Tori Amos has made a career of channeling other people: sensitive teens, rape victims, women in love, in breakups, in the throes of regret. Her last album, Strange Little Girls, was the most ambitious, if imperfect, display of her skills as a musical medium. She conjured female narrators for songs originally written and sung by men, and even physically transformed herself for each piece, a blond sweater-clad woman in one picture, a vamp with black-rimmed eyes in the next. Part of her chameleon skill lies in her face -- the mournful, knowing eyes countered by the unexpectedly sensual mouth. The other part lies in her music, which draws on post-Enya floaty singing and delicate piano work and screeching, growling and percussive keyboarding.