They say that when the baby Jesus was born, he didn’t let out a bawl or a whimper. The Lord’s arrival clearly wasn’t serenaded with a Tori Amos Christmas record. If only the Wise Men had had the foresight to forget the gold and bring this instead.

On Midwinter Graces, we get a scattering of bizarre originals and a series of bastardised carols, not least ‘Pink And Glitter’, ripe with the traumatic memories of an auntie getting too frisky under the mistletoe. When the Amos compositions aren’t immediately forgettable, they’re congealed like bad eggnog.

To highlight the licence taken on the carols: Tori’s take on ‘Silent Night’ sounds just about seedy enough to make the seasonal playlist of a strip club. In order to maintain neutrality, I’ll state that it’s not all useless: ‘Candle: Coventry Choir’ is an ugly mess of a cover, but it did helpfully remind me to buy some candles in case of a power cut.

More sincerely, credit to her for not rehashing well-worn classics and testing conventions with her re-imaginings.

With jesting scorn momentarily aside, the album is unhinged by a serious difficulty: it hazardously avoids all three elements which lead to an enjoyable Yuletide album. It isn’t endowed with the propensity for fun that you get from a drunken ol’ Bob Dylan cawing jingles through a roguish grin, any incandescent festive warmth you’d find on a scratchy Bing Crosby record, or some degree of spirituality the best choral renditions may evoke. That crux means the album is susceptible to the inherent danger associated with a holiday album - direct competition with the products of other musicians.

However specific the usual styling of an artist or band may be, they’re all tackling the same territory to vie for a share of the Nativity cash cow, rather than appealing to a broader range of niche markets. Ultimately, Tori’s fault is that her record falls flat at the feet of rivals, even during a period when Sting is singing about soul cakes.

So I’m struggling to think why Amos made this album. Sure, she’s probably just chasing sales to put a fatter turkey on the table over the holidays. But maybe it’s a case of idle thumbs and Midwinter Graces is actually the Devil’s most insidious assault on the joys of Christmas to date.

Dylan Williams