Pitchfork

Has Beth Orton ever sounded as angry as she does on "Worms", the caustic kiss-off that opens her fourth album? "I'm your apple-eatin' heathen, any ol' rib-stealin' Eve," she sings on the chorus, turning talk of original sin into empowering invective against some unnamed target. It's an odd song with an odd little shuffle to it, and even though it sounds uncannily like Fiona Apple (right down to her rushed cadence at the end of the second verse), the track reminds you how singular Orton seemed on her first two albums and how much she buffed away the rough edges on her third album, Daybreaker, an AOR makeover that aimed for but missed the same listeners who one year later made Norah Jones a sensation.

So it's nice to have the old Beth Orton back. It's also nice to have Jim O'Rourke at the helm, particularly because he puts some rhythm back into her songs. Orton needs it, too: Her voice hits your ears at an angle, as if refracted prismatically, and O'Rourke's sturdy beats don't reset that angle to perpendicular so much as make sure it hits its target with a little more force. Comfort of Strangers is strongest when O'Rourke and percussionist Tim Barnes translate Trailer Park

's spacey effects into earthier rhythms, especially with the oscillating bassline and tight drum beat on "Conceived". They let loose on "Countenance" and are joined by what sounds like a full band on "Shopping Trolley". The intro to the title track sounds like "Walk on the Wild Side", but to their credit, Orton and O'Rourke undercut that seedy strut with handclaps, sparkling piano, and perhaps her most straightforward performance.

Orton's vocals-- so arced and mellifluous-- reign over all other sounds on Comfort of Strangers. On Daybreaker, her voice sounded like an empty vessel, beautiful but conveying very little; here it has a very real personality behind it, one that allows itself to be angry, cynical, hopeful, and snide-- a complex and compelling emotional mess. This attitude fits her songwriting well, giving her words added resonance. On "Heartland Truckstop" she sings, "I wanted to love, but I turned 'round and hated it," and her strong, glaring delivery of that second line-- as if she's making eye contact through her voice-- reinforces not just the wordplay, but the cheated disappointment of the sentiment.

Death of love is the constant, often oppressive theme of Comfort of Strangers, which gives these songs the feel of dark therapy, often so dour as to be claustrophobic. The sense of a lesson learned, however platitudinous, on the closer "Pieces of the Sky" finally tempers Orton's clenched emotions: "When it's over it's over/ I best get busy living/been a long time gone." But "A Place Aside" and "Safe in Your Arms" comprise the album's still-worn heart. In "A Place Aside" her concrete imagery ("Pull me close and we lay still/ Wrap my toes around your heel") risks an intimacy that suggests the heartache that ostensibly inspired the other songs, but "Safe" undercuts that sentiment as Orton wonders if the past's good memories are worth the present's bleak pain. Torn between the illusion of security and the reality of heartbreak, these songs remain complex and open-ended, her questions unanswered. That's the key to Comfort of Strangers and the source of its impact. Far from perfect-- at times even dull-- these songs balance their heavy despair with genuine, if hesitant, hope. The contrasts in the music mirror her internal struggle, even if Comfort of Strangers is destined always to mean more to its makers than to its listeners.