ori Amos has always been a captivating and interesting figure in pop music, but her inconsistencies have damaged her reputation. The steps she has taken from her debut album, Little Earthquakes (1992), a stripped down, confession between her voice and piano, to the complex, electronica-hugging To Venus And Back (1999), seem almost too indefensible to accept her trek back to a more simplistic sound. That’s not even including her covers album from last year, which will likely be written off as something that allowed her to try to humiliate Eminem by stripping him of his violent, misogynistic, gay-bashing ways. (It’s funny, because Eminem didn’t even release an album last year, if you exclude D12, and he still received more attention.)

Starting over with a fresh slate, Amos has decided to comment on the fragility of her nation. Yes, it’s a concept album, but it’s not crap. Actually, Scarlet’s Walk is very suitable for an artist with Amos’ capacity for spewing drama from her intense and highly articulated words.

To approach such a powerful concept Amos has conjured up the main character, Scarlet, and has sent her off from state to state, commenting on both the horror and beauty she witnesses. For those who are as clueless about geography like myself, Amos even includes a map in the liner notes with a legend explaining which song describes which state. Phew. I was beginning to find myself lost somewhere between “Amber Waves” and “A Sorta Fairytale” (the first two tracks).

As for the sound of her record, Amos has done the right thing, detaching herself from modern technology and reclaiming the subtleties of her first couple of recordings. The selling points, as always, are the sometimes eyebrow raising lyrics and subject matter. Thankfully, they are intact. Her lyrics are as sharp as ever, commenting on issues such as the injustice done to Native Americans over the years. Most notable is the powerful “Wampun Prayer”, a so-short-if-you-cough-you’ll-miss-it ode to those who were wronged. The other stand out track is the 9/11 epic, “I Can’t See New York”. Amos, who was actually in the city during the attack, details a first hand account of what the damage was like. It’s no Alan Jackson fight anthem. Instead, it captures the delicate state of a country at its most vulnerable.

A return to fine form for Amos, and a nice glimpse of what a concept album should be like—non-intrusive and an added strength of the work.