Tori Amos has had a pretty remarkable career, and by most accounts she is only in the early stages of her current incarnation.

This last year has been filled with more peaks and valleys for the talented artist than a vacation in the Ozarks. She was married just a few months ago and a recent miscarriage added to the pain and the eventual catharsis from which her latest album has grown.

By her own admission, she has kept a pretty tight, creative reign on her previous tours and releases whenever possible.

“From the Choirgirl Hotel” is supposed to represent a transformation from a carefully-guarded, highly personal style to a more open and trusting group effort. In the past, her albums have been singularly unique expressions of self-angst and self-exploration.

By most accounts, she has the kind of stage presence that contributes to her ever-increasing legend as an artist and performer of incredible, emotional intensity.

On stage, she has writhed ecstatic and in a manner which has surprised even her upon seeing images of herself on video.

Most would agree that a performer who loses themselves in their music communicates with their audience on a uniquely intimate level; as if the stage were really a private room and the audience was merely privy to something so private that they should sit quiet and still so as not to disturb the trance-like state she seems to fall in.

Amos’ hordes of fans, the ones who wait breathlessly for her every latest utterance and cruise the Web sites and news groups just to see what her favorite brand of hair-coloring is, would no doubt find her flawless if she ran onto the stage wearing a day-glow orange balaclava and played the piano with a chain saw while spraying everyone with kerosene and smoking a clove cheroot.

Even though I am not one of the devoted, I went in with an open mind and a genuinely earnest desire to share in what held all of the promise of being the most momentous and moving group experience I have ever had since I saw “Close Encounters of the Third Kind” at the drive-in.

Well, I tried to get it. I honestly did. Really hard, too!! And I am sure that Tori Amos is every bit as fabulous as her reputation would suggest.

Maybe if I were more sensitive or a woman or a super-fan, I would be into the magic. But last Saturday night’s show was a bit light on the entertainment side, not to mention the magic everyone seems to think of as being almost tangible.

And no matter how hard I try to convince myself that I must have missed some subtle clue or that maybe I just didn’t get it because of some chronic testosterone poisoning, I have to accept that there really was just not that much to get. I was utterly and thoroughly underwhelmed.

First off Irish band The Devlins opened the show at precisely 8 p.m. Kudos for punctuality!

They were welcomed out with surprising cordiality by an unusually sophisticated crowd who did not embarrass our community with the usual booing and heartfelt cries of “you suck!” that accompany so many other events where the opening acts are treated like pariahs. That was pretty amazing on the face of it. But that is where the amazement stopped.

The Devlins sounded like they were straight off of the old “Live for Ireland” album circa the late ’80s. It was fun for a time, but let’s face it, it’s been done before.

It was like seeing a bar band on a big stage, their simple yet elegant stage dressing consisted of two, back-lit signs. They seemed properly grateful to their patron for bringing them along for the ride, though, and they should be. That kind of pseudo-U2 shtick should have become extinct 10 years ago.

After a quick set change, the guys who would make it nearly impossible for us to actually hear the woman we paid so much to see strolled out and began playing some intro music.

Then, unceremoniously, Tori Amos ambled out on stage with a friendly double wave to the crowd. She then took her perch and began to regale us. The entire auditorium squealed with pleasure.

I will admit, this current decades “cooler than thou” trend of not plying the audience with the usual, boring platitudes like “Hello, Ames, are you ready to rock?!” is nice. There is nothing more tired than having your icons performing and bantering by route.

But we could still use a little validation. Maybe some of that old-time, Vegas-style audience schmoozing now and again for shelling out the dough to keep the wheels of creativity rolling.

I would find nothing insincere with a little acknowledgment or maybe a “thank you for spending half a day’s pay making me richer; would you like another $35 t-shirt?”

Maybe the occasional explanation about what is going on in this or that song. What inspired it? Was it written on a beach? Is it about your cat? Did it only take fifteen minutes to write? Whatever.

But give us some reason to not have buyer’s remorse. We could have avoided the traffic and long lines at the bathrooms if all we wanted to do was listen.

Speaking of listening, the sound system put a real damper on the evening. There was a great deal of noise, especially in the high end, which is a particularly bad thing with a female singer.

The entire production seemed pretty low tech, especially for a show which I was led to believe would be much more dramatic. Cy Curnin was more dramatic when I saw The Fixx in high school.

I was definitely expecting something much more theatrical from the weeks of buildup before the show.

Tori Amos does do quite a bit of moving for a piano player and not just the usual bouncing up and down.

She seems to put a lot of sincere emotion into her playing and breathy singing, which I found very earthy and sensual. But it hardly qualifies as theater, unless she would feel awkward expressing herself outside in the daylight.

I was genuinely moved several times during her performance. I will not down-play that aspect of her show. Her emotional renderings made me feel that there was something beautiful happening on that stage. But not once while her band was out there with her.

Tori Amos is definitely at her best when it is just her, the piano and the audience.

I think that is truly when the magical connection occurs and almost everyone in the hall feels that she is singing directly to them. If at any time during the night I felt like I was in the presence of something the faeries would be responsible for, it was during the more minimalist portions of the show. It was during those moments that I knew what all the talk was about.

Then, to crown the evening in thorns, we had to jump through the old double-encore hoops.

That is so degrading. If the performers need a break, they should take it. But they shouldn’t make thousands of people stand and scream just to pump up already considerable egos.

I’m glad I went, but I am just as glad that the show did not go on for another half hour.

I hope to see her again in the future, but that is only likely if she goes back to doing her own thing in a more personal operation.