Tori Amos, Scarlet’s Walk

Tori lost us with 1996’s bloated Boys For Pele, but we could sense a possible resurgence on last year’s underrated covers album Strange Little Girls. Her new disc, all originals this time, isn’t a total artistic comeback (and in fact a few songs are just plain dull), but it has plenty of strong moments, some on par with her best work. Scarlet’s Walk imagines a journey through America’s psychic landscape, trying to make sense out of chaos and turmoil. She’s never been afraid of a giant conceptual leap, an approach that’s sometimes backfired into purple preciousness, but here she largely keeps her theme from wandering too fuzzily afield. Laments for lost innocence make up some of Scarlet’s most incisive material, like “Virginia,” casting America in ambiguous metaphor as a woman falling slowly into moral decay, or “Amber Waves,” which sets a waiflike piano melody against bitter lyrics lamenting the willing exploitation of a Christina Aguilera-like singer. It’s a classic example of Amos’ ability to mask cold iron inside warm velvet. It’s also her most approachable songwriting since Under the Pink, which should please both rabid and casual fans alike.