Decca (UMO)

Tori Amos has said that her new album—her 16th—is "about your losses, and how you cope with them." For her, that includes pandemic lockdown and the Capitol riots, as viewed from her remote farm in Cornwall, England. The area inspired her with its ancient mythology, including tales of pixies and giants; the fairytale Jack the Giant Slayer, aka Jack and the Beanstalk, was born of Cornish lore. As always, Amos herself isn't afraid to take on so-called giants. "Devil's Bane" warns of men who would try to control women and has a sort of Led Zeppelin feel, with its witchy guitar and big drums, courtesy of Pearl Jam's Matt Chamberlain (who last worked with Amos on 2009's Midwinter Graces). "Ocean to Ocean" places blame for political insurrection—"There are those who never give a goddamn for anything that they're breaking/ There are those that only give a goddamn for the profit that they're making"—a faint guitar cry like an accusatory echo. Yet there's hope as she sings, "There is a way out of this" while uplifting strings echo her optimism. Ocean to Ocean contains surprises, too. Over the years, Amos's theatricality has evolved from Under the Pink's baroque stylings and Little Earthquakes' Kate Bush-inspired drama. But there are some nostalgic moments on this record. "Addition of Light Divided" is especially Bush-like, and melancholy ballad "Flowers Burn to Gold," comfortingly, feels like it could've been lifted from one of those old albums—with Amos' left-hand piano work as heavy as the physical feelings of mourning, while her right hand tries to pull up out of it. "I am fascinated when someone has gone through a tragedy, and how they work through their grief. That is where the gold is ..." Amos has said. "I'm going to meet you in the muck." For "Speaking With Trees," with its spritely piano and galloping drums, that means turning to nature for comfort. On "Swim to New York State" (a song of loss, driven by moody strings) she's still in the bargaining stage of grief: "I'd swim to New York State from the Cornish coast of England, for even just a day," she sings, searching for reconnection. "Birthday Baby" slinks along like a tango, celebrating resilience: "This year, you survived through it all/ A cosmic apocalypse, a stab to the heart." And "29 Years" is remarkably, powered by a looming undertow of bass and drums, along with a sort of reggae-rock guitar. "Spies," meanwhile, is as "poppy" a song as Amos has penned in years. Written to quell her daughter's nightmares and fear of bats, it's a "lullaby" set to a racing beat and busy, mischievous bass, with absurd imagery about "spies" who chase away night terrors: "Scary men dipped in mustard (English mixed with Dijon)/ Mrs. Crabby Apple/ Won't get custard/ Won't get crumble." It's playful—ready to be a great TV show theme—and totally suits her. © Shelly Ridenour/Qobuz

Tori Amos has said that her new album—her 16th—is "about your losses, and how you cope with them." For her, that includes pandemic lockdown and the Capitol riots, as viewed from her remote farm in Cornwall, England. The area inspired her with its ancient mythology, including tales of pixies and giants; the fairytale Jack the Giant Slayer, aka Jack and the Beanstalk, was born of Cornish lore. As always, Amos herself isn't afraid to take on so-called giants. "Devil's Bane" warns of men who would try to control women and has a sort of Led Zeppelin feel, with its witchy guitar and big drums, courtesy of Pearl Jam's Matt Chamberlain (who last worked with Amos on 2009's Midwinter Graces). "Ocean to Ocean" places blame for political insurrection—"There are those who never give a goddamn for anything that they're breaking/ There are those that only give a goddamn for the profit that they're making"—a faint guitar cry like an accusatory echo. Yet there's hope as she sings, "There is a way out of this" while uplifting strings echo her optimism. Ocean to Ocean contains surprises, too. Over the years, Amos's theatricality has evolved from Under the Pink's baroque stylings and Little Earthquakes' Kate Bush-inspired drama. But there are some nostalgic moments on this record. "Addition of Light Divided" is especially Bush-like, and melancholy ballad "Flowers Burn to Gold," comfortingly, feels like it could've been lifted from one of those old albums—with Amos' left-hand piano work as heavy as the physical feelings of mourning, while her right hand tries to pull up out of it. "I am fascinated when someone has gone through a tragedy, and how they work through their grief. That is where the gold is ..." Amos has said. "I'm going to meet you in the muck." For "Speaking With Trees," with its spritely piano and galloping drums, that means turning to nature for comfort. On "Swim to New York State" (a song of loss, driven by moody strings) she's still in the bargaining stage of grief: "I'd swim to New York State from the Cornish coast of England, for even just a day," she sings, searching for reconnection. "Birthday Baby" slinks along like a tango, celebrating resilience: "This year, you survived through it all/ A cosmic apocalypse, a stab to the heart." And "29 Years" is remarkably, powered by a looming undertow of bass and drums, along with a sort of reggae-rock guitar. "Spies," meanwhile, is as "poppy" a song as Amos has penned in years. Written to quell her daughter's nightmares and fear of bats, it's a "lullaby" set to a racing beat and busy, mischievous bass, with absurd imagery about "spies" who chase away night terrors: "Scary men dipped in mustard (English mixed with Dijon)/ Mrs. Crabby Apple/ Won't get custard/ Won't get crumble." It's playful—ready to be a great TV show theme—and totally suits her. © Shelly Ridenour/Qobuz