In 2006 upon completing the keyboard-shaped box set, A Piano, Tori Amos announced that she was entering a new stage of her music. American Doll Posse arrives after 2005’s The Beekeeper and Amos’ direction has led her to a rock heavy sound. The new record showcases Amos marking a creative stretch—she is accompanied by four imaginary girls who make up the "posse": Clyde, Santa, Isabel, Pip and Tori are to be the summation of a complete woman. Inspired by Greek literature and the demeaning sexuality of current times, Amos has created a concept album for the modern female.

The treat American Doll Posse really offers the Toriphile and the casual listener is not the presumptuous concept (though it is an artistic feat—can the modern woman be summarized in a mere 24 songs?) or the well-developed characters in the "posse" (they have their own Myspace blogs and wardrobe), but the most raucous music she’s made in a while. Tori always has been moving musically and thematically in one way or the other. Both her slow/sensuous and aggressive songs of yesteryear have been imbued with the same spirit of rebellious artistry. Never been one to make a banal record, Tori is an untamed fire of creativity. American Doll Posse is proof.

From the up-beat gospel stomp of "Big Wheel" (including the defining "M-I-L-F" call-out at the end [not even Madonna has gone there yet]) to the harsh, cutting glam of "Teenage Hustling" Posse introduces the audience to a musically edgier tableaux. A good percentage of similar songs— whether more pop oriented ("Beauty of Speed") Marilyn Manson at a piano bar, ("Body and Soul") or painfully concise ("Devils and Gods")—give the record a meatier appeal.

Of course, this does not mean she’s traded in her artistic ideals in for meaningless pop blather. All the songs on American Doll Posse reflect the trials and tribulations (more likely the realizations and hurdles) of the modern woman. All five characters exude many traits: they’re reflective ("Secret Spell"), critical, ("Yo George") religious ("Body and Soul"), and poignant, ("Roosterspur Bridge"). There are some calamities though. "Programmable Soda" is ridiculous; "Velvet Revolution" sounds trite. "Smokey Joe" is abstract and murky and "Posse Bonus" is simply a waste of good time.

New sounds aside, some of Amos’ most compelling work is here. "Girl Disappearing," a moving ballad including a swelling string quartet has a haunted glow. This is probably her most effective song on the record. The mellow "Father’s Son" is equally lugubrious.

"Dragon," which closes Posse, is a tender plea to "Stay awhile…. Won’t you lay here with me and I will bring kisses for the beast." It is a rather genuine way to end a chaotic album with Amos’ electric piano adding a hazy glaze over the song.

Indeed, Amos covers a lot of new ground. The good news is that she doesn’t employ any egregious method of differentiating one of the posse girls from another (no histrionic voices, no accents). The bad news: the existence of the five characters is superfluous. They are unnecessary as one can appreciate the record without their presence. It is also unfortunate that the concept doesn’t add much weight to the record, if anything it mucks things up. In the end it is merely fun for Tori and her fans.