THE LOLLAPALOOZA LIPS HAVE always been her trademark. "They were this size when I was 9," she says, "so you can imagine the jokes." Well, nobody's laughing anymore. Especially not this year, when the now-famous Amos broke a sound barrier with her third album, Boys for Pele, a mix of provocative lyrics and masterful piano. At 32, the North Carolina-born minister's daughter admits to talking with "the faeries" and flirting with "the sun god." But what comes out of her mouth is no less magical than what accompanies it: an off-kilter arrangement of siren's hair and milk-bath skin. "There's this otherworldly quality about her," says her friend, makeup artist Kevin Aucoin. "The moment I saw her, I was entranced." Amos's brand of sorcery, she says, is rooted in her part-Cherokee ancestry: "My great-grandparents were doing all sorts of things in the bloodline." Amos herself does all sorts of things onstage, and it's there, when she straddles the piano bench, that her sexy side breaks free. Not everybody can be so enticing while working up a sweat. "It's probably not enough exercise," she says with a wicked grin, "but it's all I'm willing to do."
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