Let's face it: Beth Orton has already proved her genius with her sublime debut, Trailer Park. Not only was it a remarkable record for a debutante; it was, and is, one of the standouts of the last three years. And now she's gone and done it again.

Central Reservation just might be her Astral Weeks, if that's not too odious a comparison for the inveterately independent Orton. Certainly, 'Sweetest Decline' is as featherlight a meditation on life's intangible moments as you'll be lucky to hear anywhere. As she says herself, it's "like catching snow on my tongue". Orton's creaky voice sidles in between the delightfully mellow piano of Dr. John and the bouzouki of Ted Barnes.

Central Reservation is like an early Hal Hartley movie. It's a kookie, left field take on life's decidedly smaller moments. Orton isn't given to meditations on broad canvas. Instead she prefers to sketch out impressions, observations, mostly of a personal nature, and then she somehow manages to imbue them with nuances that tweak at the universal.