Beth Orton is the babe that sings with love and affection

Three things happen simultaneously as Beth Orton walks onstage all alone, alluring and with a guitar: her instrument fails to produce any sounds, a standing ovation ensues and there is an instant rapport. A sense of intimacy is felt through the crowd the moment this tall and lithe 30-year-old woman occupies centre stage. The punters lap every word, every sound and even a ‘joke’ she tells halfway through.

After the opening song – guitar sorted out almost instantly although it would provide moments of despair and relief all the way through – the band walks the boards and it is a sizeable lot: a string section is almost hidden in a corner but it enriches her sound beyond recognition. Ms Orton deals in songs that proudly stand on the giant (but beautiful) shoulders of womanhood and yet she refused to join the fashion parade.

With elements of folk, pop, rock, electronica, she creates a sonic world that rises above the musical wasteland where integrity has been replaced with cheap hormone tease… The nearest comparison one can make is Patti Smith and not only due to a brand new (she informs us) leather jacket but her poetry leanings. Orton’s method is generating paintings of words and sounds and they yet remain like sketches. There is something delicate, something you can’t pin down, something vague about the whole experience.

As soon as the band has taken to the stage, Beth informs us “There’s the new songs tonight to be played and I hope you like ‘em!” ‘Daybreaker’ slowly glides in with ‘Paris Train’ under the ‘Concrete Sky’ hovering over the ‘Mount Washington’; we actually get all ten tracks off the new album. Ms Orton show is mightily augmented by the spine-tingling double bass that takes us into a funkier territory, her cyberism demonstrating where Dido might have got few of her ideas…

Although Orton’s performance is static affair bar the background light, the songs are inviting, pleasant, urging you into its emotional world. The vibe is chill that erupts when old-faves such as ‘She Cries Your Name’, ‘Stolen Car’, ‘Galaxy, ‘Blood Red River’ and ‘Best Bit’ hit our ears. A lot of people might object to this music for being on a meek side, of the kind respected by the discreetly charming dinners of the bourgeoisie. It could be viewed as an ideal accompaniment to picnics, but doubt that Don Letts (he of The Clash films and once a member of Mick Jones’s Big Audio Dynamite) would be filming if it were the case.

Orton’s music might appear as soft (and as cuddly) as a woman’s body but her musical mix is something else: beats-boosted folk, as on the title track and there are no awards for guessing why Chemical Brothers invited her to guest on their latest album. Since her arrival on the music scene in 1996 with debut ‘Trailer Park’ album, she’s been nominated twice for the Mercury Music Prize and it is not only girly-rock but the robust and yet lo-fi emotions that used to get overshadowed by technique. She sang about meadows and valleys full of yellow, blue and white-ish flowers but hardly red. Still, since ‘Central Reservations’ (2000) she’s found her passion.

And the joke? A man walks into a psychiatrist’s office wearing only cling-film boxers. The doc instantly says, “I can clearly see you're nuts!”

Thank Buddha her music has a much better timing than her ‘comedy’. Rock music might be all about ass-kicking while Orton’s is about senses fondling… I’m a volunteer for some more, instantly.