Untitled

Orbital would deserve a place in the pantheon of 'Spiritual Techno' if they'd only recorded 1990's shimmering, hymnal Chime and the poignant, cyberdelic symphony Belfast. After an undistinguished phase (a so-so debut LP, the indifferent Mutations EP), the Hartnoll Bros had something of a creative renaissance with last autumn's entrancing Halcyon. Now this new album (untitled, like the first) puts them firmly back in the firmament, only a couple of clouds below the Aphex Twin.

Orbital know their drone theory, and the opening (Time Becomes) reworks an idea of systems-music pioneer Steve Reich: two tape loops of the same phrase ("time becomes a loop") run in and out of sync. Actually, this Moebius-mantra irritates rather than mesmerises, so it's a relief when they abandon conceptualism for real substance, in the form of a four-part electro-symphony. Lush 3-1 is a tantalising shimmer-swirl of synth-textures that feels as sensual as a spring rain. Orbital ooze a panoply of plangent tones that seem to sing from the deepest chambers of your heart; an inner choir of babytalk oohs-and-aahs that resembles nothing as much as the hyperventilating harmonies on MBV's 'Loveless'.

Lush 3-2 introduces an ethereal girl-voice whose ecstasy could be either ecclesiastical or sexual, an unearthly horn-section, and a rubbery bass-line that itches in your bloodstream. Impact (The Earth Is Burning) slips deeper into a squelchy, Roland 303 aciied groove, topped with Seventies sci-fi movie dialogue. The symphony's last movement, Remind, is their drastic remix of Meat Beat Manifesto's Mindstream, stripped of every last residue of the original so that it's all Orbital and even more luscious than before- a brimming, blossoming effloresence of ever-widening wonderment, the sound of a cup of joy overflowing. The goosepimples run riot!

On the flip, Planet of the Shapes is a hissing and clicking contraption that could belong on LFO's classic 'Frequencies' LP. It's dank and morbid, until the sunburst entrance of sitar chimes and flute twirls. Walk Now shimmies nicely, but the didgeridoo (which I always thought was the ancestor for the Roland 303 aciied drone) is already a Techno cliche. The Detroit-styled Monday is glassy and classy, but a bit inconsequential. Best comes last, with Halcyon and On and On, a fully-developed version of the last single. Here the tremulous New Age euphoria of Kirsty of Opus III is modulated on a sample keyboard and swollen into the full-blown mystic bliss of Saint Theresa. Kirsty's breathless gasps are looped into a locked groove of almost unendurable ecstasy, such that your insides shimmer and shudder. Halcyon is further proof that rave culture is all about clitoris envy. Where the multi-orgasmic disco of Donna Summer's Love To Love You Baby invited male lust, Techno's sped-up girl-vox conjure a hyper-real rapture that (male) ravers identify with and aspire to. It's what postmodern critics call 'gender tourism' (in rock terms, think of Brett Anderson's swoony passivity).

As warm as plasma and as eerie as ectoplasm, Orbital's (out-of-) body music is the true sound of Androgyny-in-the-UK.

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[ Also: Select Magazine and Pete Ashdown reviews ]