Beth Orton is generally filed under folktronica, but neither the label, nor the pigeonhole, do such a restless musician any favours. After a gradual transition from the gauzy electronic sound of her 1990s albums towards a more acoustic set-up, this latest outing – which follows her move to California, and emerged from what Orton has described as an intense process of discovery – draws on an intriguing array of electronic effects. But this is not a return to where she started: it shows that Orton has been listening with new ears, as it were, to what the electronic can offer, and is striking out on another new path.
The challenge of self-discovery and enquiry comes through repeatedly. “I want to know what the moon feels like within,” she sings on “Moon”, in typically elliptical and quizzical style. Even when the lyrics have a slightly more conventional frame – such as the radio-friendly “Wave”, in which Orton sings “I was crying out to you,” or “Dawnstar” – the textures of instrumentation and rhythm result in a piece that’s radically unusual. “Corduroy Legs”, titled after the sound the lover makes approaching, is the gentlest song, full of chirping electronic birds that could be appalling but are somehow delicate and innocent.
The uncompromising crackle of producers Fuck Buttons comes through periodically, especially on “Snow”, but overall, this is a triumphantly novel approach. There’s plenty of space for her voice to breathe, but it’s decorated with loops, strange and mesmerisingly irregular beats, and modest applications of distortion and noise to create absorbing and original textures on, for example, “Petals”, while “1973” is a kind of synth ballad, with cleaner-cut, marching vocals. Orton was friends with Bert Jansch, but also knows electronic dance music, and these delightful new songs are nestling, camouflaged, in the sonic landscape between.
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