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).