Beth Orton’s new album is one part honey one part spice.
By Daryn Wright
The first thing one notices when listening to Beth Orton’s Sugaring Season is that she is able to perfectly and simultaneously render imagery of both the lament of summer and autumnal acceptance. The album cover is a side profile of Orton, wearing a collared white shirt, her hair in a comfortable up-do, overexposed lighting highlighting the shadows. These visuals do well to introduce the listener to the kind of album Sugaring Season is: an uncomplicated one, with floating melodies and careful acoustics.
The album opener, “Magpie”, is a showpiece for Orton’s wavery and precise vocals. The lack of articulation in her singing creates prominent soft vowel sounds, as she croons, “I don’t mind no what I tell you/I don’t mind no what I say/I don’t mind no what we’re saying.” The childlike syntax and repetition conveys the song’s meaning: the dreamlike confusion of loss. “Dawn Chorus” uses a clarinet to carry Orton’s lilting voice, as the intonation rises with each chorus. “Something More Beautiful” is reminiscent of Joni Mitchell or Cat Power, with an orchestral backing that builds with the progression of the song. The mostly acoustic flourishes aren’t timid though; if anything, they serve to elevate the power of Orton’s subtly aching vocals.
[pullquote] The mostly acoustic flourishes aren’t timid though; if anything, they serve to elevate the power of Orton’s subtly aching vocals.[/pullquote]
“Poison Tree” begins “I was angry with my friend/tell him wrath but wrath did end.” Orton’s wrath comes in the form of a classical guitar and echoing lyrics, assisted by male backing vocals. Complex instrumentation on Sugaring Season overrides Orton’s usual folktronica of albums past. Rather than a flat, pre-packaged folk album, this shift results in a more dynamic relationship between instrumentation and vocals: at times, Orton’s voice is flute-like.
“See Through Blue” sounds like it belongs in a French film; her elongated vowels sound foreign and ornate at first listen. A carnivalesque piano is paired with a chorus of violins, and the song is kept short and tidy: it is a glimpse into the window of Orton’s home and collection of sentimental objects. “Last Leaves of Autumn” is an auditory painting of a fall evening: leaves fall with the slow movement towards the chorus, and one imagines the passing of seasons with the shifting of speeds.
What Sugaring Season does well is provide a picture of Orton’s personal transformation: in the six years since her last album, Comfort of Strangers, she has married and become a mother. The album expresses a yearning and restlessness through her vocals and ornate instrumentation. She has turned the folktronica genre into something elemental, fusing the organic sounds of strings with the modern and domineering complexities of vocal experimentation. Sugaring Season explores emotional nuances fearlessly, and Orton’s comeback is likely to leave old and new fans alike yearning for a stroll among fallen leaves.
