ON October 7, 2001, the Los Angeles Times reported that a university professor from Cincinnati was embarking on a study which might lead to a cure for stuck tune syndrome, you know, when songs, often maddeningly naff ones, become lodged in your head for hours.
Beth Orton (right), who appears at The Anvil, Basingstoke, next Thursday (July 31), might well welcome such a remedy, even though it might jeopardise her livelihood.
"I pretty much have music flowing around my head a lot of the time," she says. "Sometimes it drives me a bit mad because tunes buzz around."
The tunes Beth refers to are not irritatingly catchy novelty numbers like The Birdie Song or that recent chart-topping hymn to McDonald's and KFC, The Fast Food Song, but original melodies which materialise from the ether, the aural equivalent of gold dust to a singer-songwriter.
"It's just whether I hear them or not. Sometimes I tune out and sometimes I tune in but it doesn't necessarily mean I sit down and pick up a guitar. I kind of wait for the feeling really. Sometimes I write everyday, sometimes I don't. I'm not very disciplined."
Beth's sporadic approach to songwriting has certainly not done her any harm. Her predominantly acoustic-guitar-driven, wistful yet hopeful songs, which fuse folk with modern beats and effects, have won her much critical acclaim.
When did she notice she first had a gift for songwriting?
"When I was a kid I used to want to write songs for people," she says in her friendly, open Norfolk tones. "I used to rush home and put down notes and would be writing down my thoughts."
She grew up in a village called Lyng. "It was fun. You know, small town, you had to entertain yourself, drinking cider on gravestones, doing too much too young!"
Beth's father died when she was 11 and her mother just after Beth's 19th birthday. Understandably she doesn't want to talk about it. "Of course it had an influence. Everything has an influence on everyone doesn't it?"
Beth has previously admitted going off the rails during her teens but moving to London aged 14 brought her into the orbit of William Orbit, the pioneering record producer whose credits include Madonna's much-lauded Ray of Light album.
Beth first co-wrote and appeared on Water From A Vine Leaf on Orbit's early '90s Strange Cargo album.
Over the next couple of years Orbit helped steer Beth's path towards a solo career with the extremely low-key Japan-only release Super Pinky Mandy. Since then, Beth has released three much-loved albums - Trailer Park, Central Reservation and last year's Daybreaker - and though still largely a darling of the folk/alternative scene, her name is becoming gradually more familiar.
Beth says she has no idea what she would be doing if she were not a musician.
She cites the sky and unrequited love as recurring topics of inspiration. In the case of unrequited love, has she ever written about anyone in particular?
"Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't but that's nobody's business really."
Once she's recorded her songs, she can't bear to hear them again. "I get sick of the sound of my own voice!" she laughs. "I just want to get deeper into being a songwriter. Everyday I love songwriting more and more. There's so much to explore."
Her influences are largely folk - Bob Dylan, Neil Young, some Joni Mitchell.
Fighting back a coughing fit, Beth says the length of her shows depend on the mood, so Basingstoke, if you want to get your money's worth, be nice to Beth.