Gracing the stage in a knee-length black dress with sheer long sleeves and a small scarf, Orton played a barrage of songs from her upcoming album, as well as from 1997's Trailer Park, Best Bit EP and 1999's Central Reservation. The songs were like heavy-handed watercolor paintings – graceful yet tangible, not flimsy or transparent.

Orton's whispery, melancholic voice was at times punctuated by hard, cold notes that gave the songs – and the audience – a kick in the spine. An upright bass, cello, violin, organ, drum kit, two guitars, and laptop interwove the melodies in songs such as "Pass in Time," "Best Bit," "Central Reservation," "Galaxy of Emptiness," "Someone's Daughter," and "Blood Red River." The band hit the high marks with "Stolen Car" and "She Cries Your Name," which were peppered with pulpy beats and plinking piano notes. The new songs reflect the same passionate energy that made Orton's earlier albums so awesome, and the singer expressed her pleasure that the fans enjoyed the new stuff. An overall ethereal, woozy kind of mood kept the crowd's heart thudding.

For a woman who writes such lush, rippling songs, Beth Orton is pretty much one of the guys. She's goofy. She tells really bad jokes about a "bloke going to his psychiatrist." She says "fuck" without blushing. She sheepishly and uncomfortably ruffles her hair with her hand, biting her lower lip when she's unsure of what to do next. Her Norwich accent is so damn thick, it's hard to understand what the hell she's joking about. But she broke out her best Brooklynese when she shouted, "How you doin'?"

When the band began playing, Orton realized she was playing the wrong song, and gasped, "Oh bugger!" Everything she did tickled the crowd to no end. Instead of ignoring the lusty cheers, Orton embraced them in a playful and sexy way. When the pulse of a song kicked in, she'd get a bit jiggy with it, grinning into the stage lights. In between sips of hot tea and slugs of bottled water, she expressed her concern of dehydration while performing, adding she wasn't sure why it was an issue to her. "It's because you're HOT!" screamed one of the many hopeful suitors in the crowd. Orton giggled, clearly amused. The shouts of "I love you" were met with "And I love you, and you, and you, and you."

Beth Orton's music settles the air, and then slowly stirs it in grand circles (damn, I sound like some kinda hippie chick). I can even call her innovative without wincing. She's creating something new, something that doesn't rely on a musical genre that began almost 20 years ago. After an hour and 45 minutes, Orton was onstage by herself, did a little bow, saluted the crowd, and bounced off, leaving us to dangle in her lilting frequency.