Utada - Exodus

Island Records: 2004

I covered the two Japanese albums that bookend Utada's first foray into American markets, so why not the actual project as well? Even if I don't have the greatest familiarity with her general work, the story behind Exodus is worth at least a couple paragraphs of discourse, right? Sure, which I honestly kinda' covered in those previous reviews of Deep River and Ultra Blue. What else is there left for me to say? Well, what kind of music is actually on the record, so there's that.

Still, a little refresher is in order. Sensing an international starlet on his roster, Island Records CEO Lyon Cohen signed Hikaru to his label for an American-made album. Two problems though: one, J-pop never had any appeal in America, so Hikaru would have to change her style some to accommodate a different audience. Okay, that's not a huge deal, Deep River showing some Western R&B influences anyway, so the transition could be easy. Just assign some top-tier producers to the project to guide her on her way and what do you mean she's gonna' do all the music herself? That's not how things are done in America, yo'! Okay, if you have a ton of industry clout, sure, but someone making their debut in a new land? What do you think you are, big in Japan?

Even more so, I sense that, in having a fresh audience, Hikaru saw it as an opportunity to break free of conventional pop song-writing her first run of albums had. Push boundaries, get a little experimental, explore other facets of genres. This isn't just speculation, some songs on Exodus explicitly detailing how she wants to crossover styles of music, creating a melting pot and all that. Or those lyrics are just clumsy metaphors for sex, mixing 'gene pools' and all. Considering some of the other lyrics on here, maybe so.

I've mentioned in the past my primary hurdle in getting into all these Japanese artists remains the language barrier, but as this is a totally English record, that shouldn't be the case. Thing is, I can't help but get a twinge of cringe over lines like “You're easy breezy / And I'm Japaneezy”, or constantly referring to American guys she hooks up with in clubs as cowboys (this is the last kind of music you'll hear rancher dudes listening to, much less hanging out at urban clubs). Being a sultry seductress hunting on the town really isn't a lane Utada meshes comfortably with, and no amount of Timbaland production can hide that.

Okay, he really only produces a couple tunes, Exodus '04 and Let Me Give Your Love, and they're honestly some of the better cuts on here. Tracks like Tippy Toe and The Workout show some influence from him, if not direct input. There's a fair bit of interesting production on here, even if it doesn't all land. Which it apparently didn't, at least enough to get much attention in America. Still did gang-busters in Japan, because of course it would.

U2 - All That You Can't Leave Behind

Island Records: 2000

The only post-Millennium U2 album everyone still remembers fondly of. Oh, I'm sure some still rate How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb and even No Line On The Horizon (not so much Songs Of Innocence though, heh), but this one, this reminded folks that, yes, they actually do like U2. So successful was the Irish band in convincing everyone of this fact, even I got myself the album, and I wasn't even that big a U2 mark when it came out. Sure, I enjoyed their '80s music, but I only ever needed a greatest hits package of said work to sate my needs.

It was a can't-miss project though. After so many years of genre dalliances and wayward muses, getting back to basics was inevitable, the band undoubtedly aware of just how far off the rock path they'd gone. Maybe they couldn't recapture the unforgettable political fire that marked much of their '80s highlights, but they could at least bring in some familiar producers with Brian Eno and Daniel Lanois. Take a little of what you know, a little of what you learned, mix in all that remains of you (what you can't leave behind), and present it all in a humble, simple little package, none of that technicolor opulence the Pop tour indulged in.

And hoo, did we buy in, desperate to hear the U2 we remembered of yesteryear. Lead single Beautiful Day done did that, offering up the soaring strings, soaring Bono chorus, soaring guitars, and even a little soft 'techno drums' in the rhythms, just in case some of you did like Discoteque. With such a stirring, rousing, grand opening statement and return to form for U2, we all believed the forthcoming album was gonna' be all that. No, don't deny it, you did.

Elevation hits that high too, with a little more boogie going for it, but nay, All That You Can't Leave Behind is a far mellower album than folks expected, and save the big singles, has kinda' fallen from memory as a result. Like, I've played this CD plenty of times now, but I can never remember how Peace On Earth or In A Little While goes. I do recall Walk On being another overplayed mall-radio jangle, and New York being a charming ode to The Big Apple, but I always forget they're from this album. Wild Honey has me thinking the Beach Boys rendition instead, and Kite... isn't this also Gorillaz' Slow Country?

And thus we reach this record's conundrum. For all the accolades All That You Can't Leave Behind earned, reinvigorating U2's career, and adoration it received at the time of release, when stacked against the band's greater body of work, it just can't live up to that legacy. The big singles, yes; the rest, not so much. For sure it was the right album at the right time, but that time has passed, and the older it gets, the further it falls in favour. These things happen.

U2 - War

Island Records: 1983

War, hah! What's it good for? Giving a budding Irish band the proper break-out they needed, is what. They'd already made oscillations in new wave circles with their debut Boy and follow-up October, but it was their third album that we hear the germination of what most consider the definitive U2 stylee. Arena rock anthems, political issues... um, wait, something's missing here. Oh yeah, that Eno touch. Right, the true definitive, universally adored sound of U2 didn't manifest itself until subsequent albums, but there's a contingent of O.G. U2 fan-Zs that claim Brian and Daniel Lanois ruined what had been a promising raw alternative rock band. That, if you want to experience Bono, The Edge, Adam, and Mullen (the cute one!) at their honest, roughest best... you should probably go with Boy.

But hey, War was still a Steve Lillywhite produced album, so not quite as arty as Eno would go; besides, they'd already tried that with October. War instead finds the band returning to a purer rock approach – it was only appropriate for such a heavy, politically-driven topic, getting their music into the knit and grit of conflict and the aftermath's ugliness. Plus, just in case you figured they might be going for something more abstract or glorified in selling the notion of war, they used a similarly posed photo of Peter Rowen on the cover, except now replacing the innocent boy of Boy with a stern, aged glower, suggesting the human cost of senseless struggle.

The band doesn't pull its punches either, opening the album with the strident, military march of Sunday Bloody Sunday, a song about the Bogside Massacre, where over a dozen civilian Irish protesters were killed by British soldiers, many more injured. Add in a wailing violin and Bono's harrowing cries of “I can't close my eyes; And make it go away”, and you've a song that definitely sticks in your memory.

It's the lead single though, New Year's Day, that really gave U2 their distinct panache for arena rock. That instantly memorable piano line, the propulsive bass, the jangly guitar work, and Bono's wailing – you can't think of U2 without thinking of this song, even if you don't realize it's from the War album. I sure didn't, the echo, reverb, and polished production having me think it latter-'80s U2 for the longest time.

A criticism often levied upon War is that the remaining eight songs don't reach the same highs as Sunday Bloody Sunday and New Year's Day, especially dragging in the back-half. Can't deny that, though they're by no means weak songs either. Two Hearts Beat As One and Like A Song... are strong rockers, Drowning Man features more soul-tugging violin work, The Refugee sounds like something The Police might have wrote, and Surrender climbs close to the same lofty peaks of New Year's Day. It all makes for a strong rock album, but if you come to U2 for their artistic dalliances, perhaps a little one-note overall.

The Orb - U.F.OFF - The Best Of The Orb

Island Records: 1998

It’s embarrassing admitting this, but U.F.OFF was the second Orb record I ever picked up. For sure I knew about all their previous albums (Orblivion was inescapable the year prior), even took a couple in as demos at music shops. For whatever reason though, I never bothered buying the Very Important Albums until well after the fact – wow, did Pomme Fritz really sour me on the Orb Experience that much? Yeah, cannot deny it did a little, but that whole ‘living in Canadian hinterlands’ where ‘electronica’ was scarce didn’t do me many favors either. Plus, having The Orb in your CD collection wasn’t exactly the ‘cool’ option around my peers, everyone more hip to The Prodigy, The Chemical Brothers, and Orbital. So the conglomerate that Alex Paterson built forever floated on the fringes of my fancy, an act I knew important enough to respect, but not necessarily dig through. You can bet my last dollar then, that finding a handy Best Of retrospective would give me the Orb crash-course I so desperately needed – got me all Orb-woke, son.

Obviously, a tidy twelve-tracker of The Orb’s first decade of music making is only scratching the surface, mostly settling on radio-friendly versions (or 7” mixes) to tell the tale. This includes the Orbital Dance Mix of A Huge Ever Growing etc. etc., which isn’t a remix from Orbital. Little Fluffy Clouds always was the dancier cut from Ultraworld, whereas Youth’s rub of Perpetual Dawn gives the tune more house pep (and, that bassline!). Further along, DJ Asylum (a reworking of Asylum from Orblivion) hits fast and hard with the breaks and earworms compared to its album counterpart, there’s an Original Mix of Towers Of Dub that lacks the harmonica but adds goofy dialog between a cop and hippie in trial, and a new track of Mickey Mars answers the question of “what would it sound like if The Orb used that Native chant from Enigma’s Return To Innocence?”. The remaining classic singles (plus Pomme Fritz (Meat ‘N’ Veg)) are generally so short as to only offer their basic components before moving on to the next cut. Hell, the lone Orbus Terrarum track, Oxbow Lakes, doesn’t even officially appear, hidden away as a secret song long after Pi (Part 1)’s minute-long runtime fades out.

Still, hearing all these vintage Orb tunes finally gave me enough appreciation for their work to start digging further, which I done did. Strange that such a release would have come out but a third into the group’s existence though. Did The Orb conglomerate figure their time in the sun was done? No, but their deal with Island Records sure was, feeling mistreated and maligned by the Major at that point. I mean, the cover art and title of this Best Of couldn’t be less subtle about their feelings if they tried, which astounds me they got away with it at all. Just a shame their retreat led to some of their most inessential work too.

Tricky - Maxinquaye

Island Records: 1995

Tricky was my first exposure to trip-hop, via Deep Forest of all groups. The world beat duo provided music for the 1995 cyberpunk thriller Strange Days, and Teenage Sykonee being the throes of ethno-pop at the time, eagerly checked the movie out. Cannot deny I was also quite intrigued by the Kathryn Bigelow film on its concept, a look into the near future of the year 2000, and what the End Of The Millennium might hold.

It seems so quaint now, the fear that things would somehow catastrophically and abruptly end just after 11:59pm of December 31, 1999, and I’m not just talking that silly Y2K Bug thing. Nay, Strange Days depicted a society where, with the right kind of angle, seemed on the verge of utter collapse, a powder keg of racial strife and decadent decay, easily lit with but a single, reckless act of senseless, bigoted brutality. I have to admit Ms. Bigelow teased such an eruption so expertly throughout the movie, I actually believed the prophetic Millennial Apocalypse was nigh at the movie’s climax. Yet, clearer heads prevailed, the ‘eruption’ but a ‘scritch’ overall. Ms. Bigelow was smart, knowing Y2K paranoia was much ado about nothing. No, the real problems wouldn’t start until 16 years after! (Sorry, but it’s difficult not getting topical and political right now)

Tricky’s debut Maxinquaye is hailed as one of the shining moments of trip-hop’s mid-‘90s peak, in large part because it’s barely a trip-hop album at all. True, he helped Massive Attack set the template of the genre, and there’s definitely some all-time classic trip-hop class on here. Overcome, the opening track - and tune featured in the Strange Days soundtrack (relevancy!) – works a sultry, dubby, tribal thump, losing itself in the grit of inner city lust and doubt. Aftermath, his debut single, was initially intended for Massive Attack, but the lads behind Attack said ‘nay’ to that one, a shame because it would have fit marvelously into their canon.

That rejection, plus feeling generally stagnant within the group, prompted Tricky to pursue his solo ventures. He had plenty of ideas in his head, but not much production capability on his own though. Enter producer Mark Saunders, who somehow stitched together Tricky’s wayward muse into comprehensible music. Soul, punk, hip-hop, dub, and all manner of sample-heavy abstraction fill Maxinquaye, leaving you unsure where it’s going at any given time. The vocal dynamic between Tricky’s subdued conscious raps and cooing of singer/life partner Martina Topley-Bird fuels the sense of life on the skids, a scattershot collage of hopes and paranoia, lust and despair.

I probably can’t prop this album up any more than the UK press did at the time (holy cow, the hyperbole!), but as one of the seminal trip-hop albums of the era, this “not trip-hop” record definitely earned its spot among the Blue Lines and Dummys. It’s confrontational compared to the others, but that makes it all the more intriguing as a whole, as you decrypt the angst within.

PJ Harvey - Stories From The City, Stories From The Sea

Island Records: 2000

The only PJ Harvey album you probably have, if you decided it was about time to take a listen-in on the indie-darling lady rocker. She even admits Stories From The City, Stories From The Sea is her stab at a pop-leaning record, though obviously said with tongue firmly in cheek. It generated the most sales abroad of any album in her career, yet is her lowest charted LP in her native UK. Yes, not even the sweet selling point of a couple Thom Yorke collaborations was enough to convince the indie British this wasn’t a blatant sell-out. Wait, the mellow To Bring You My Love didn’t do the trick? The ‘electronica’ Is This Desire? wasn’t proof Ms. Harvey had no problem jumping on trends? So fickle, these UK music lovers. She couldn’t scream that raw, angst rock of her early work forever, y’know. People grow up, mature, experiment, try different things, explore their latent abilities, aim for the light after spending time in the ditch, and all that.

Full disclosure: I’m among the rear tier of folks who should talk up PJ Harvey’s career. Of course I know about the singer-songwriter out of Yeovil (such a cool name, that!), her influence as a trailblazer for aggressive women of ‘90s rock. I’m sure a few of her tunes or guest appearances have crossed my ears over the years, and anyone that namedrops Neil F’n Young as an inspiration is a-ok in my books. Even glancing over her discography, it’s clear she follows a similar ‘give no fucks’ approach in following her muse wherever it may lead. And fortunately, her catalog doesn’t seem nearly as daunting as other eclectic sorts if one is so tempted to dive full-in. I just doubt I’ll be doing so anytime soon, if at all. Maybe if this ‘electronic music’ thing ever wears itself completely out on my ears. ‘Riot grrl’ rock might be a fun dalliance when I’m sixty-four.

As mentioned, Stories From The City, Stories From The Sea is ol’ Polly’s bestselling album, and has also earned her plenty of accolades as well. Playing it through, it’s easy to hear why, the music smooth and polished, many tunes sounding custom made for most rock radio stations. Yet there’s always something just a little more interesting going on beyond your stock FM filler. Catchy choruses contain clever lyrics, Harvey showing range in her singing voice as each song necessitates (angrier here, playful there, moody elsewhere). There’s quite a range of rock as well, some coming off as standards (Good Fortune, Big Exit, This Is Love), others showing a little sound experimentation (the neat dub overlays of The Whores Hustle And The Hustlers Whore), or going all-out ‘80s (Kamikaze). Other tunes show her acoustic side, and final track We Float has a dreamy indie pop thing going for it. Sounds like a Radiohead tune, if I’m honest, and is thus surprising it's not one of those Thom Yorke collaborations. Fine by me.

The Cranberries - No Need To Argue

Island Records: 1994

The Cranberries were one of the most popular bands that gave the world a grunge anthem, which is hilarious because they are not a grunge band. Alternative rock, perhaps, but the Irish group only ever made one song that could be considered grunge. But hoo, what a song that was, Zombie among the biggest singles of the ‘90s, setting The Cranberries up for plenty of future success. This, despite tons of CD buyers coming away from No Need To Argue with confused first impressions.

Not that they were total unknowns leading up to this album. Linger from their debut did reasonably well, especially in thanks to copious amounts of MTV play, and also finding a nice home on alternative stations. It’s a peppy bit of soft rock, perfect for your romantic comedy needs, more indicative of The Cranberries’ style of music, and generated enough buzz for their debut album, Everybody Else Is Doing It, So Why Can’t We?, for a top spot on the Billboard of Ireland and the UK. Island Records, the victors of a label bidding war as representation for the band, had to be pleased. It was good enough for a modest fanbase in their homeland and even a little abroad, one that would stick with the group throughout the ‘90s. Not a bad claim to fame, nosiree.

But then along lurched a Zombie, scoring the band a Number One hit across the globe. It’s no surprise this single became the sensation it was, executing the grunge ‘quiet-heavy-quiet-heavy’ template to perfection. Coupled with a rousing chorus singer Dolores O’Riordan completely owns, and you’ve an anthem for the pissed-off generation that’s continuously played at every “Hey, remember the ‘90s?” party. It helped that it honestly sounded unlike anything else at the time, with that haggard accented voice from Dolores, to say nothing of an actual lady providing pipes in such a male dominated scene. The whole ‘anti-war’ message didn’t hurt its prospects either, though I wonder how many of my peers even knew Zombie was about that, instead content scream-singing “In your head, in your head, they’re fi-i-ighting. In your hee-aaadd! In your hee-aaadd ! Zo-o-mbie! Zo-o-ombie! Zomibe! Ey-Eh”, etc. Lord knows I didn’t clue in until the fiftieth time I heard it.

And that, despite scoring big on the charts with ultra-Platinum sales, No Need To Argue has found many a home in the used shops across the land (erm, with CD hoarders too). The Cranberries already had their followers, and this album’s blend of peppy alternative rock, charming Irish folk ballads, and Ms. O’Riordan’s intoxicating voice (such a wonderful singer!) delivers to those fans in spades. However, for the multitude of others that were introduced to the band via Zombie, and expecting more of that… well, some became fans of their traditional sound regardless. Many others though, didn’t quite vibe with what the Limerick group was selling, leaving them with No Need To Argue as a neglected gift from their Auntie. Probably.

U2 - The Joshua Tree

Island Records: 1987

The only U2 album you’re supposed to have, even if you’re not a U2 fan. What, you thought it’d be Songs Of Innocence? I suppose that’d be technically true, if only for a brief time before seventy-seven percent of iTunes users demanded it scrubbed from their libraries. Hell, I wouldn’t put it past Bono or Tim Cook assuming it was a U2 album all their customers were ‘supposed to have’, because that’s what good U2 and Apple users accept. Well, just because everyone adored The Joshua Tree and the early ‘00s albums that tried replicating it doesn’t mean folks will lap up any ol’ forced giveaway. We need that illusion of choice, yo’.

Like how everyone under the Western sun ‘chose’ to anoint U2 as The Greatest Rock Band On Earth after this album. Right, it’s not like they had that much competition in the year 1987, folks getting weary of synth pop and sterile corporate rock. Bono, The Edge, A. Clay’, and Mr. Mullen were already darlings of the college rock scene, and could probably have rode a tidy career on their early rough sounds, the Brian Eno experimentation of The Unforgettable Fire be damned. But wait, that Bono fella’, he’s seen some shit these past few years, amazing wonder and splendor in the untamed lands of America, and such horrible, horrible ghettos in the lands of Africa and Central America. He felt inspired to mesh these extremes, offering music that could replicate the expansive mountains and deserts of Earth while bringing U2’s political leanings to larger issues than the plight of the Irish. This could have all turned into an embarrassing bout of pretentious music making the likes the ‘80s had never seen. The fact we’re still talking fondly of The Joshua Tree - that for all of U2’s insufferable antics in the ensuing decades, we still hold their fifth album in such high esteem – goes to show just how gracefully they knocked this out the park. Hey, Americana reference, how apt!

The album opens with Where The Streets Have No Name, I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For, and With Or Without You, a trio of songs everyone points towards as the definitive sound of the band. It’s among the strongest starts to any record, made more so by the lush production Daniel Lanois and Brian Eno affords. Bono wanted their music to sound as open and far reaching as the American deserts and plains, and by Jove and Joshua tree, the Lanois-Eno tandem know how to deliver. Couple that with impassioned, poetic lyrics delivered by Bono, and it never comes off preachy or sanctimonious. Issues were all the rage in the ‘80s, and these songs probably highlighted them better than anyone.

Oh yeah, there’s a whole bunch of album after this too! Lots of loving nods to American blues, with plenty of jangly guitar licks and thick bass picks. Would have been a great album in its own right, but man, those first three songs, eh?

The Orb - Pomme Fritz

Island Red Label: 1994

Perhaps the best era to step into The Orb's world as a doe-eyed ambient newbie was around 1995 (yeah, that year again). Though the group's discography was but a third of its current size, the scant choices for an album plunge were bona-fide classics, as decreed by the Ambient Emporium Consortium Collective. Simply walk into a shop and pick any ol' Orb CD you found sitting on the shelves, confident that the plaudits graced upon them were sure and true. That's the theory anyway, and undoubtedly worked fine for those living in the UK or major metropolitan districts with A&B Sounds and Tower Records aplenty. For a west coast Canadian teenager with paltry sums of money, however, paying big bucks for double-disc albums was simply unthinkable (to say nothing of the curious scarcity of U.F. Orb and Orbus Terrarum in those days). But what's this? Why, a little album at half the price of a regular LP. What a perfect entry point, thought I. Surely I will learn all that I need to know about The Orb from Pomme Fritz! Wait, what are you doing with that rug I currently stand upon?

Look, it isn’t much surprise that whatever druggy tomfoolery was going down in The Orb studios would manifest itself with patience sapping experimentation. I guess folks should be thankful it was mostly relegated to this stopgap, and honestly only two tracks at that, titled More Gills Less Fishcakes and We’re Pastie To Be Grill You. There’s irreverent sampling, bizarre tape manipulations, occasional ear-wormy bits that go absolutely nowhere, splashy über-dubbed rhythms, and a few instances of lovely spaced-out synth work.

Fortunately, they took that one good element and made it a prominent feature in Bang ‘Er ‘n Chips, working it into a minimalist excursion into ambient dub. It also features some of the group’s vintage clever style of sampling: a woman talks about wishing upon stars at night (with billions and billions to choose from!), recalling the Little Fluffy Clouds monologue, while an old Saturday Night Live skit about the relaxing nature of electroshock therapy keeps the mood firmly in cheek. Following that, Alles Ist Schoen goes for the ‘dreamy time’ music road, cascading synths galore. Ah, now he gets it, Teenage Sykonee does.

I guess I should mention that the main track off Pomme Fritz, Meat ‘N Veg, has all the above features arranged into the closest thing to an actual song. Yeah, this ‘little album’ is ‘little’ more than variations on it – not really remixes, but Paterson and co. dicking around in the studio with all those elements (apparently the recent re-issue has even more sessions; yay?). Well, except for the final ditty, His Immortal Logness, a ridiculous piece of short music that would feature wonderfully in a parody of stuffy 1700s European chamber gatherings. I like this more than I should, and as a D-side, it’s totally harmless fluff. Frankly, Pomme Fritz comes off like a D-side, one that charted on sheer Orb prestige alone.

The Orb - Orbus Terrarum

Island Records: 1995

The trippy, goofy, psychedelic edge The Orb cultivated helped them develop a distinctive sound unlike any of their growing legion of contemporaries. You just knew they were indulging in the narcotics for their inspiration though, and one couldn't help but wonder if it'd get the better of them after awhile. Orbus Terrarum gave us the answer, an album full of weird experimentation for seemingly no better reason than its own sake. Most were ready to give up on The Orb after this one, wondering if their creativity had worn itself out. Oddly enough, Orbus Terrarum has gained more love in the ensuing years, folks now praising the bold attempts at such leftfield production, even if the actual results were sometimes tedious as a listening experience. Goes to show what a string of truly mediocre releases can do for one's back catalogue.

It starts out innocently enough with Valley and Plateau, two tracks that’d previously appeared on Live 93. Right off you can hear the group (re: whoever you believe to have done most of the production while others sat in and smoked blunts) is pushing their ideas of dub as far as they can. So many layers of sounds and effects are found in Valley - jangly rhythms, grumbly basslines, dreamy pads, samples of nature – that it creates an almost endless sense of space, one you can easily get lost in with good headphones. Plateau, meanwhile, is an utterly blissful piece of ambience, with shimmering cascade of warm strings and synths – an added groovy reggae-dub rhythm midway helps maintain a sense of progression in the track, that we’re not pointlessly meandering about in a flights of psychedelic fancy.

With its charming opening of classical piano, Oxbow Lakes looks primed for another memorable piece of music. Letting it morph into endless layers of jangly dub effects is all well and good, but it doesn’t go anywhere, save an ethereal return to the main melody as the track winds down. Even less focused is Montagne d’Or, at first seemingly a new take on Spanish Castles In Space with (then) current production chops. Then it starts building up tempo, eventually erupting into cavernous beats. It sure sounds cool, but what was the point, other than the guys in the studio wanting to try it out?

That sense of ‘music in service of experimentation’ carries through White River Junction and Occidental, nearly twenty-five minutes worth of sounds, effects, samples, and incoherence. Aside from brief bits (a bobbly bass sound here, a quirky dialog snippet there), hardly anything sticks in my head. Despite playing far too coy with a children’s tale about mischievous slugs eating juicy green lettuces, final track Slug Dub at least knocks off all the studio wankery for a simpler, though overlong, ambient dub outing.

Orbus Terrarum’s a love/hate album at this point. You’re either down for The Orb’s experimental excess, or not. When on point, it’s wonderful music – when not, it’s a waste your time (oh hi, Occidental).

The Orb - The Orb's Adventures Beyond The Ultraworld

Island Red Label: 1991

The only Orb album you're supposed to have, even if you're not much of an Orb fan. So the 'best of' collection U.F. Off doesn't count? And a double album is what you have to spring for a credible electronic music collection - such difficulties for those 'electronica bluffer' hipsters out there. The Orb's Adventures Beyond The Ultraworld cannot be overlooked though, oodles of sub-genres and scenes springing from the fruitful minds of Alex Paterson's musical conglomerate. It was inevitable that someone would bring ambient together with dub and house – the sampledelic nature of early ‘90s rave demanded it to happen – but The Orb got there first, therefore this album’s given all the plaudits for its influential wake.

And before you point to some other unheralded act that technically beat them to it, I’m talking about making the sound a chartable success, and thus trendy and marketable. Tunes like Little Fluffy Clouds and Perpetual Dawn, sure, those were perfectly executed pieces of ear-wormy dance music, but what of that Huge Ever Growing Pulsating Brain That Rules From The Centre Of The Ultraworld track? How did an eighteen-plus minute, sample heavy, ambient noodle-thon squeak into the charts? Such different times, those early rave days.

Probably the most remarkable thing about The Orb’s Fun-Times Over There In Superland is that it was released in its double-album form at all. LPs from ‘rave bands’ that weren’t singles collections remained a rarity, yet Island Music had enough faith in- it was the drugs, wasn’t it. Whatever the case, we got an overstuffed 2-CD collection of spacey ambient and groovy rhythms. Just, sshh, don’t let the kids know a lot of it is repurposed New Age mediation music, now with a Roland 909 drum machine. It’s funnier this way!

I’ll level with ya’: for all the claims of musical revolution and dynamic song craft, there are long stretches of floaty dithering and rudimentary beats too. Granted, Paterson and his new pals (Weston, Fehlmann, Glover, Hillage and assorted others) were all figuring things out as they went along, and it’s remarkable some tracks come off as coherent as they do – fifteen minutes of meandering bass guitar, plinky pianos, and country-side field recordings in Spanish Castles In Space shouldn’t work like it does. At times though, it sounds like they’re trying to one-up Jimmy Cauty’s improvisational work from that huge pulsating brain track, and never quite reach that mark. Man, the lost ‘proper’ Cauty/Paterson album remains a tantalizing ‘what-if’.

Okay, I’m probably being more of negative-nancy pants on Adventures In UltramanWorld than needed. I do enjoy this album, but like any ‘ground-zero’ LPs, it does come off dated compared to where the genre would grow, including The Orb’s follow-up U.F. Orb. It’s worth having to hear the roots of ‘hippie ambient meets counter-culture rave’ music, and there’s plenty of lovely moments throughout. Just remember to take it all in with a sense of humour, as the whole concept was apparently a pisstake of progressive rock over-indulgence anyway.

The Orb - Orblivion

Island Records: 1997

Following the daring experimentation that marked The Orb’s prior few releases, Orblivion was thought of as a corny sell-out of an album when it first came out. Can't fault some folks for giving it that rep, Toxygene shamelessly whored out to every 'electronica' compilation it could find a footing on. The rest of it, I don't know. Yeah, the bold sonic indulgences from before were noticeably lacking (as was Kris Weston, because... reasons), but how could anyone think this LP a sell-out? Happy and even goofy at points, sure, but every Orb album had those moments, and they're thankfully far more tastefully handled here than on tracks like Slug Dub or More Gills Less Fishcakes. Additionally, have you people from 1997 heard the music that was to come from the Orb camps? Trust me, chaps, you've got it good with Orblivion. Enjoy this album’s Orbiousness for all its worth – you won’t get many chances after!

Also, what kind of commercial album paints as curious a world as this one? We’ve entered a warped place with Orblivion, where everything appears like 1950s suburban Pleasantville on the surface, but as seen through Koji Morimoto’s eyes of cyberpunk dystopia if you dig behind the facade. Immediately, we’re dumped into Delta MkII, a bizarre parade of jovial, twisted delights, giant stuffed animals in bright Disneyland colours wearing Mardi Gras costumes happily stomping by. Follow-up Ubiquity’s no less chipper with its trippy psychedelic sounds and bouncy rhythms, while Asylum goes groovy, shuffling breakbeats coupled with spritely floating melodies.

Orblivion’s scenery only gets quirkier from here. Bedouin feels like you’re perusing a white-washed museum of charming indigenous cultures, while outside with S.A.L.T., you find a wacky, cartoon man ranting about signs of the apocalypse and mankind’s ultimate evolution. For he (David Thewlis’ character Johnny from the ’93 movie Naked) sees all the signs, and recognizes the charade of modern-day creature comforts for what they are, barcodes for the markings of The Beast. Seriously, this tune’s build as Thewlis’ tirade continues is brilliant. Never before or since have had I heard such a poignant use of the phrase “Chernobyl. Fact!”

Then there’s Toxygene. It’s a stupid, obvious ‘intended-for–the-charts’ tune that tries to pass itself off as a throwback rave anthem with a bit of Orb giddiness. It’s also great! Just try resisting a little arm-wave action should you hear this out at some point. The rest of Orblivion carries on its cheerful-society-via-pharmaceuticals theme, though Passing Of Time hints at something more sinister lurking beneath (ya’ think?).

While Orblivion does retain many of The Orb’s eccentricities, the production comes off far more taught and focused compared to earlier efforts, likely the influence of Andy Hughes taking on more production duties. It does lend the album to poppier tendencies, but I feel that helps add to its overall atmosphere, creating a feeling of unease while immersed within an impossibly optimistic utopia. Head for the highway, back to the outlands while you can!

The Orb - Live 93

Island Records: 1993

Here we go – live albums. You just know I got a lot of ‘em. Ah, some, but surprisingly few with titles that start with the word “Live”. Shame, as I could have done a themed week around these. Oh well, let’s get this show on the road, listening to musical acts taking their shows on the road.

First up is The Orb. Say, this is finally the first CD of Dr. Paterson’s project I get to talk about too. Bloody shame it’s this one. The idea behind it is fine, as The Orb had developed quite the reputation early on as a trippy experience live, perfectly befitting of those chill-out rooms of the growing rave scene. I’m sure plenty of wonderful, primitive CGI floated across projector screens and the like. Even without the visual accompaniment, I can conjure nifty things while lying back with my headphones. Ooh, shiny globs!

But nay, it’s bloody hard to get into Live 93, on account this isn’t a single live performance; rather, a compilation of various gigs throughout that year, all arranged in confounding order. A Tokyo gig is followed by a Copenhagen gig is followed by a Glastonbury gig, and back to a Copenhagen gig, followed by a Live Orbient gig. Something like that anyway, and far from a proper live album experience when playing this through.

You may also realize that The Orb only had two albums out by that time, Adventure’s Beyond The Ultraworld and U.F.Orb. That isn’t much material to make up a live double-LP, even with The Orb’s typically long, noodly bits of ambience. What’s added to the live experience is just that, imagining yourself in such context, and the unique flourishes musicians may create on the fly. As The Orb make ample use of dubby echo and swishy filters, you bet you’re getting plenty of extras in these live renditions, so somewhat different from what you’d hear on the albums if you don’t mind sample-heavy dithering.

Unfortunately, I can’t ever hear ‘em without cranking my volume to near-ludicrous levels. The four Glastonbury recordings are okay, and about the only ones that stand out as worth listening to - you even get some actual crowd noise and full-aired resonance. At the other end of the spectrum are the four Copenhagen tracks, all hopelessly muffled and lacking any sort of dynamics. Perpetual Dawn should not sound this limp, ever, and enduring nearly twenty minutes of pants-sounding Huge Ever Growing Pulsating Brain is utterly pointless. The other ones are only marginally better than the Copenhagen cuts, and hardly worth the inclusion when coupled against the Glastonbury offerings.

I can only see two reasons why folks would have wanted this back in the day. One, it was a handy ‘hits compilation’, albeit poorly recorded. Two, a pair of then-unreleased tracks opened each CD, Plateau and Valley. Good tunes, true, but in superior form on the 1995 album Orbus Terrarum. Thus, beyond completism or curiosity, Live 93 is hopelessly redundant two decades on.

Insane Clown Posse - The Great Milenko

Island Records: 1997

Guess I can't hold this off any longer. I thought maybe I'd be granted another respite should my next batch of Amazon orders make it in time, but nay, I must finally reveal one of the greater shames of my music collection.

No, fuck that. Why's there shame in having a single Insane Clown Posse album? I've had ample opportunity to discard, sell off, or microwave the sucker, yet The Great Milenko has stayed with me all these years. Nostalgia, then? Not really, as I had barely a passing interest in the duo even back when I was age-appropriate to appreciate their schtick in the '90s. Could it be that, *gasp*, this is actually a great album?

Nah, guy, though for all I know, it's tops on the Juggalo scale. What I can tell you is The Great Milenko features far more metal influences than any of their albums, catching the burgeoning nu-metal sound of the late ‘90s just as it was about to blow up. And dammit if I can’t help but really enjoy Slash’s chords on the kick-ass Halls Of Illusions chorus, or shredding from Sex Pistols’ Steve Jones on Piggy Pie. This, along with some of the best production long-time ICP beatsmith Mike E. Clark managed to crank out (having a major label backing sure helps), tickles all the ‘fun-dumb’ pleasure centers in my brain (along with professional wresting, I cannot deny).

Heck, some of the themes are, dare I say, rather clever. ICP’s wit is often no brighter than a black brick, yet songs condemning the lives of the most sinful of society? The Great Milenko’s filled with them and I think that’s material we can all relate to, though I’ve grown well past “world against me” tropes as found in How Many Times?, or “organized religion’s a sham!” ‘shockers’ like Hellalujah. Still, their closing attempt at pathos in Pass Me By, a somber reflection on what the afterlife may bring, is surprisingly charming.

Then there’s simple, silly, stupid stuff like What Is A Juggalo? (ever wondered?), The Neden Game (the clowns try to impress a girl on a game show), and horrorcore insanity (Southwest Voodoo, Boogie Woogie Wu, House Of Horrors). One can’t hate on these anymore than one could hate on GWAR or an early Peter Jackson splatter film. Insane Clown Posse fully embrace their gimmick of ‘wicked shit’, and everything’s just cartoony enough that anyone with half a brain couldn’t take them that seriously (unlike other low-brow specialists like Limp Bizkit). It’s fun to take a ride on their carny ride once in a while.

Or maybe not. Make no mistake, Insane Clown Posse is an easily mocked group, and The Great Milenko won’t change your mind about their shock tactics. They’re still doing their thing though, and somehow made it work for a two-decade plus career. That’s an impressive feat for any act, especially a one-note group like ICP. Just might be the world of hip-hop needs its psycho clowns after all.

Nine Inch Nails - Closer

Island Records: 1994

Also known as that “fuck you like an animal” song. In fact, I think it’s all anyone knows about this song. Well, except for the opening kick-snare, which immediately alerts people that the “fuck you like an animal” song is starting.

And no, I didn’t go back on my word from the last review. This is electronic music. Nearly all industrial music is to a degree. However, because it’s primarily the rock scene that latched onto the sound, it's often overlooked when considering the whole of electronic music’s heritage. There’s more to it than that, of course, but I’ll get into it when I’ve an album more appropriate.

Meanwhile, let’s talk Nine Inch Nails. Or, maybe you can tell me more? Truth is I’ve barely given Trent Reznor’s band notice over the years. What I heard, I thought was cool (especially that “fuck you like an animal” song everyone was playing!) but my bed was firmly in the ‘techno’ camps back when NIN was blowing up, and my limited purchasing power reflected that. Fortunately, now that I have disposable income, I can go back and rediscover that which I foolishly bypassed. Or, in this case, gather up friends’ CD collections whenever they’re looking to offload them.

As a single, Closer is an odd one. Apparently it was released as a double-digi pack, but with only one CD within, the second of which had to be purchased at a later date. Guess that’s one way to test fanbase loyalty, and I’d be astounded if anyone could pull it off now.

Of the two CDs, there isn't much difference in terms of tone. The first has the version of Closer everyone’s familiar with even to this day (“Hey, Bro! It’s that ‘fuck you like an animal’ song!”), a funky Jack Dangers remix that almost sounds like what a Lenny Kravitz cover would end up as, and various other industrial-metal, noise, and sonic experimental cuts scattered about the rest. The second CD mostly reworks other songs from The Downward Spiral, the main highlight being an awesome EBM-thrash version of Closer called Closer To God. Compared to the first CD, these cuts are a nice break from hearing Reznor constantly telling me he wants to fuck me like an animal (wait, huh?).

Overall, this is a solid single for fans of 90s industrial - the ironic-fascist, angst driven, cyberpunk sort. If you’re just looking for the “fuck you like an animal” song though, best stick with the simply titled track Closer .