by Ami Heller
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12 years old and infamous orange curtains at my uncle’s house in Israel always caused a Pavlovian dog-like reaction. Running past fields of sunflowers to the corner of a place that was shelter. The draping represented music. A ceremony where massive earphones would lock out sounds from everything external. And a rebel 16 year old cousin was my first ever music guru. Names like Sinead O’connor and PJ Harvey and Peter Gabriel and Tom Waits and Neil Young and Jeff Buckley. Thrown in the air for me to catch. But most of all Little Earthquakes. The debut of Tori Amos. An album that celebrates its 20-year-old release today. So complete. 7300 days gone by. The first chilling snow-covered day on the other side of the world. Much has transpired. Nothing has changed. And I’m that kid all over again.