Beth Orton

There are works that make history on their own terms, pointing straight toward paths often left unexplored. These are records that are in some ways courageous, at times ambitious, endowed with an elusive singularity, penetrating in their own way, but above all capable of blazing new trails, almost acting as a unique bond between one genre and another. Such is the case with "Trailer Park", the second album by English folk singer-songwriter Beth Orton, released way back in 1996 and still, to this day, one of the most shining examples of exactly what's been described above.

At the heart of the Nineties, genres like trip-hop, IDM and folktronica marked the handover between past and present. Rock suddenly dressed itself in downtempo arrangements, its beats muted to intoxicate the rhythm, setting aside its own raw explosiveness and continuously disguising itself with the most alluring entertainment electronics, contracting and expanding as the occasion demanded.

In the midst of this disorienting blossoming of new productions and unusual crossbreeds, Beth Orton's compositional flair and her warm, soft, concise voice ended up sitting halfway between tradition and innovation, fusing the bedrock of British folk from the astonishing Seventies with electronic touches of superb craftsmanship, surprising both for their flawless calibration and for their poise and elegance.

After debuting in 1991 in the duo Spill alongside her longtime trusted friend, the good William Orbit (Madonna, Blur), giving life to their first (and only) LP, "Don't Wanna Know 'Bout Evil", the sweet girl who'd come from Norwich to the heart of London to soak up and make the most of the spirit of the times began her solo career just a year later, in 1992, releasing "SuperPinkyMandy", a rough-edged work but one with several flashes of electropop, equally essential in shaping what would become the distinctive trait of her sound. From the very start, Orton set herself apart from the rest of the pack of more or less alternative singer-songwriters, thanks to her steady stream of electronic ideas, constantly colliding with the underlying acoustic framework, disorienting the listener through a highly peculiar climax that was in some ways one of a kind, dense with contrasts and unlikely fusions slotted together, every time, to perfection.

And it is precisely with "Trailer Park" that the idea of blending a folk sensibility – think Sandy Denny – with rhythmic inlays of purely electronic origin takes on real meaning, striking a perfect balance of immaculate, never-intrusive stylistic layering. Producing several tracks were her friend Ted Barnes of Clayhill and the divine Andrew Weatherall, one of the most influential minds at the controls in that period, as heard on albums of the caliber of "Screamadelica".

Having already made her mark the previous year, lending her voice to the Chemical Brothers on "Alive Alone", the closing track of the excellent "Exit Planet Dust", sweet Beth finally squares the circle with these eleven vibrant compositions, supported in the songwriting stage by the aforementioned Barnes and by Ali Friend, as well as in the studio by first-rate musicians such as keyboardist Lee Spencer and organist David Boulter.

The magnetic, surreal cello of Oliver Kraus and the violin of Beki Doe introduce the magnificent "She Cries Your Name", the album's opening track. The song, incidentally, already appeared both on her debut album (albeit in a very different arrangement) and on William Orbit's fifth album, "Strange Cargo Hinterland", released several months earlier. Yet it's the ecstatic "transfiguration" heard on "Trailer Park" that proved the most successful. And that's no coincidence at all. Acoustic and electronic elements stroll along beautifully in unison, aided by the English singer-songwriter's sharp, seductive voice, never out of place. The Bristol-esque gait of the following "Tangent" in turn embraces solutions in the vein of Red Snapper – the memorable breakbeat trio featuring Ali Friend – while Orton chases vocal trajectories and moods worthy of the best Gibbons.

But "Trailer Park", beyond its knack for dressing itself in electronics, is above all an album brimming with formidable melodies and folk ballads with an old-fashioned flavor, like the sublime "Don't Need a Reason", suspended between melancholy strings and mournful arpeggios. The same goes for the acoustic crescendo of "Whenever", halfway between Richard and Linda Thompson and Fairport Convention. The lively, vaguely carefree energy of "Live As You Dream" recalls the best-inspired Sheryl Crow of "Tuesday Night Music Club", just as the placid, dreamy mood of "Sugar Boy" – with valuable backing vocalist Tasha Lee McCluney supporting the chorus, underpinned by a lightly jazzy arrangement – would become the blueprint for every future Norah Jones.

Weatherall's mix on "Touch Me With Your Love" breathes life into the electro-jazz embroidery that fuels the track, through an ecstasy of micro-beats interweaving in the background with precision and care, as a counterpoint to Orton's smooth vocals. Meanwhile the playful pop swagger of "How Far" adds just the right dash of carefree escapism and candid lightness, which never hurts.

"I Wish I Never Saw the Sunshine", on the other hand, is the vaguely understated folk cover you'd never expect of the famous, era-defining Ronettes hit written by the great Phil Spector, confirming a command of her craft well out of the ordinary and an artistic boldness that is nothing short of remarkable. The cello and electronic crackle of "Galaxy of Emptiness" support Orton through the final electroacoustic embrace of the set, sealing a one-of-a-kind masterpiece. An album that would prove hugely influential, paving the way for the countless voltaic-minded folk handmaidens of the 2000s right up to today, and which would be followed two years later by the equally wonderful "Central Reservation".

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14/02/2016