Well- Rounded
Orbital / µ-ziq, Albert Hall, London
Melody Maker, 25 May 1996
Imagine how wide your mind would have to be to create the ever-expanding sound of Orbital. You'd need synapses the size of seven-lane freeways,a capacity for abstract thought that could cope with squeezing a supernova into a split second of analogue sound, the ability to think by osmosis, and a cranium the size of the Albert Hall. You'd also be better off with no hair. Mike Paradinas of µ-ziq may well have the vision to blend the jungle percussion of "Stomp" with the sighs of an ambient science documentary, but his curly locks will always cast him as a nerdy bedroom boffin. No good. We want shiny aliens.
Paul and Phil Hartnoll fit the bill perfectly. Housed inside a large case that probably last saw service in "Mad Max 2", the duo look like sci-fi electricians working on the Death Star. the tow pin-prick torches strapped to their hairless pates add to the impression by putting the amazed observers in the mind of scavengers that scour the desert of Tattooine (best ot suspend disbelief early on, an unfettered imagination is going to be vital), and the odd pair of illuminated goggles in the crowd make you think this is some sort of bizarre extra-terrestrial gathering (as opposed to all those dreadfully ordinary extra-terrestrial gatherings that one is always invited to- Ed).
The idea does have some lasting relevance. A techno outfit taking over the Albert Hall is the dance equivalent of Venusians holding a government meeting in the House of Commons. Everyone involved in this most other-worldly of scenes- quite literally other-worldly, as unlike conventional bands-orientated music, it's impossible to work out how the sounds are created, freeing Orbital from the trappings of rock'n'roll- has come to celebrate a long overdue move towards recognition and respect. The mood of the evening is therefore that of a communal coming of age.
How can electronic music elicit such an emotional response? Simple. Orbital use machines to create a thrillingly organic sense of adventure, the bleeps and sound effects veering away from mathematical parabolas and relentless repetition in favour of a seemingly accidental but quietly controlled voyage of discovery. the employment of melody helps bring vital breathing space to the concoction, the resonant tones striking familiar chords while the beats carry you ever onwards. The sound is so perfectly and instinctively primal that you can't help but feel personally involved.
This explains why so much of this performance is actually on a subconscious level. Ripples of excitement flow through the crowd as each song hits a tuneful progression or reaches a dramatic peak. Cards used to test for ESP (a square, a circle, a triangle, etc) flash up on the video cross behind the Hartnolls, th idea being that you try to send a mental image to a friend through telepathy, makes you realise that your body is often reacting ot the music before you are and that everyone else is having the same intuitive experience. We may as well be rats in a paranormal Hamlyn. Here, then, is the release that rock'n'roll once promised. Watching Orbital is to be freed of responsibility and taken on a wild-eyed meander through the possibilities of music. It's no coincidence that what we hear is transformed into a bubbling sine-wave in the heart of the video cross. Just as we're part of a melodic Butterfly Effect, surfing the waves of synchronicity and chaos, so too are we the start of yet another knock-on process: the notes translating back into electricity; the circular setup opening your mind to the fact there's more going on than you initially perceive. All you can do is listen.
Having made the appropriate adjustments it's a sumptuous ride. The driving force is the top register, the echoing beats and darting bass being assimilated into the general flow so that the many highlights are provided by the bouncing globules of sound and subtle dramatic shifts. One moment, a mournful synth line and a sub-spaghetti western trumpet lament manages to inspire people to dance to a nagging feeling of loss; the next, a sprightly run of nimble piano notes accompanies a recorded speech exhorting everyone to select peace or annihilation. It's nonsense, but stimulating all the same.
This use of strange sounds or images to set off some sort of mental or chemical reaction is typical of Orbital. You'll hear a thousand bass drums followed by a baby's gurgle and a supremely calming jungle beat, just because they like to organise sound like a firework display, keeping you hooked with endless thrills. There's even a touch of Hammond organ in one song, just to prove the love affair is with sound rather than futurism, and a piss-taking chopsticks piano that segues into a harpsichord rave tune. Anything is possible. That's the whole point.
Perhaps the most pleasing thing about Orbital is their ability to incite excitement and passion. Watching a packed Albert Hall dance like scarecrows in a thunderstorm, you get an overwhelming feeling that this music has tapped into the very essence of human life, the vital spark that keeps us from being a festering mound of flesh- so when a friend announces "Isn't this better than the Bluetones?", you can sympathise, even if she is missing the point somewhat. To limit your taste and aesthetics is to be scared of music and that goes against every single note and idea that Orbital work with tonight.
How wide would your mind have to be to create the ever-expanding, all-encompassing sound of Orbital? As wide as infinity itself.
Ian Watson- Melody Maker is published weekly in the UK and costs 85 pence.
