Here's A Red Hot Redhead

Ahh, Tori Amos. The fairy-eyed, flame-haired imp who straddles the piano bench while playing songs with lyrics like, "Look, I'm standing naked before you, / Don't you want more than my sex?" ,and ends every concert with a heart-wrenching rendition of "Over the Rainbow." Ever since her groundbreaking and soul-churning first album, Little Earthquakes, she has captured the attention of nearly everyone, from emotionally tormented souls and the most critical of music critics. Her quirky, often abrasive songs unabashedly confront sex, heartache and religion without whining or spewing out popmusic poetry, a la Jewel.

However, the release of Amos' fourth album, from the choirgirl hotel, may have been greeted with some hesitation by many fans. Under the Pink, her sophomore album, rang with much of the same poignant energy that shot Little Earthquakes into stardom, but carried less fire and more contemplation. Amos' last album, Boys for Pele, took a completely different turn from the path so unabashedly carved out by her two previous release. Fraught with musical experimentation on Amos' new harpsichord and lyrics so bizarre that they must have been in code, "Pele" may have impressed avant-garde musical connoisseurs but left many of her long-time devotees confused and in the dust.

With hotel, fortunately, Amos has most definitely returned to the land of the reachable, though she's still not necessarily listed in the phone book. At points, some songs bear a hint of panic hidden in their almost predictable musical passages, almost as if Amos frightened herself with the inaccessibility of "Pele" and is holding back to be accepted by the mainstream music scene again. But for the most part, the album stands up as listenable (think "Tori Amos Lite"), with passages that are doomed to be caught in one's head for hours at a time--which is definitely not a bad thing.

"Spark," which opens the album and the video to which is featured fairly often on MTV and VH1, waltzes the listener into Amos' haunting world. But what a sweet seduction it is. "How many fates turn around in the overtime?" Amos asks. "Ballerinas that have fins that you'll never find?" Most Tori devotees have spent enough time with her albums to interpret her Cheshire Cat-esque questions; and even if one hasn't, simply beginning to ponder them against the sweeping piano background is nothing short of enrapturing.

Not far into from the choirgirl hotel, unfortunately, similar trends begin to appear in different songs. The bass line found in "Cruel" catches the listener's ear once again in "iieee," giving the album a disappointing aura of deja vu before it is even halfway listened to. "Black Dove (January)," the first of the album's quiet numbers, bears short chorus that immediately brings to mind the song "Past the Mission" from Under the Pink.

Luckily, though many pleasant (and original) discoveries remain in choirgirl hotel. As one of the few ballad-type songs on the entire album. "Jackie's Strength" carries a genuinely moving note of admiration to the late Jacqueline Kennedy-Onassis. Although the song may border on sappiness, Amos' poignant passion streams through the delicate piano music to create a sincere cry against the double-standards women must face--always a favorite song subject of hers. "If you love enough, you'll lie a lot," she powerfully sings, her voice standing strong enough to support the weaker lyrics.

Another sweet surprise can be found in "Raspberry Swirl," which features a bouncy rhythm and such energy that one would swear Amos and the entire band were doing aerobics while writing it. Amos also displays her stunning vocal abilities in "Liquid Diamonds" and "Northern Lad," in which her trademark in-tune howls echo well enough to send genuine shivers down anyone's back. The fairly upbeat "She's Your Cocaine" may not be anywhere near as lively as the afore-mentioned "Raspberry Swirl," but, despite its title, it remains one of the more cheerful songs on the album.

While "choirgirl hotel" ends with a disappointingly mediocre song called "Pandora's Aquarium"--a feat echoing Pink's conclusion with the epic but lifeless "Yes Anastasia"--the final stages of this album remain fascinating. "Hotel" (the song, not the album itself) changes quite suddenly into a hypnotic pseudo-techno piece, shifting the mood of the song from painfully emotional to pure recklessness. Although "Playboy Mommy" may resemble a lazy folk songs more than a pop number, it fits nicely as the next-to-last song on the album, winding down contentedly from Amos'veritable smorgasbord of musical moods.

At points though, one might wonder where the emotional supernovas are in from the choirgirl hotel. Boys for Pele had the mesmerizing "Caught a Lite Sneeze;" Under the Pink contained the scandalous "God;" and of course, Little Earthquakes remains a virtual apocalypse of emotion, despite the recent trends of radio stations to overplay "Silent All These Years." Is Tori Amos finally starting to make peace with the demons that drove her to create painfully honest pieces such as Earthquake's "Me and a Gun," which was based on her experience with rape? If she is, are her musical talents strong enough to substitute for the lack of soul-searching--or at least the lessening of it--in her songs?

Absolutely. from the choirgirl hotel may not have packed the striking punch that some of its predecessors did, but it remains a strong and (sigh of relief) graspable addition to Amos' musical career. Plus, as any true Tori fan knows, her albums--however wonderful or perplexing-- increase in meaning and enjoyability through time. In this sense as well, choirgirl hotel is undoubtedly destined to be a triumph.