Back in the mists of time, before dance music came with a received lifestyle and a commercial formula that aims only to merge the brand with the bland, Orbital were doing something poetic with electronic music. There was no brainless worshipping of the weekend and the all pervasive four-to-the-floor, and any dumb hedonism at least came with a vaguely rebellious cachet.
These days, people don't have time to be rebellious. Here Orbital are, slowly and lovingly constructing magic, playing the Exorcist theme tune in the Cistine chapel when all that was really required was yet more Top Shop background fodder, and a few people are getting impatient. Not because they don't like what they're hearing, you understand, but because they know where they're heading and they want to get there this second, this instant.
So if there's a hint of an Ibiza sunrise keyboard sound or the analogue acid squiggles look like they might start thinking about building to a peak, the crowd goes berserk. Cheering, shouting, arms in the air, screaming on a rollercoaster when they should be stopping to look at the passing scenery.
But Orbital aren't here for physical thrills and belly wobbles. They're here to set off fireworks in your mind, to provide son et lumiere for the synapses.
Battle lines are drawn then, even though most don't notice. Onstage, there is a definite lack of branding, just a few hanging panels that are either bobbly radiators or half inched bits of Tardis. On the video screen, Pac Man, that well known capitalist bully boy, munches up modern dance ephemera: trainers, mobiles, gadgets. Aha, a point is made, a stand too. But then Les Bros Hartnoll kick off with a gabba gabba hey boy hey girl that's pure Chemical Brothers sell out.
The crux is what they do once they get the crowd screaming. Tease with a familiar motif and then wander off into far more worthwhile electronic territory. Imagine an Alien movie. You're happy and trusting, but then the fear creeps in, by which point of course it's too late. And these boys are far too sci-fi savvy not to know how to subvert that one for their own means. You only have to check their supremely scary 'Dr Who' theme to realise that.
Once you realise the level of headf**kery going on here, it's a gig to die for. Watching the hardcore massive lose it entirely to a tune that samples David Gray, just because there's a hint of 'Setting Sons' in there somewhere, is hilarious. And 'Satan', once a mighty dark headf**k back in year zero, now seems entirely apposite, a perfect doomsday device to blow
apart these utterly utterly vacuous times. Dance in the fire children, burn baby burn.
And by the time they get to the inevitable 'Chime', all bubbles and mirror balls and sine waves and sun spots, not to mention a host of goosebumps and other delights, it's clear that this isn't simply Orbital at Brixton. It's Orbital at Glastonbury, the highlight of each festival year for every sane individual, and Paul and Phil aren't about to let Mr Eavis' fence trouble get in the way of their fun. Or ours either. And so people dance and scream and cheer as usual.
A few might have even been on a journey. Just like the good old days.
