Tori Amos has always been rather trying. Whether because of her image as the self-styled flame-haired pixie of angst, or her earnestness (her “best-of” collection was called, teeth-gnashingly, Tales of a Librarian), she seems to appeal to a very particular demographic: one that still wears “Meat is Murder” T-shirts and shoes made from organic lavender. Her music was once faintly alluring, with both Little Earthquakes (1992) and Under the Pink (1994) providing a modicum of interest. But it has been many years since she’s made a half-decent record, the nadir coming with Strange Little Girls (2001), a facile, cloying covers album that came a decade too late to help US troops flush out General Noriega from Panama.

So, it comes as something of a surprise to be able to tell you that The Beekeeper is quite good. Indeed, it’s not until tracks 12 and 13, Original Sinsuality (the clue to its awfulness is in the title) and Ireland (“Driving in my Saab, on my way to Eye-ER-land”) that a murderous rage descends upon the rational listener, thereby undoing the excellent work of the preceding 11 tracks and three of the following six.

The Beekeeper owes its partial success to Amos’s new willingness to avoid tooth-rotting whimsy and, although it is ostensibly another concept album (something to do with emotional journeys and gardens, apparently), keeping track of its loose narrative will likely distract your attention from the first half’s tender melodies.

The best of these come in an early run with Sweet the Sting (a Santana- esque swagger replete with swoonsome chorus line), The Power of Orange Knickers (an off-kilter study of desire that manages to overpower its worrisome imagery — wouldn’t the pants clash with her hair?) and Jamaica Inn, which is four minutes of lovelorn beauty and probably not only this album’s highlight but Amos’s career creative peak. Of course, over 19 tracks the quality is bound to fluctuate and it does, sometimes alarmingly so, but if you use the skip button wisely and ignore the conceptual aspect, there is much to enjoy here.

Paul Connolly

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