Tori Amos is not an artist whose livelihood at this point, 10 years into her career as a solo performer, depends on the usual avenues of pop stardom like commercial airplay. Radio hits have never played a big role in the marketing of Amos, and neither have MTV videos. Instead, it was the notoriety surrounding her controversial debut, 1991’s Little Earthquakes (Atlantic), which included an a cappella recounting of her own rape experience ( " Me and a Gun " ), plus the sheer force of her enigmatic yet alluring personality that initially connected Amos with what’s become a loyal cult audience that’s about a million strong (each of her albums has moved more than a million units). And it’s been her ongoing willingness to put her artistry on the line combined with her ability to tap into new sources of inspiration that has kept her in business over the past decade. In short, at least to the million-plus fans she’s got out there, Amos is the real deal. Period. Indeed, releasing something deemed too commercial is often the worst thing an artist in her position can do.

There’s no danger that Strange Little Girls (Atlantic) will be mistaken for a facile attempt to woo modern-rock-radio programmers or even to reach out to anyone who hasn’t already met her halfway. If anything, the disc is a step in the other direction by an artist who seems to understand that hit singles are not necessarily a crucial part of her success. In a music business that appears once again to be relying more and more on one- and two-hit wonders, Amos is that rare thing: an album-oriented artist. And Strange Little Girls, which finds her interpreting an eclectic mix of tunes penned by other songwriters, reflects the degree to which she seems to appreciate her audience’s desire both to be challenged by and to maintain a certain degree of intimacy with her.

Amos is no stranger to cover tunes. Early on in her career she gave fans several revealing glimpses of her musical background by recording with just her voice and piano an intriguing trio for the 1992 Crucify EP (Atlantic): Led Zeppelin’s " Thank You, " Nirvana’s " Smells like Teen Spirit, " and the Rolling Stones’ " Angie. " When you consider that back then Amos was being treated, not unfairly, as a Kate Bush disciple, it seems clear she chose these covers to make the point that there was a healthy dose of guitar grit flowing through the rock-and-roll veins of this piano-playing dream-pop diva. The Zeppelin tune also allowed Amos to acknowledge her hair-metal past as the frontwoman of the horribly named ’80s group Y Kant Tori Read; the Nirvana song reminded us that her taste in guitar rock had undergone some major, uh, improvements. (Two years later, she released another EP, God, with three more covers: Joni Mitchell’s " A Case of You, " Billie Holiday’s " Strange Fruit, " and Jimi Hendrix’s " If 6 Was 9. " )

Strange Little Girls isn’t simply a guided tour of Amos’s record collection. In fact, it isn’t meant to reflect her influences and/or inspirations at all. Although the thread that ties the disc’s dozen tracks together isn’t immediately visible, Strange Little Girls is a full-fledged concept album inspired by the same gender politics that have fueled her solo work from the start. And what the album may lack in outright commercial appeal, it makes up for by delivering the kind of bold statement that’s bound to generate some sensational press.

The material here ranges from old tunes (the Beatles’ " Happiness Is a Warm Gun " ) to new ones (Eminem’s "  ’97 Bonnie & Clyde " ), from well-known classics (Neil Young’s " Heart of Gold " ) to cult favorites (the Velvet Underground’s " New Age " ) to fairly obscure surprises (the Stranglers’ single " Strange Little Girl " ), from piano-friendly ballads (the Boomtown Rats’ " I Don’t Like Mondays " ) to guitar-based rockers (Slayer’s " Raining Blood " ). What every song on Strange Little Girls has in common is that it was written by a man. Amos’s interpretations can take a fair degree of liberty with the arrangements, particularly when it comes to songs that were guitar-driven in their original incarnation, though she’s joined on the album by guitarist Adrian Belew (as well as by drummer Matt Chamberlain, who co-produced the disc). With its pounding drums and abrasive slide-guitar lines, " Heart of Gold " is almost unrecognizable as the Neil Young song, and Slayer’s " Raining Blood " becomes a meditative ambient piece.

But the conceptual framework of the album has less to do with how the songs are reworked than with who is doing the reworking, because, as Amos has explained in interviews, she sings each song not simply from a woman’s perspective but from the point of view of a particular fictional female character whom she has invented. The disc’s artwork even includes a striking series of in-character photographs of Amos dressed and made up to play each role.

For the most part, this aspect of Strange Little Girls amounts to little more than an entertaining subtext and a chance for Amos to play dress-up. " I Don’t Like Mondays, " the Boomtown Rats tune about a 1979 San Diego school shooting written from the point of view of the shooter, is already a role-playing exercise, as well as a piano-based tune. So it’s hard to imagine how Amos’s conceptual approach would differ from just a regular cover. And her extended interpretation of " Happiness Is a Warm Gun, " which features spoken-word samplings of both President Bushes and her father on the right to bear arms, as well as readings from a newspaper report of John Lennon’s assassination, seems to have more to do with gun-control issues than with anything involving gender. But there’s no denying the chilling power of her reading of Eminem’s "  ’97 Bonnie & Clyde, " which is notorious for being the track where Marshall Mathers fantasizes in vivid detail about murdering his wife (as opposed to the one where he engages in a bit of gay bashing). In a near whisper, and backed by little more than a slight beat and a looped string section, Amos uses her own naked vulnerability to give flesh-and-bone reality to the cartoonish brutality of the original. It’s not catchy enough ever to end up on commercial radio — not by a long shot. At the same time, it’s hard to ignore in a way that’s almost certain to keep Amos in the spotlight as she enters her second decade as a solo artist.

Tori Amos plays the Wang Theatre on October 15 and 16. Call (617) 931-2000.

With her 1999 debut, On How Life Is (Epic), Macy Gray managed to have both critical acclaim and commercial success. It was the critics who initially picked up on the plucky Gray, whose deep, soulful delivery and smooth, contempo R&B moves garnered favorable comparisons with everyone from Lauryn Hill to Billie Holiday. But in time, commercial radio (and then MTV) tuned into the disc’s first single, " I Try, " and turned it into one of the year’s bigger hits, helping to push On How Life Is all the way toward triple-platinum sales.

Following up a triumph like that is never easy — for starters, there’s the pressure to match your debut’s artistic and commercial success. And Gray’s next move is likely to define how she’s perceived by fans and critics for years to come. If her new The Id (Epic) is seen as a challenging artistic statement that casual fans of " I Try " (the people who liked the song but might not remember the name of the person who sang it) may not have the patience for, then she’s off on a path parallel to the one Amos has been on for years. But if The Id comes off as a collection of radio-ready singles, then she may end up sacrificing the kind of devoted following an artist like Amos can count on and find herself relying solely on the whims of fickle Top 40 programmers. The fact that Gray opted to co-produce the disc herself and brought Rick Rubin on to help her suggests that she’s hoping she can continue to enjoy the best of both worlds.

If ever there was a producer who’s been able to make big commercial albums for quirky artists without ironing out the quirks, it’s Rick Rubin. The disc’s first single, " Sweet Baby, " does just that: the easygoing, piano-driven, R&B groove is smooth and sturdy enough to accommodate any pop radio format on the soul side of modern rock, and Erykah Badu’s vocal cameo doesn’t hurt one bit. But as with " I Try, " the musical backdrop is just that — a backdrop for that undeniable and now unmistakable voice, thick and sticky sweet as honey with a sharp, gritty afterbite. Elsewhere, Gray and Rubin play around with everything from stringy vintage disco ( " Sexual Revolution " ) to horny Philly soul ( " Give Me All Your Lovin’ or I Will Kill You " ) without ever settling for too long on one sound or style. In a world in which everything’s supposed to be pinned down and target-marketed to specific demos, Gray seems determined to remain a moving target. And as long as she’s willing to hold on to the soulful quirks that inspire the lyrics to songs like the new " Freak like Me, " it’s hard to imagine anyone’s getting in her way.

Issue Date: September 20 - 27, 2001