Central Reservation

Let's face it: Beth Orton has already proved her genius with her sublime debut, Trailer Park. Not only was it a remarkable record for a debutante; it was, and is, one of the standouts of the last three years. And now she's gone and done it again.

Central Reservation just might be her Astral Weeks, if that's not too odious a comparison for the inveterately independent Orton. Certainly, 'Sweetest Decline' is as featherlight a meditation on life's intangible moments as you'll be lucky to hear anywhere. As she says herself, it's "like catching snow on my tongue". Orton's creaky voice sidles in between the delightfully mellow piano of Dr. John and the bouzouki of Ted Barnes.

Central Reservation is like an early Hal Hartley movie. It's a kookie, left field take on life's decidedly smaller moments. Orton isn't given to meditations on broad canvas. Instead she prefers to sketch out impressions, observations, mostly of a personal nature, and then she somehow manages to imbue them with nuances that tweak at the universal.

From the somnolent freefall of 'Sweetest Decline' to the almost improvisational jazz of 'So Much More', Beth Orton stretches the boundaries of voice and lyric as though they were elasticated. Listening to the barenaked mournful 'Pass In Time', it's hard not to marvel at Orton's inspired coupling of her vocals with the rustbucket poignancy of Terry Callier's backing. A painfully autobiographical reference to the fact of both her parents' passing, it's still party to the same catholic taste that Orton exercises throughout the album.

The title track, 'Central Reservation' gets two airings, the original and the 'then again version'. In its original form it's a David Lynch-like take on living on life's perimeters and relishing it. With nothing more than vocals, electric slide and acoustic guitar, Orton manages to orchestrate as though she were in the midst of a string quartet. Later it mutates into a potential dance sensation, but retains its loping charm'.

Her guest list is characteristically low key but a triumph of lateral thinking. Who else but Ben Harper could've lent such sympathetic electric guitar to 'Love Like Laughter'? And who better than Ben Watts to coax 'Stars All Seem To Weep' into shape?

Listen to Central Reservation over and over and search for its Achille's heel. Bet you don't find it easily: this is a fine album by anyone's standards, but by Orton's, it simply follows the pace set by Trailerpark three years ago. Long may she remain on the outside.