"I was just going to do a live record," she explains, "and then I figured it was time to put out a greatest-hits record. So I decided to write one. When I say hits, it's like hits from an alternate universe, not necessarily based on commercialism from planet Earth. It's almost like I wrote 12 other albums that I ditched, and each one of these is my pick from each of those 12. So that should cover my current contract, really."

While still given to mystical verbiage, Amos seems determined to downplay her shocking declarations of old. Her new attitude fills TO VENUS AND BACK, which is thematically reflective and musically a throwback to Amos's powerful debut, LITTLE EARTHQUAKES. The first single, "Bliss," is this album's "Crucify," a rocking wailer that might make Alanis run. "Lust" sounds like an alien dream, with Tori singing about the afterworld and "lust in the marriage bed," while "1,000 Oceans" refers to her 1996 miscarriage. Pretty, yet melancholy, the song is painfully honest. "I will cry a thousand more if that's what it takes to sail you home," she broods, closing TO VENUS AND BACK on a tender note.

But what happened to the fairies?

"Careful," she warns. "They are a bit on strike on how they have been portrayed in the press. The fairies torch the media like Buddhist monks in their mind. At the end of the day, if you are arrogant enough to think that the only valid world that exists is what we can see with our eye, when we didn't even know Pluto existed until the 1930s -- this is the planet of 'prove it to me.' Then you get people who are caught in black magic. I roll my eyes. Black Magic 101. People cutting up cats. They can do a lot of damage, but a five-year-old with an Uzi can do a lot of damage too."

Though she does betray herself occasionally, this is not the same Tori Amos who once said, "How can I be a spiritual being and hot pussy?" to a British magazine. She's been burned by the press before, and she is not going to let it happen again. It's an older, wiser Tori that sits before you.

"I am very aware of what I am saying to you right now," she says, her eyes focusing like a gun scope. "There are moments in the past where, especially if you are having a bad patch and you are talking about things that expose other people, you regret the next day because you are on the road and at a breaking point. But the songs do enough, and they even go farther. But there are certain names and dates of people you have to protect. There are things I won't expose. Like who my musical influences are. I'm gonna tell you who I've slept with before I tell you that. Certain things are sacred. If you are going to expose yourself in some areas, other areas you don't."

Amos orders more tea, but it's too late. Her manager signals that the interview is over, and Amos rearranges her scarf and gets up to leave. But she looks puzzled.

"I'm actually a hermit," she says, unprompted. "When I take the stage I plug in. Anytime I sit next to a piano, I feel this hand gripping at my throat. The succubi grab me when I play, but some of them have really cute shoes, and they come and visit me and they have a charming manner. And even though they are grabbing me by the throat, that is what happens when I play."