The only thing "strange" about Strange Little Girls is that Tori Amos chose, for the first time, to present an album that's entirely not of her own words.

Amos fans may either be devastated or half-heartedly take this with a pinch of salt, since her previous albums have always been about what she (and not someone else) had to say.

Of course, that can't really be avoided since it's an album of covers. Interestingly, she covers songs written and performed by males about females, which at times muddles the distinction between the two genders.

Tori justifies this album by explaining that "the 12 songs are told through the eyes of 13 women, including a set of twins, and each woman has her own story to tell�each approached me and said: 'I have a point of view on this song, that you may want to know, that may change how you hear its meaning'".

Okay, so she talks to spirits, but that's Tori Amos for you. Although the lyrics are not hers, she possesses the songs. Listen to her interpretation of Eminem's '97 Bonnie & Clyde and prepare to have the back of your neck cool and damp. The jarring sound of the violins and her just-above-a-whisper speech is reminiscent of Psycho, to say the least.

Her obsession with guns and death is too obvious to overlook. '97 Bonnie & Clyde, Rattlesnakes, I Don't Like Mondays, and Happiness Is A Warm Gun are stark examples that ring especially true at this tragic time of death and destruction.

Amos aptly concludes the album with Joe Jackson's Real Men, singing lines like "all the gays are macho" and "so don't call me a faggot unless you are a friend" in a tone that is partly sarcastic and partly inquisitive.

There's no questioning who the real man is.