Central Reservation is ranked as the best album by Beth Orton. Central Reservation (album) by Beth Orton
Beth Orton bestographyMembers who like this album also like:OK Computer by Radiohead, Odelay by Beck and Superunknown by Soundgarden. Listen to Central Reservation on YouTube
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Central Reservation track listThe tracks on this album have an average rating of 79 out of 100 (all tracks have been rated).
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From garycottier
A beautiful follow up to, trailer park. Central reservation, dispenses with the electronica of it's predecessor and that in turn gives the songs more room to breathe. Excellent tracks in, sweetest decline, couldn't cause me harm, and, pass in time. A lovely album.
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From Rowanj
Such an old favourite friend. Always makes me stop in my tracks and really listen.
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From KGB
Can't sustain the promise of songs like 'Stolen Car' and 'Couldn't Cause Me Harm' but in the end it's a pleasant enough diversion.
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From HoldenM
Youtube Beth Orton Central ReservationGorgeous, GORGEOUS album. Gentle and safe, but totally enrapturing in the best way possible.
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From BraddlesHendo
Played this album endlessly for ages great album, very under rated artist
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A few years ago, a friend was attempting to explain why he was divorcing his wife. He said they had grown apart. That they argued all the time. That she no longer laughed at his jokes. That, since the baby had arrived, they never went out, never did anything fun, just the two of them. “And you know, we don’t even like the same music,” he said. “We never have. Like, the other day, I played her the new Arcade Fire album, and she made me turn it off right in the middle of “Intervention.” She said it gave her a headache. Arcade Fire. She really does have horrible taste in music. I mean, she still listens to the radio.” “So what?” I asked him. “Is that a good reason to end a marriage? Because your wife doesn’t like Canadian art-rock? (I had yet to join the Church of Arcade Fire myself, though The Suburbs would make me a believer in due time.) My friend shrugged and stared into his glass of beer. “I don’t know,” he said. “I still love her, but I just don’t think I can be married to someone who likes Justin Timberlake.” “You have a baby together,” I said. “Listen to ‘Neon Bible’ in your car when she’s not with you, and she can listen to Y100 or whatever bubblegum shit she’s into when she’s in hers. Trust me, that stuff doesn’t matter. It’s minor. You have a kid now. Your playlist is going to consist of nothing but Dan Zanes and Barney songs soon enough, anyway.” There are few moments in my life when I can comfortably speak with anything resembling real expertise, but this was one of them. I know what it means to base a relationship on something as insignificant as taste in music. Worse, I know what it is to ruin one because of it. Worse still, I know what it’s like to have your own musical preferences used against you when the other person can’t summon the courage to say what really needs to be said, the most-honest thing, the harshest thing, but also the kindest thing, the thing that should be said first but is often said last, if at all: “I just don’t love you anymore.” *** We were driving through Fort Lauderdale when I told my then-girlfriend that I wanted her to hear this British singer I had recently discovered. It was 1999. “Her name’s Beth Orton,” I said, with more than a hint of pride, “and she’s really outstanding. Wait till you hear her voice. It’s beautiful.” I slipped a CD into my truck’s stereo, and the cab filled with the sound of a sawing electric guitar, a mechanical drumbeat and Orton’s assertive, accented vocals. The song was “Stolen Car,” the lead track on Central Reservation, Orton’s second album. The music rose in intensity and volume, and Orton was right there with it, her voice swooping and soaring as she sang — but not oversang — about ignoring things that should not be ignored. “Why should I know better by now when I’m old enough not to?” goes one lyric, a riddle that doubles as a lie. “Stolen Car” is about 5 1/2 minutes long. As the song came to a close, I glanced at my girlfriend, hoping to gauge her approval. For not the first time, I couldn’t read her face. The next song on the album, “Sweetest Decline,” is almost too pretty, a piano-laced ballad in which Orton drops the cool authority of “Stolen Car” and lets her voice relax into its natural, most lovely state. It’s a song about life, about letting oneself fall in love, and I’ve always imagined that Orton recorded it in a sunlit room, her tall frame swaying before a microphone stand by an open window, a breeze parting lace curtains as it made its way to settle upon her bright, freckled face. “Sweetest Decline” is even longer than “Stolen Car” and this time, when it ended, my girlfriend finally spoke: “‘She weaves secrets in her hair’? ‘She’s deep as a well?’” she said, quoting Orton’s lyrics, but with disapproval that was impossible to miss. “God, how trite.” “Trite? I don’t think she’s being trite,” I said, my voice betraying what I considered my own cool authority. I was, after all, a professional music critic for a regional magazine. Suddenly, hail was blowing through the window of Orton’s sunlit room. “‘A new day is dawning’? ‘It’s like catching snow on my tongue’?” my girlfriend continued. “It’s like she wasn’t even trying to write a song. Tell me you don’t really like this.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing: “Not even trying to write a song”? “Trite”? As the seductive but defiant “Couldn’t Cause Me Harm” began to play, I defended Orton’s use of clichés in “Sweetest Decline,” arguing that what my girlfriend perceived as laziness was, in fact, deliberate. And Orton was being casual — not lazy. The lyrics are as unhurried as the music, with the songwriter opening one verse as if she were simply carrying on a conversation over warm tea: “So, anyway, there I was, just sitting on your porch … ” Flustered, I asked my girlfriend to listen to just one more song, “Pass in Time”, the album’s emotional centerpiece. It’s a devastating but ultimately uplifting examination of mortality and grief and it’s certainly the most-personal song on Central Reservation, if not the most-personal song in Orton’s entire catalog. The second verse is a crusher: My mother told me just before she died, My girlfriend sighed and looked out the passenger-side window. “I like you less for liking this,” she said. *** About six years earlier, the summer before my senior year of college, I returned home to work for my father’s construction company and, with any luck, save up enough money to buy a cheap car, my first since high school. I didn’t have a girlfriend back in Gainesville and no former girlfriend in Fort Lauderdale with whom I could reunite. Because the job site was more than an hour away in Homestead, my dad and I had to leave the house by 5:30 in order to begin working by 7. Even though I was the boss’s son, I didn’t receive much in the way of special treatment. As he had for the past three summers, my dad gave me the crummiest job in construction: day laborer, which is just a phony euphemism for ditch digger. Our workday ended at 3:30, but we wouldn’t get home until after 5. And following eight hours of stabbing a shovel into the Earth’s limestone-pocked flesh while absorbing the wrath of the South Florida sun, I’d be lucky if I had enough energy to stay awake past 7:30. My social life was shit. I could only see my friends, go surfing, or risk a hangover on the weekends. So when a friend called me early one weeknight to tell me that his new girlfriend wanted to set me up with her neighbor, and that they were all going to meet at the Edge in a couple of hours, I told him to forget about it. I was beat. I had to get to sleep. “But she’s hot. Really hot,” my friend said. “She goes to UF, too, so maybe this could turn into something for you. Besides, I lied and told her you were cool, so at the very least you could show up and disappoint the girl.” She was a year younger than me, a nursing student, a redhead, and, yes, really hot. She also was funny and charming and didn’t seem to mind that all that ditch digging had left my hands stippled with callouses and the skin underneath my fingernails tattooed with dirt. And when the four of us went out to dinner that Saturday, I thought this thing may just last into the school year. She even suggested as much. And then, we got into my friend’s car and “The Wind Cries Mary” came on the radio. “Turn it up,” I said and settled into the back seat, my shoulder resting against my would-be girlfriend’s arm. I closed my eyes and nodded along to the music. “Who’s this?” she asked. When I smiled, she poked me in the arm and said, “No, really, who is this? I like it.” I sat up and looked at her. “You don’t know who this is? Honestly?” “I don’t,” she said. “Should I?” “Of course you should. It’s Jimi Hendrix. You’ve heard of Jimi Hendrix, right? Please tell me you’ve heard of Jimi Hendrix.” She’d never heard of Jimi Hendrix. She’d also never heard of Superchunk, Fugazi, Screaming Trees, or any of the other bands I was into at the time. “But you’re in college.” I said to her, “Don’t you know any college rock?” She told me she didn’t listen to much “rock music.” She only listened to the radio. Believing this to be an intractable human failing on par with carrying the gene for webbed feet, living in a yurt, or loving the Boston Red Sox, I decided my future-girlfriend was now my never-girlfriend. After we arrived at her house, I walked her to her door, wished her good night, and never saw her again. Why should I have known better by then when I was old enough not to? *** It’s July 4, 2011, and I’m returning from the Keys with my fiancée and her teenage sons, my future step kids. We’d spent the weekend snorkeling, eating, and reading in plastic chairs that we’d pulled from the beach into the water. We were sunburned, tired, and reluctant for the weekend to be over. We didn’t talk much on the drive back to Miami, and at one point, I switched on a radio station I like, one that plays a decent mix of old folksongs, contemporary acoustic music, and low-key indie rock. The kids, who are 15 and 13 years old, often complain about the music they hear in my truck: Wilco, Springsteen, the Hold Steady. These are artists their mom likes, as well, but the kids aren’t into rock. They listen to Pitbull, Ke$ha, the Black Eyed Peas, and obscure local hip-hop acts they discover on YouTube. They used to ask me to turn on Y100, the bubblegum station. “Anything but this stuff,” they’d say. “You know the rule, guys: my truck, my radio,” I’d say. Once, I thought I’d tease them by switching over to the Korean-language station. It didn’t work. They still ask to hear that station whenever they ride in the truck. Kids have a great way of turning jokes into boomerangs. So this night, as we entered Miami’s city limits and the late Vic Chesnutt drawled something profound and moving from deep within the radio, I expected to field a round of objections. But no one spoke. They just looked out the windows, watching fireworks shed colored teardrops all over the sky. The Vic Chesnutt song was followed by a Cowboy Junkies song, which was followed by a Red House Painters song, a Steve Earle song, and, finally, Bob Dylan’s “Chimes of Freedom.” The sequencing was perfect and I was experiencing a moment of — dare I say it? — inner peace through depressing music. “Oh, my God, this is my least favorite instrument in the whole world!” It was the 13-year-old. He was holding his forehead and groaning. “Please, Jake, turn this off. I hate the accordion!” “Do you mean the harmonica?” I asked him. “Yes. Whatever. Please, just turn it off. This is terrible.” “This is Bob Dylan.” “I don’t care. It’s awful.” I caught his eyes in the rear-view mirror, reminded him of the rule, smiled, and let Dylan keep squawking on his harmonica. When the song was over I turned on the CD player. I’d recently started listening to Central Reservation again, and just as I reached to turn up the volume, right when Beth Orton began singing about a woman with secrets weaved in her hair, my fiancée asked, “Please, honey, can you put something else on? We’re all about to slit our wrists in here. Remember, we’re a family. We share the radio, no matter whose car we’re in.” Beth Orton Central Reservation LyricsWithout complaint, I turned on Y100. I know better by now. I can always listen to Central Reservation later. Jake Cline is a writer and journalist based in Miami. You can follow him on Twitter at @jakeflorida. More from this author → Jump to navigationJump to search
Elizabeth Caroline Orton (born 14 December 1970) is an English singer-songwriter, known for her 'folktronica' sound, which mixes elements of folk and electronica.[2] She was initially recognised for her collaborations with William Orbit, Andrew Weatherall, Red Snapper and the Chemical Brothers in the mid-1990s. Her UK/US debut solo album, Trailer Park, garnered much critical acclaim in 1996. Orton developed a devoted audience with the release of the BRIT Award-winning album Central Reservation (1999) and the 2002 UK top 10 album, Daybreaker. Her 2006 album Comfort of Strangers was followed by a hiatus during which Orton gave birth to her daughter and collaborated with the British guitarist Bert Jansch. Orton returned with Sugaring Season in 2012, which moved towards a purer acoustic sound, followed by a return to electronic music with Kidsticks, released in 2016. American films and television programmes such as Felicity, How to Deal, Charmed, Dawson's Creek, Vanilla Sky and Grey's Anatomy have featured her music and provided her with exposure to a more mainstream American audience.
Early career[edit]Orton was born in East Dereham, Norfolk, but moved to Dalston, east London at age 14. Her father, a public relations consultant and journalist, left her mother when Beth was 11, and she lived with her mother, a journalist and political activist, and her two brothers, her father dying shortly afterwards.[3][4] Orton studied A-levels at City College Norwich.[5] Her mother died from cancer in 1989, when Beth was aged 19,[6] which led to her travelling to Thailand for a short period, residing with Buddhist nuns. Upon returning to London, Orton worked at jobs such as a waitress at Pizza Hut, and even briefly owned her own catering company.[7] Orton was an actress before becoming a musician, initially enrolling at the Anna Scher Theatre School. She toured in an experimental stage adaptation of Une Saison en Enfer with a theatre company touring throughout the UK, Russia and Ukraine, playing Rimbaud's lover.[8][9] Musical career[edit]Early work[edit]Her first contribution in music came after she met William Orbit at a party and tried to beg a cigarette from him.[9] They began a relationship shortly after, and he encouraged her to do some spoken word for his Strange Cargo project and to sing. Possibly the best-known work from that time is 'Water from a Vine Leaf', which she co-wrote and which was released as a limited-edition single in June 1993. It was also at this time that Orbit and Orton covered John Martyn's 'Don't Wanna Know 'Bout Evil', which was not only the first song that they recorded together, but also their first release in Japan, as a duet called Spill, in November 1992. She regarded Orbit's influence as very positive, commenting 'I think William pulled me out of the crowd and pulled me out of the gutter, in a way. Because I don't know where my enthusiasm was going to take me, because it was pretty raw to say the least.'[9] SuperPinkyMandy[edit]Shortly after, Orton and Orbit began working on an LP together as Spill, entitled Burn Blind. 'Don't Wanna Know 'Bout Evil' was the first track on the album that was ended up being released in just Orton's name. Superpinkymandy, which was named after a rag doll which she bought at a jumble sale at the age of six.[10] This rare album was released in Japan alone, in extremely limited numbers (popularly quoted as between 1000 and 5000 copies pressed). The sound is very much Orbit's, but all songs (except 'Don't Wanna Know 'Bout Evil') were written by both Orton and Orbit, and some tracks were later recycled, in very different versions. 'She Cries Your Name' later appeared on Trailer Park. 'Yesterday's Gone' became 'Montok Point' on the fourth Strange Cargo release, Hinterland (1995). Hinterland featured Orton's vocals on several tracks, and also included an alternative version of 'She Cries Your Name'. Orton provided a one-word vocal to the first Red Snapper EP in 1994 ('Snapper'), then co-wrote and sang on 'In Deep' on The Swank EP (also 1994). Ali Friend from Red Snapper later joined Orton's band. It was roughly at this time that she met Ed Simons and Tom Rowlands of the Chemical Brothers and began the first in a series of collaborations, supplying vocals to the tracks 'Alive Alone' and 'One Too Many Mornings' on 1995's Exit Planet Dust. Trailer Park[edit]Her first solo single, a cover of The Ronettes' 'I Wish I Never Saw the Sunshine', was released, again in extremely limited numbers, in mid-1996, and was followed by 'She Cries Your Name', shortly before the release of what she herself considers to be her début LP Trailer Park, released on Heavenly Records on 19 October 1996. This release earned her nominations for two BRIT Awards (best British newcomer, best British female), and the Mercury Music Prize in 1997, was well received by critics, and sold modestly well, shifting 300,000 copies and peaking at No. 68 in the UK. Three tracks on the album were produced by Andrew Weatherall, whom she selected based on his production of one of her favourite records at the time, Primal Scream's Screamadelica. The album presented Orton's signature sound, an innovative mix of acoustic-based songwriting and electronic beats and elements. She began to tour this record, first supporting acts such as The Beautiful South, and appearing with Ron Sexsmith, before breaking out on her own. In June 1997, she had her first UK Top 40 hit single with a reissue of 'She Cries Your Name'. Central Reservation[edit]
Orton at Lilith Fair, 1999
She toured that summer with Lilith Fair, as well as releasing the Best Bit EP, which included the single Best Bit as well as a collaboration with soul legend Terry Callier on a cover of Fred Neill's song 'Dolphins'. Improving on her previous best chart position, reaching No. 38 in the UK. Central Reservation, her second album (proper), helped Orton build on the success of her début. Although retaining the electronic edge of the former, this record showed a notably more acoustic side with a few tracks consisting purely of Orton's vocals accompanied by a solitary acoustic guitar, with subject matters becoming more introspective, including 'Pass in Time', a song about the death of her mother. Despite this style, the album still provided more polished moments such as lead single 'Stolen Car', the jazz-and-strings-tinged 'Sweetest Decline', and the electro melancholy of 'Stars All Seem to Weep' (with the haunting vocal allegedly recorded in a single take), which has since been sampled by Schoolboy Q on his 2012 song 'How We Feeling'.[11] The album also featured notable contributions from soul musician Terry Callier, Dr. Robert and Ben Harper. Two tracks were produced by Ben Watt of Everything But The Girl. The album earned Orton a second Mercury Music Prize nomination and won the Best Female Artist award at the 2000 BRIT Awards. Central Reservation is ranked number 982 in All-Time Top 1000 Albums (3rd. edition, 2000).[12] Daybreaker[edit]
Orton performing in Bristol, 2002
In July 2002 Orton released the album Daybreaker, which again blended the early electronica style, with up tempo pop songs and acoustic ballads. It featured guest appearances from musicians such as The Chemical Brothers, Emmylou Harris, whom she met at Lilith Fair, Ryan Adams and Four Tet. It was a great commercial success, reaching the top 8 of the UK album chart, and received largely positive reviews from the press, ranging from 'Her best work yet' from Mojo magazine,[13] the NME (8/10),[14]Rolling Stone[15] and The Guardian, but receiving a more lukewarm reception from Q[16] (Despite this she was nominated for the Q award for best album). This was followed in 2003 by a US-only release on American label Astralwerks, The Other Side of Daybreak, an album consisting mainly of b-sides and remixes of songs from Daybreaker, created by artists such as Roots Manuva. She also contributed a song to the War Child charity, for their Hope compilation album that year. Daybreaker debuted at No. 40 on The Billboard 200 and has sold 155,000 copies in the U.S., according to Nielsen SoundScan.[17] A 'best of' double album, titled Pass in Time, was released in 2003. It represented Orton's extensive and diverse musical career through previously unreleased songs, b-sides, and rarities (such as 'Where Do You Go' from Superpinkymandy), as well as collaborations with William Orbit and the Chemical Brothers. On 31 March 2003, when she played to a packed Royal Albert Hall in London on the last date of her worldwide Daybreaker tour. In addition, she played a tribute concert to Elliott Smith in November. Comfort of Strangers[edit]
Orton at Aarhus Festival, 2013
Orton's fourth studio album, Comfort of Strangers, was released in February 2006. The North American release was through Astralwerks, and the UK release was through EMI-UK. The release saw her move away from the electronica element that she is usually associated with, to a more stripped down traditional alt-folk album. This album followed an extended absence since her previous release, partially a result of several production attempts, and the parting of ways between her and Heavenly Records.[18] The album was produced by musician Jim O'Rourke. It was widely acclaimed, with critics noting the depth and focus of the songwriting and the stripped-down quality of the music.[19] Sugaring Season[edit]On 11 July 2012, Sugaring Season was announced on Beth Orton's official website as the followup album to Comfort of Strangers. It was released on ANTI-, her first through that label, on 1 October 2012, in the UK and the next day in the USA. Recorded in Portland, Oregon, USA, the album is produced by Tucker Martine and expanded on the purely acoustic sound of her previous record, with many of the songs written in the open guitar tunings Orton had learned from Bert Jansch in the years previous. The album was largely recorded live, with a band consisting of Brian Blade on drums, Sebastian Sternberg on bass, and Rob Burger on keyboards. Additional guitar work came from Marc Ribot and Ted Barnes, with backing vocals by Laura Veirs and Sam Amidon. Sugaring Season was widely received as a return to form, with many critics calling it her finest album to date.[20] Paste magazine said, 'Blessed with great songs, wonderful arrangements and vocal performances that seriously raise the bar in our expectations of what she's capable of, it is a record that shows real artistic growth in every area and is destined to become a classic that rivals Trailer Park and Central Reservation,'[21] while Pitchfork called it '10 songs of sweet resilience delivered by a voice of seemingly effortless expression.'[22] Her solo concert in November 2016 was named a top gig of the year by chief New York Times critic John Pareles, who stated, 'Alone onstage with her acoustic guitar for much of her set, Ms. Orton set up steady, mantralike picking patterns, a backdrop of serene constancy for the turmoil of ache and determination in her vocals. The songs were hypnotic, the audience silently rapt.'[23] The album release was followed by extensive touring in the UK in Europe, solo and with her band, and included an appearance as musical guest on The Late Show with David Letterman. Kidsticks[edit]Orton's sixth studio album, Kidsticks, was released on 27 May 2016, and marked a distinct turn towards a purely electronic sound, with Orton playing keyboards and synthesizers instead of acoustic guitar. The album was produced by Orton herself alongside Andrew Hung from the band Fuck Buttons, who provided drum and synth programming. The album included contributions from Chris Taylor of Grizzly Bear, George Lewis Jr from Twin Shadow, and composer Dustin O’Halloran. Kidsticks was released on 27 May 2016, following extensive airplay of the singles 'Moon' and '1973' on BBC 6Music and elsewhere. In October 2016, Orton returned to ‘Later… with Jools Holland,' performing the singles '1973' and 'Wave'. The Guardian wrote that 'Kidsticks is a real reinvention: not so much a return to her electronic roots as a bold exploration of fresh territory.'[24] Orton was criticized over her music video for the song '1973' in which she is shown spray painting a federally protected Joshua tree and other desert plant life. After an outcry from the local community, which included a petition on change.org, the music video was removed online.[25] Orton publicly apologised[26] and the Mojave Desert Trust responded positively to her outreach, stating, 'We appreciate that Beth Orton regrets her prior actions, and that she intends to educate others about the natural beauty of the Mojave Desert, and the responsibility we collectively share for protecting this unique environment from vandalism and harm.'[27] Beth Orton Central Reservation AlbumBand[edit]Orton's consistent band from 1999's Central Reservation until around 2006 was guitarist Ted Barnes, keyboardist Sean Read, ex-Sandals drummer Will Blanchard and former Red Snapper member Ali Friend on bass. However, this had changed by 2008, with Ali and Ted having moved on to form their own band Clayhill, and Ted having pursued his own projects, with Orton guesting on his solo debut album, Short Scenes. After that Orton's touring band consisted of Amidon, Steinberg, with Steven Nistor on drums,[28] and her current touring band consists of Alex Thomas on sticks, vocals and electronics, and Grey McMurray on guitar, bass and electronics. Personal life[edit]Orton gave birth to a daughter, Nancy, in mid-December 2006. She cancelled her September 2006 UK tour because of her pregnancy.[29] She is now married to musician Sam Amidon and the two have a son, Arthur, born in 2011.[30] Orton played at the One Big No concert in March 2003 at the Shepherd's Bush Empire in London, organised by Emily Eavis, and has participated in concerts hosted by producer Hal Willner, including the 2006 concert film I’m Your Man: Leonard Cohen, and performing a duet with Nick Cave as part of Willner's Allen Ginsburg Tribute at the Ace Theater in Los Angeles, in spring of 2015.[31] Orton played the lead female in the independent film Southlander in 2001,[32] and returned to acting with a leading role in the British independent film Light Years (2015), directed by Esther May Campbell. Discography[edit]
Main article: Beth Orton discography
Filmography[edit]
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Central ReservationCentral Reservation, her second album (proper), helped Beth build on the success of her début. Although retaining the electronic edge of the former, this record showed a notably more acoustic side with several tracks consisting purely of Beth's vocal accompanied by a solitary acoustic guitar, with subject matters becoming more introspective, including 'Pass in Time', a song about the death of her mother. Despite this style, the album still provided more polished moments such as lead single 'Stolen Car' and the electro melancholy of 'Stars All Seem to Weep', or the jazz-and-strings-tinged 'Sweetest Decline', songs which cut a much deeper mark than the more glossy feel of her debut. The album also featured notable contributions from folk musician Terry Callier, Dr. Robert and Ben Harper. Two tracks were also produced by Ben Watt of Everything But The Girl. The album earned Orton a second Mercury Music Prize nomination and the Best Female Artist award at the 2000 BRIT Awards.
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