Snivilisation

Sometimes, in my sleep, I hear music. Curious rhythms and strange melodies of a kind that seem new to me (Jesus- Ed). When I am awake, I suffer one of those tiny but profound philosophical crises, puzzling over whether imaginary sounds can be transferred to the waking world.

'Snivilisation' is what that music sounds like.

Tunes that almost aren't. Un-songs that nearly are. Ripples that defy the laws of physics, growing in force as they speed away from the centre. A voice that seems to make it up as it goes along. Yet all driven by an unerring sense of purpose.

The further out Orbital go, the more accessible they become. Coming from an area that sees itself either as functional or as challenging- I refer to the electronic arts, not Sevenoaks- Orbital are as usual for the sheer and simple joy they inspire. When was the last time a cutting-edge techno artist gladdened your heart as well as intrigued your mind?

Although 'Snivilisation' is thoroughly modern, the Hartnolls have gone back to the motherlode for their materials. Everyone cites Eno as the avatar of Ambient, and his influence is writ large upon the duos blueprints. This is an ambient album, but not an Ambient one. Eno's biggest inadvertent contribution comes in the form of the sounds he developed in the mid-Seventies, which Orbital have embraced brilliantly. Think of 'Another Green World': cool, resonant, slightly grainy. Where Future Sound Of London, say, are supreme digitalists, Orbital have made the most original use of analogue since it returned to fashion, and imbued it with the deepest clarity. Their achievement is comparable to a guitar band making a great contemporary rock album with Rickenbackers and fuzzboxes.

If the title and artwork are any clue, 'Snivilisation' is intended both as a treatise on human self-importance and as a snipe at Western decadence- the latter being something I'm all in favour of as, without it, I would have no Orbital records, nowhere to play them and nothing to play them on. But, whatever its possible meanings, the album is a wonderful and versatile thing. Forever and I Wish I Had Duck Feet make their respective homes amid flickering calm and lickerish, swampy langour. Alison Goldfrapp is the wandering vocal enigma of Sad But True and Are We Here?; Quality Seconds is a hardhouse take on The Young Gods and Kein Trink Wasser is geometric chamber music.

For, as well as Eno, Orbital draw on even more highbrow (and consequently less highly regarded in the pop world) figures like Philip Glass and Steven Reich; composers whose work was considered cold and repetitive 20 years ago, and who now make clear and sometimes invigorating sense in the context of techno. And while less remarkable 'serious' composers bemoan the fact they can't get their work performed, Orbital have taken the initiative and built their own orchestra. Untouched by barren atonality or dead-end romantic revivalism, this is, nevertheless, the true classical music of the Nineties.

This is the music of my dreams.

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