Ask just about anyone what they think about Tori Amos, and -- assuming they have heard of her at all -- they will express either devotion or antipathy. Amos is one of those love-it-or-hate-it artists, and with her latest effort, "Strange Little Girls," she offers no exception.
That doesn't mean "Strange Little Girls" fits her typical pattern, however. Amos's usual autobiographical subject matter is notably absent; in fact, she deliberately adopts a different persona, thirteen in all, for each of the twelve songs on the album (one song takes the perspective of twins). For this project she steps outside her comfort zone, and is remarkably successful at adapting this strange new region to her own needs.
"Strange Little Girls" is a concept album composed entirely of cover songs. Its purpose is to explore the role of language and words in male-female interaction in society; she wants to look at the way men speak to and about women, and the way this message is received. To accomplish this, Amos takes songs by various male artists, from Eminem to The Beatles, and reinterprets them through a female voice. In the end, the scope of her project has broadened itself from simply females' interaction with males, to females' interaction with the world at large.
The result is surprising. As concept albums so frequently are, this one feels contrived and strained at times; the cover of Neil Young's "Heart of Gold," for instance, is filled with discordant wailing that grates on the nerves. Such moments are rare, however, with Amos yielding greater success throughout the majority of the album.
To listen to this entire CD straight through is an experience in itself. Amos manages to inflect her spirit in every song, making them each her own; however, she does so without detracting from her original purpose, taking words written by men -- she sings them nearly verbatim -- and shifting them to a female perspective, hopefully changing the way in which they are understood by the audience. The effect is jarring, eye-opening and definitely worth hearing.
Most of the songs covered on this album are well-known, the sort of songs you can hear again and again without ever really hearing the words. Their message floats by your consciousness without ever really sinking in. By flipping the point of view, Amos has changed that.
Her version of Joe Jackson's "Real Men," a song about homo and heterosexual men's relationships with each other, takes on a new and broader meaning when she sings it from the voice of an "androgynous" woman, a person not questioning her role, as in the original, but rather a woman so at peace with herself that she simply doesn't care if "woman" is even the right category for her to be in.
The real star of the show is the cover of Eminem's infamous "97 Bonnie and Clyde." This song, not particularly well-received by many groups for its graphic detail of murder when originally released, is retold here from the perspective of the slain wife in the trunk, and the result is disturbing -- extremely so.
We have to be honest with ourselves, though. Even though the concept of "Strange Little Girls" is interesting and groundbreaking, even though Tori Amos probably accomplishes exactly what she wanted to with the album, I'm probably going to take it out of my stereo as soon as I'm through writing this review, and may not put it back in very often.
Although there are a few songs, most notably the rendition of 10cc's "I'm Not in Love" and The Boomtown Rats' "I Don't Like Mondays," which are simply good songs and pleasant to listen to, the majority of this album isn't that great.
Even among Tori devotees, this probably won't be a favorite, though they want to pick up the album just because it is Amos at her strangest. If you don't like her music, at least borrow it, listen to it once or twice, and give it back at -- the very least, download the Eminem cover.
"Strange Little Girls" is a concept album, and as such it is an experience to listen to -- but perhaps not an experience worth repeating too often.
