Through most of the 1990s, Dr. Alex Paterson and the Orb had an air of slackness that belied their industriousness. Patterson and a rotating cast of cohorts—including members of the KLF, Public Image Ltd., and Killing Joke—made their name and reputation on diaphanous ambient house tracks that stretched on for up to 40 minutes. The project brought to mind weed smoke and chewed mushrooms, but the Orb also cranked out a ton of music. Even as a head for most of their '90s output, I was oblivious to their post-Orblivion output.
Rather than drift off into irrelevance in the 21st century, the Orb have become sturdy and workmanlike. And no small credit is due to Paterson's longtime collaborator, Thomas Fehlmann, whose solo discography spans three decades. It's almost startling to write that Moonbuilding is the Orb's 10th album in the new century (not including entries in Kompakt's Pop Ambient series and a slew of rarities comps). The records they've released in that span may not be particularly memorable, but they have realized collaborations with their most obvious sonic forbearers: Pink Floyd's David Gilmour and Lee "Scratch" Perry. Moonbuilding 2703 AD scans as a concept album, and each of the album's four tracks is more than 10 minutes long. For those that came of age to the likes of "Blue Room" and Orb Live 93, it's the kind of length and depth worth getting lost in.
The 15-minute "God's Mirrorball" adheres to the classic structure of the project. "First, God does not exist," goes the opening sample. "But don't worry, what does exist is good." It's a standard Orb trope, a sample that first scans as philosophical query, this one on the nature of good and evil. But then comes the punchline: "If you believe in evil, then you probably need a whack on the back of the neck with a big fucking stick." Subliminal rhythmic patterns rise and fall, with the track's true beat only dropping almost five minutes in. It's ambient house perfection as only the Orb can do it.
The highest highs come on "Moon Scapes 2703 BC", moving from satellite beeps to a tough shuffling thump, softened ever so slightly by Patterson's echo and delay. By turns spongy and pounding, head-spreading and heart-quickening, the track moves effortlessly between peaks and chilled-out valleys. When Moonbuilding sounds best is when it strikes a balance between the spaciness of Dr. LX's golden years and the type of craftsmanship and restraint that typifies Fehlmann's 21st century solo output, such as Visions of Blah and Honigpumpe.
But as is their wont, the Orb lose steam and focus on the record's second half. "Lunar Caves" is middling and indistinct, its ambient washes leading into a number of beats that are soon sloughed off. The 13-minute title track boasts the crispest beat on the album, but it's one ill-suited for the group, situated midway between jazzy nu-soul and boutique hotel downtempo. While both subgenres arose during the Orb's heyday, they sound wholly out of date here. Some moments on Moonbuilding show the Orb, if not regaining their form, then offering up decent ambient music. But elsewhere they revert back to a formlessness that's devoid of their quirky stoner persona.
