What does it sound like?:
Rave music of the late eighties/early nineties was designed for immediate consumption. Its purpose to enhance the moment a sea of bodies moves as one as they glimpse heaven in a collective trance. It’s best experienced in a field or a warehouse with hundreds of others. There is a science behind it. A maximal beats per minute, combined with a certain harmonic amplitude and a rhythmic peak and drop, added to the social setting and various substances, creates delta waves in the brain normally associated with deep relaxation and a loss of sense of self. In other words, rave music blows the mind. The Hartnell brothers looked like boffins with matching bald heads. They named themselves after the M25. People used to drive round it waiting for the message with the venue of that night’s event. Social media was in its infancy and it was the era of the CD. The extra space, compared to vinyl, meant the recorded music could stretch out, building relentlessly, increasing the tension up to the dramatic drop and blissful release. John Major’s government was highly suspicious of an outsider culture that involved youngsters enjoying themselves, taking drugs and finding use for empty properties. The Criminal Justice and Public Order Act 1994 gave the scene some real momentum and, soon, rave was mainstream, listened to in cars, gyms and homes, as well convential night clubs. Orbital’s response, Snivilisation, was pushed to number four in the UK albums chart. Just like the Pop and Rock of the sixties and seventies, rave music developed an unexpected longevity. Orbital have been a going concern for over thirty-five years and are still active today, as are Underworld, The Chemical Brothers, The Prodigy and Leftfield, outlasting many Britpop bands that peaked a little later. It’s time for retrospective collection.
Among their contemporaries, Orbital have the sweetest of melodies and their albums feel the most composed. They have released ten studio albums, the latest being Optical Illusion last year, and four soundtracks. They think things through. The live show is organised, spectacular to watch and allows room for improvisation most electronica acts avoid. This collection, though, focuses on edited singles. The vinyl consists of eleven tracks, only one of which, Lush 3.1, breaches the four and a half minute mark, and it’s a radio edit. They feel like tasty morsels, offering just a tantalising flavour of what Orbital are capable of. Chimes gentle rhythm opens, of course. Belfast is very beautiful. Halcyon + On + On is actually Halcyon from the Radiccio EP, not the + On + On album version. Satan is out of character, as if it belongs to The Prodigy. The version here is from the Spawn soundtrack with Metallica’s axeman, Kirk Hammett, providing the pyrotechnics. There are more vocalists than you might think, including Penelope Isles on Are You Alive? and a prolonged Angelo Badalamenti sample on Beached. The 2022 Sleaford Mods collaboration, Dirty Rat, sounds like Sleaford Mods with a smoother backing track. The CD has an additional six tracks. Illuminate has a vocal from their brother-in-law, David Gray, and they respectfully add beats to the Doctor Who theme. However, the best two, most representative tracks, are the full length Remind and The Girl With The Sun In Her Head from the Brown album and In Sides respectively. They elevate the whole, making the CD preferable to the LP.
Dance music remains a dominant force in the charts. Even most of the Pop and Rock of today is created to make people dance. This product suggests Orbital want the youngsters to became aware of their 35 year career. It’s a sole disc pitched at short attention spans, those who prefer to skip through tracks rather than become engrossed in long-form ones. The trouble is short, punchy singles are not Orbital’s strength.
What does it all *mean*?
It says here; “The package you are holding in your hands is your threshold to a transformational psychoacoustic experience.” However, Orbital’s free flowing melodies and rhythms are best experienced live or on album. They are an act well worth celebrating. A Beginner’s Guide is merely a brief introduction.Try the masterful Brown album or the symphonic In Sides instead. Both are among the best albums of any kind in the nineties.
Goes well with…
Youthful vigour. Orbital may appear less energetic than their peers but that’s deceiving.
Release Date:
8th November 2024
Might suit people who like…
MDMA?
Halcyon (edit)
A pedant writes: Optical Delusion.
I have the Green and Brown albums and don’t really feel the need to buy any more. I’ve also never taken MDMA, they sound great on nothing stronger than tea, although I’d probably had some Hot Cider when I saw them at Glastonbury.
*rolls eyes*
This kindle thing I write on is deluded and ignores everything I type.
In Sides is fabulous. Certainly my favourite.
They were absolutely the bridge between the entirely singles-driven rave scene and the emergence of ‘proper album bands’ in the mid-90s. The Prodigy Experience was 92 (another act who bridged the summer of love rave scene and the albums era) Dubnobass..was 94, Leftism and Exit Planet Dust 95. The ‘brown’ and ‘grey’ albums are just fabulous and they were consistent really right up to their first split in 2004.
Is there a wikipedia entry that better encapsulates the rave scene than this?
In 1989, Orbital recorded “Chime” on their father’s 4 track tape deck, which they released on DJ Jazzy M’s Oh Zone Records in December 1989 and re-released on FFRR Records a few months later. The track became a rave anthem, reaching number 17 in the UK charts and earning them an appearance on Top of the Pops, during which they wore anti-Poll Tax T-shirts.[1] According to Paul Hartnoll, the track was recorded “under the stairs” of their parents’ house in “a knocked-through stair cupboard that my dad set up as a home office”. The track received its first live airing at a club night hosted by the promoter Que Pasa (Mark, Andrew and Nick Maddox) in a local Sevenoaks venue called the Grasshopper on Boxing Day.
I was always a little too old and serious for dance music as an immersive experience, the car being my warehouse of choice, alone, one hand on the wheel, the other banging the passenger window in time with the doofs. I would then no sooner ingest MDMA than suck on a cigarette, with no plans to start either soon, but have continued to follow my favourite 3: Orbital, Leftfield and Underworld, with the Chemicals not far behind. I have since seen them all play live, late in their careers, now able to blend in with their fans with greater ease: balding, bearded and greying is an easy uniform to duplicate. On record I enjoy Orbital the most, a little shocked to find the Orb, also rans on record, the best live experience. (Of course I don’t dance, but a gentle sway has been known.)
And The Orb also have a best of out today, also featuring some very short edits of favourites (and both have released lengthier best ofs before, adding weight to Tigger’s shrinking attention spans idea).
This album reminds me of Pink Floyd’s A Collection of Great Dance Songs (a pisstake title which might have better suited an Orbital compilation) release, in that proper fans had no need for it and it was too short and too unrepresentative of a whole career to do the biz for civilians – prompting the question “who is it for?” (Turns out ACOGDS was specifically for me – as a PF dilettante, I found side 2 which went Shine On (edit)/ Wish You Were Here/ Another Brick part 2 covered 90% of all the Floyd I needed).
Our correspondent asked last week what is the point of best ofs in the Spotify playlist age* and the question seems even more pointed when moving from Bolan’s two minute thirty ramalana to a band like Orbital who, like an elegant thoroughbred, only reveal their magnificent power when they stretch their legs into a full gallop.
Even within those restrictions it seems odd for a comp encompassing more than three decades to feature two tracks from last year’s release and, for example, nothing at all from late period gem Wonky.
*There is a perverse massochistic joy to be had from the discipline of only having 79 minutes (or, in the old days a C90) in which to fit your selections. Although if I was doing an Orbital best of I’d want all of Out There Somewhere? Lush and Impact so that’s more than 45 minutes gone already!
Fortunately, in these days of streaming playlists, you don’t have to limit yourself to 80 minutes. Go on. Stretch your legs.