There is a certain coincidental irony in the title of Beth Orton's first solo single, "She Cries Your Name." No, she doesn't actually cry out any particular names, but after one listen to the song, people flocked to her like a siren. Orton began collecting fans that were so mad for her music, they arguably made Tori Amos fans look like slackers.

A bit skeptical? Try watching Beth Orton's video for "Central Reservation." It's all you need to understand the influence her music has on people. More upbeat in tone and tempo than the majority of songs in her catalogue, a happy Orton walks down an urban street, big grin on her face, singing the title track of her second album. Seeing the way that she infects the random people in her video with that same joy, literally cloaking them in the shirt off her back, is the best way to portray the effect that Beth has on her fans. She's definitely affected Ink Blot reader Dorothy Faines: "Beth Orton soothes me like no one else can. She's down-to-earth enough to make you feel like you have a friend singing to you. Her voice is naturally comforting and never sinks to the whiny depths so many singers adopt in an effort to make you feel like a lesser human being for not feeling their degree of pain or joy."

Later in that same video, she chases down an unwilling participant in the party and forcibly cloaks him as well. The sight of her six-foot tall frame following the uninitiated bystander is the perfect visual for the effect Orton's music has on neophytes; it forces you to contemplate exactly how this shy, gawky Brit reaches inside of you and plucks on those hardened heartstrings.

That's the legacy of two Beth Orton albums. She's gained the respect of her peers. Her music impressed reclusive director Hal Hartley so much, he asked to direct the breakthrough clip for "Stolen Car." She's been honored with many critical accolades - there are almost too many to count - and she received back-to-back Mercury Prize nominations for Trailer Park and Central Reservation.

Not completely grounded in folk arrangements, yet not possessing big enough beats to find herself with a Fatboy Slim remix, she straddles enough boundaries to only require slight alterations to truly fit any one genre. Her acoustic moments make her sound like an experienced folk singer-songwriter. She collaborated with The Chemical Brothers and provided herself with an impressive electronica scenester following. She finds inspiration from jazz hero Terry Callier. She'll take the influence of Massive Attack on dub reggae and fuse it together with an acoustic guitar. These distinct ingredients make her all the more appealing to a wide variety of fans. How often can someone be that versatile and still come off with integrity while adding those little differences?

If there weren't enough genres floating around her recordings, you also get the sense that Beth Orton has the blues. The feelings generated from soul music, or "the blues," exist beyond boundaries of genre, race or creed. It's a feeling, an emotion, derived from the inner core of her being. Beth Orton plumbs those depths as only someone who has done some serious soul searching can do. Frank Gordon seconds that emotion: "I mean, she found her voice from singing while vacuuming! That's where true emotions come from - people with the most heart find inspiration from the mundane, and that's what I love about Beth Orton. You can't see her drowning her sorrows in a bar or contemplating suicide in a barren apartment. She probably gets her inspiration from something as simple as seeing someone board a bus."

As bohemian and wise as it comes, Orton's music seems to bear a burden that few artists can ever carry. Heavy moments are painful, sad moments are sombre, even happier moments tend to be wistful or sentimental. The tender way she stumbles on the word "died" on "Pass In Time" when she sings the line "My mother told me just before she died,/Oh darling, darling, don't you be like me" is as endearing and empathetic a moment ever captured on record. You can hear the lack of ease there is in uttering those words, how it truly affects Orton. Such vulnerability mixed in with the song's ultimate message of love shows that Orton is writing AND singing from the depths of her very soul - these are her own thoughts bravely exposed for the world to hear.

And what's great about her is that if she fails to move you, you know she really couldn't care a less. She's too interested in having those experiences captured as distinctly as possible; if you don't like it, Beth would likely say, "Well, then sod off." She's not begging for your praise, she's looking for herself. And that's why we can identify with her, and praise her anyway.

She's this generation's Joni Mitchell, a poetess and a singer who transcends man-made lines to uncover a beauty in expression of words and music to rouse like-minded artists to action. Like Janet Jackson was inspired to use a sample of Mitchell's "Big Yellow Taxi" on her own hit single, no doubt someone reading this will one day recall a line or thought expressed by Orton and want to share the feeling it gave him or her. That sort of deep psychological connection will make someone assess their own experiences and likely transform them into something as beautiful as the songs of Beth Orton. Perhaps Gilian Maltby will carry the torch: "Beth Orton is the real deal. No posing, no larger-than-life image, no artifice - she's just another person out there with a desire to express herself. The motives driving her music couldn't be any purer. She's inspired my own songwriting, and if I ever win a Grammy, she'll be the first person I'll thank."

Check out our Beth Orton reviews: Trailer Park, Central Reservation

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