This came out in 2005 — or at least that’s when I got it. Here’s what I said about it back then (with some minor editing):
Sometimes I get Tori Amos albums. Sometimes I don’t.
The Beekeeper, the piano goddess’s flighty eighth disc, is definitely one of the ones I don’t. And no wonder: Supposedly it’s a semi-autobiographical concept album chronicling emotional journeys in a metaphorical garden tended by the titular apiarist. Seriously.
Sure, that kind of highfalutin’ artiness is nothing new for Amos. But unlike her focused emotional travelogue Scarlet’s Walk, this concept never quite gels. Although these 19 songs are divided into little thematic hives in the lyric book, it all feels rather arbitrary — the sequencing doesn’t follow any pattern, the songs in each group don’t seem to have much in common sonicly, and the whole affair doesn’t really add up to anything insightful.
Musically, the disc has its moments, particularly in the latter half when Amos moves beyond her lush mood-swing balladry into a funkier frame. But when it’s all said and done, all you’re left with are a bunch of underwritten, plainly produced tunes about hoochie women, the power of orange knickers and driving to Ireland in a Saab. If that appeals to you, by all means get it. But don’t blame us if you end up feeling a little stung by The Beekeeper.
