Last night in Oakland the provocative mistress of hauntingly emotional songs, Tori Amos, tried her hand at the first hit from the beleaguered champion of bubblegum kitsch, Britney Spears. This sober and serious cover gives the song some of the pathos its lyrics suggest but that Spears never seemed to understand. Amos can't help but turn most songs into tortured yet poignant epiphanies, but her version is still an object lesson in the difference between catchy and meaningful. [Idolator]
she really makes a woman out of this song, doesn't she?