘cause it’s a crying shame,” “I have never been so insulted in all my life,” “I got my own hell to raise.”
“Slow Like Honey” actualizes Tidal’s more glacial notes, its reveries that hang thick in the air with the accompaniment of Jon Brion’s vibraphone: “When I’m high like heaven/When I’m strong like music/’Cause I’m slow like honey/And heavy with mood.” In its florid verses, “Pale September” is her most classically romantic Tidal track, as she sings of “autumn days swung soft around me like cotton on my skin.” You might not include these on a mixtape of Fiona’s defining songs, but they turn Tidal into its own suspended universe nonetheless. You get why Solange, with her defiance and intellect and grace, deemed herself the president of the Fiona fan club—and why Perfume Genius once proclaimed that he should like to cover his body in tattoos of Fiona’s lyrics.
Tidal has some piano ballads of deceiving serenity, gentle but weighted by experience, heavy as cement. “Never Is a Promise” is the only Tidal track taken from her demo. In this severe six-minute confessional, you understand that of course Fiona comes from a lineage of stage actors and big band singers; its drama is operatic, with weeping strings arranged by Van Dyke Parks. It sounds so apart from the rest of the album—a song about absolute edge-of-the-earth isolation, about not expecting the world to catch you. “You’ll never feel the heat of this soul,” Fiona sings at its blazing peak, “My fever burns me deeper than I’ve ever shown/To you.” Throughout, she is calling out a person who says they will “never” give up on her. But she sees that “never” is hollow. How telling that this bracingly sad song is, at its core, a linguistic accusation. The last verse goes:
You’ll say you understand
You’ll never understand
I’ll say I’ll never wake up knowing how or why
I don’t know what to believe in
You don’t know who I am
You’ll say I need appeasing when
I start to cry
But never is a promise
And I’ll never need a lie.
People would constantly prod Fiona on how an 18-year-old could write songs as mature as these—as if the most horrifying shit does not happen to people when they are teenagers, as if Fiona does not make metaphors of a spider, the clouds, and a lily pad in reference to men. Why did they not ask instead how she became a genius? She sounds preternaturally wise on “The Child Is Gone,” with its cool sway, its knowing ease, evoking the cutting assuredness of Nina Simone. As “the darkness turns into the dawn,” she sounds self-aware, forthright, welcoming a grand revelation. “I suddenly feel like a different person,” Fiona sings, “From the roots of my soul come a gentle coercion.”
Tidal went platinum within one year and yet, Fiona’s best work was still to come. The pleasure and poetry and purpose of Tidal, though, only calcifies with time. So much of it seems to say: You could never feel the pain I feel because only I have felt it. There are things about me that you can’t see at all, because I have buried them so well. You don’t know who I am. But of course, in Tidal, we saw ourselves”.
The seismic and extraordinary Tidal turns thirty on 23rd July. Fiona Apple would follow it with the first of a couple of studio albums with very long titles. 1999’s When the Pawn.. is actually a mouthful. Same with 2012’s The Idler Wheel… In April, we marked five year since she released her fifth studio album, Fetch the Bolt Cutters. Even though there are quite long gaps between albums – especially from 2005’s Extraordinary Machine to The Idler Wheel… and then to Fetch the Bolt Cutters -, this is an artist taking her time to make an album on her terms. One that feels true. Might we one day see a sixth studio album? That would be amazing! Few knew about New York-born Fiona Apple at the start of 1996. By 23rd July, when this incredible debut was released, that would change. Tidal created ripples and waves…
THAT can still be seen today.
