Epic
Alternative Rock, 2007
As the last song on American Doll Posse ends, this reviewer is struck with a sad realization: Tori Amos’s music isn’t bad—it just isn’t surprising anymore. And for an artist who once made harpsichords sound like weapons of mass destruction (Boys for Pele, we salute you), that’s a bit of a tragedy.
The concept of American Doll Posse is promising. Ms Amos embodies five different personas, each with their own perspectives, styles, and fabulous wigs. It’s Greek mythology meets Desperate Housewives, and on paper, it sounds like the kind of genre-bending, boundary-pushing insanity that made her ’90s albums so exciting.
But in practice, it’s just another post-Boys for Pele record—a comfortable mix of piano ballads, meandering rock, and cryptic-yet-suspiciously-normal lyrics that wouldn’t start a cult the way Little Earthquakes did.
Opener Yo George is an anti-George W Bush piano dirge that lasts exactly one minute, which is about as much energy as Amos could muster for W. at this point. Big Wheel follows, an uptempo, vaguely country-rock number where Ms Amos proudly declares herself a MILF. (Thanks for the update, Tori. We were all wondering.)
Bouncing Off Clouds delivers the album’s requisite airy pop moment, but it’s more Scarlet’s Walk than Cornflake Girl. Meanwhile, Teenage Hustling features Pip, the album’s “aggressive” alter ego, trying to sound tough but landing somewhere between Courtney Love and a cat with indigestion.
The real issue here is that the personas don’t feel distinct enough. For an album built around multiple voices, it mostly just sounds like Tori Amos wearing different Halloween costumes while singing the same kind of songs she’s been making for a decade.
That said, it’s not a complete loss. There are some pretty solid tunes here: the abovementioned Bouncing Off Clouds, Programmable Soda, Secret Spell, and Beauty of Speed all deliver polished, catchy melodies. However, one is struck by how much they would be at home as the opening themes of 1980s sitcoms—you know, the ones with opening credits where the cast members pause in whatever they are doing to wave wholesomely at the camera as their name appears on screen. It’s hard to tell whether that’s a compliment or an existential crisis.
Once upon a time, Tori Amos made albums that felt like exorcisms. Now she’s making albums that feel like well-organized therapy sessions. There’s nothing wrong with that, per se, but for those of us who remember her wild, unhinged glory days, American Doll Posse is less of a revolution and more of a really well-dressed book club meeting. It’s good, sure—but will it haunt you in your dreams? Not unless your dreams involve an extended episode of What Not to Wear: Greek Deity Edition.
