Beth-lehem

MAGNET APRIL/MAY 1999

By Mitch Myers
Photos by Sean Shroff

It's a Monday afternoon in early November, and Beth Orton is about to begin a performance for Sessions At West 54th in midtown Manhattan. Sessions is a weekly live music television program on PBS, with none other than David Byrne as this season's inscrutable host. With 200 people sitting quietly on folding chairs in a large semi-circle, Byrne walks out into the middle of the sound studio and warms up the audience with his distinctive brand of herky-jerky, art-cool expressiveness. Following a quick explanation of protocol for attendees and a poor reading of Orton's artistic r6sum6 from a nearby TeleProMpTer, Byrne disappears and Orton takes the stage.

Accompanied by guitarist Ted Barnes, Orton sits down and shyly greets her audience. She's a tall, slender young woman who dresses casually, appears quite bashful and speaks softly with a delicate British accent. Any tension Orton may be experiencing due to the television cameras vanishes as soon as she begins her set of intimate, folk-infused pop songs. The crowd is supportive as Orton strums an acoustic guitar and sings some distinctive odes of love and yearning that are filled with a pensive introspection. Her between song patter with the audience is charming, but brief. About 40 minutes into her performance, Orton falters on the chorus of "Devil's Song," a haunting tune from her forthcoming major-label debut, Central Reservation. For the sake of the cameras, she starts the song from the beginning, only to stumble over her lyrics a second time. Apologizing and complaining of stomach pains, she breaks into tears and excuses herself from the soundstage, promising to return in a few short minutes.

Although the audience is puzzled by her sudden departure, it's a welcome intermission that allows everyone to stretch their legs and chat with friends. Orton quickly returns to the stage and promptly mesmerizes the crowd with favorites from her American debut, Trailer Park. Orton explains that she is "a bit premenstrual and feeling rather emotional," but there are no further interruptions and she finishes the show in particularly strong form. It's a successful TV gig in the midst of a short tour supporting the release of Central Reservation. In the following week, Orton will go on to perform in Philadelphia, Minneapolis, Chicago and Atlanta before returning to New York City to speak with the rock press for the umpteenth time.

While England is her home, Orton has been com-, muting to the United States a great deal in the last ears. Considering her heavy work schedule and so sequent reports that she suffers from Crohn's disease (an inflammatory bowel disorder), it's not exactly a stretch to say that Orton has her share of difficult moments. Crohn's is easily exacerbated by stress,' poor diet and other physical indulgences, all of which are hallmarks of a musician's life on the road.

Despite bouts with bodily demons and a strong inclination toward the melancholic side of life, Orton has been on the fast track since she collaborated with famed producer William orbit on her 1993 overseas debut, Superpinkymandy. Chatting over tea at her publicist's Manhattan apartment, Orton is relatively cheerful and sounds more overwhelmed by her good luck than the frantic professional pace she keeps.

"Five years ago, I was on the dole," Orton muses. "I had just finished working with William Orbit and fell into a quandary of whether I was going to make music again. Then I met the band Red Snapper and did something with them. Then the Chemical Brothers thing happened, and I was writing a lot but didn't know what for. I started doing live gigs but only in the pub, just working on it gently, and then suddenly I made Trailer Park. I had gotten my musicians and producer together, and we started working and have never really stopped since."

Certainly, Orton's guest vocal on "Alive: Alone" from the Chemical Brothers' Exit Planet Dust album helped her gain a decent recording contract in England. The net result, Trailer Park, was hailed as one of the most compelling recordings of 1997. While Orton had been busy aligning herself with cream of the U.K. techno scene, her own music was far more human and overtly genteel. An innovative blend of British folk stylings and subtle electronics with the melodic influence of '70s artists like Carole King and Joni Mitchell thrown in for good measure, Orton's sound was electronica unplugged and way ahead of the contemporary singer/songwriter curve.

"There's a lot of contrived music being made at the moment," Orton declares. "The '90s were all about irony and being really clever, and Trailer Park was a reaction to all that. My reaction was to be really honest and simple and say, 'Well, what about these things?"'

These "things" were simple yet arcane excursions into the realm of tragic romanticism, an expressive songwriting vehicle that has always been at the core of contemplative folk music.

After the commercial success of Trailer Park, Orton toured relentlessly with a full band and released the Best Bit EP, which featured collaborations with forgotten American jazz/folk guitarist Terry Callier. Callier returns on Central Reservation, which also includes guest appearances by Ben Watt (Everything But The Girl), Ben Harper and Dr. John. With an unusual combination of talent, serendipity and professional determination, Orton seems adept at making good things happen for herself and acknowledges that, in some ways, her work ethic is beyond her own control.

"I think the thing with me is that I'm very driven," she says. "I think I always have been driven, even when I was really young. I used to have this recurring dream where I'd be spiraling down this tube, and there was always this voice-this man's authoritarian voice telling me that I hadn't done enough."

If Orton is constantly pushing forward with a demanding inner dialogue that can never be completely satisfied, she is also a sensitive artist whose professional opportunities seem to increase exponentially at every turn.

Chance meetings and subsequent collaborations with artists like Orbit, Callier and Dr. John have become the rule rather than the exception in Orton's world.

"I think drive and ambition are two different things," she says. "With ambition, you go out of your way. I mean, I do go out to make things occur, but sometimes stuff just happens. It's almost like a jigsaw or a crossword puzzle. I just keep going until all the words are filled in or I can't do anymore. Still, that authoritarian voice does come back quite regularly."

Orton's compelling work with Callier on Best Bit is just one example of her serendipitous fortune as well as a clear illustration of her love for evocative folk MUSIC. A survivor of the '60S folk boom who has recently been on the comeback trail, Chicagoan Callier met Orton while performing in London. On his next trip to England, he was easily persuaded to duet with her on "Dolphins," an unabashedly poignant song written by another '60s folk legend, Fred Neil.

"The thing with Terry Callier was amazing because of the suggestion to do 'Dolphins,' in particular," Orton says with obvious pride. "When he heard that, he was like, 'Oh wow, that's the man I used to emulate when I was young.' it was total coincidence, and then he heard my album and said he'd be glad to do it."

On Central Reservation, Orton steps even further away from the world of electronic breakbeats and has produced a deep, moving collection of acoustic-based songs written from the heart. The LP's emotive centerpiece, "Pass In Time," is a seven-minute saga exploring Orton's philosophical meditations on her mother's death. With Callier singing counterpoint, she addresses the personal process of grief and the great potential for self-doubt, guilt and, finally, spiritual resolution.

"The version of 'Pass in Time' that ended up on the album was the first take," she says. "We just sat down and played it totally live. It's pretty literal. There's a kind of relief you experience when someone is very ill and then they die. It's tough to admit it, because you still feel bad. I felt so dreadful at the time, but I did feel a strange relief when my mother finally did die because of the pain she was in. I think people should respect that it does take a long time to grieve and to let others do it in their own time."

While Orton still balances her musings with an occasional electronic remix, the main emphasis on her new record is a lyrical one. With serious themes wrapped around fragile melodies, mid-tempo beats and her exquisitely expressive voice, Orton writes timeless folk songs destined to endure the turning of the millennium. Her best work has a vaguely familiar quality that's often moody but not without its joyous celebration. In many ways, she's the latest representative in a tradition of haunted singer/songwriters; that has included the likes of Nick Drake, Tim Buckley and Sandy Denny, all of whom were incredibly talented troubadours who died well before their time. While Orton shows no signs or intentions of leaving this world anytime soon, she does tend to grapple with the metaphysical side of life.

"I've always had this thing about good and evil," Orton admits. "Part of me is quite black and white, but I know it's not true and nothing is that simple. What I try to express in my songs is the contradictions in life. I try to take on a situation and see it from different sides. I wrote 'Devil Song' about how the image of the devil got twisted around. The goat was initially a dancing, drinking, women-loving geezer ... They changed his image into the devil, and that seems to happen all through history."

Since her latest round of recording, filming videos, touring and dealing with the press, Orton has finally withdrawn for a bit of well-deserved rest. What will the future hold for this mutable chanteuse of the cyber age? The reflective nature of her muse points toward artistic explorations of serious depth and emotional complexity. "my favorite song on the new album is 'Sweetest Decline,'" she confesses. "I was going to call the album Sweetest Decline but felt it was just too weighted down and a little bit pretentious.

"The thing is that I live for what I do," Orton concludes. "I was so bored when I had nothing to do that I just couldn't bear it. Sometimes I get really tired, but I wouldn't want to be doing anything else. I just love making music."