Orbital
Monsters Exist

Home, folks, everyone home. When there's a crisis and the future looks uncertain, there's nothing better than retreating to your den and savoring the old flavors, the historical dishes your mother used to make, and all those familiar smells. And the latest album from Orbital is a family embrace, silicone and sentiment for what almost seems to be the heir to Snivilisation, but there's really everything or almost everything that has characterized the Hartnoll brothers' career. If you've been following them from the beginning, you might risk a heart attack: in the 18 tracks of the Deluxe Edition of Monsters Exist (absolutely mandatory, forget the standard) many of the duo's historical assets are used: it's impossible not to think of In Sides, the nameless albums, and The Middle of Nowhere. Released six years after their last work, Wonky, after breakups, reunions, and endless bombastic live gigs, the album completely abandons collaborations to focus on a sort of contemplative—but not too much—instrumental compendium.

It's a bipolar record, vaguely political and slightly mocking, quirky like the bizarre cover, which still recalls Snivilisation. The title track lives up to its name and presents us with all the "monsters", anxieties, personal demons, and a not-so-reassuring vision of our world. It's a dark and elusive track, mutable and outrageously elegant, that flows into almost cinematic atmospheres testifying to Phil and Paul Hartnoll's experience in soundtracks. Hoo Hoo Ha Ha quickly turns everything into farce to lighten the atmosphere; it's a dance track in four-four that opens with typical looped synths (they’ll remind you of a thousand Orbital things, and that's intentional), but soon the situation becomes grotesque, as if the Joker took control of the console: distorted trumpets and other oddities destroy the track, making it a parody of some random EDM anthem. Clearly a joke and not the best episode on the album, if I had to find a connection here, I might think of Crash and Carry. The Raid brings the conversation back to very serious tones, with a horror film aura not necessarily in sync with a carpet of female backing vocals, creating a funereal rhythm. Almost post-apocalyptic, with a truly grand closure. Paul Hartnoll calls it his favorite track on the album, and it's easy to hear why.

The same grim view of society is also expressed in other tracks like PHUK, which, despite being a frenzied techno-breakbeat track, carries a not superficial message (the wordplay in the title is an acronym for Please Help United Kingdom), The End is Nigh (strategically placed towards the end of the first disc), and the concluding, incredible There Will Come a Time, with the gracious participation of Professor Brian Cox. In this final track, we witness the fusion of spoken word and electronic music, reaching new and unexplored heights. The words communicate to us the possibility that the universe might come to an end, ours possibly sooner than expected, but perhaps not all is lost and we can make a difference. The music slightly steps back to highlight these suggestive vocal lines, but the Hartnolls don't miss an opportunity to imbue the track with timeless beauty; for those who do not favor vocals, there's also an instrumental version, though I think it loses something.

The second disc is clearly a collection of remixes and tricks at the Hartnoll deck, but it's worth it, oh, is it worth it. To Dream Again explains itself in the title; it's a resounding homage to long-time fans, with decidedly old-school sounds and many self-references (I also recognized the WipeOut Pure soundtrack). A Long Way From Home is an acoustic reprise of There Will Come a Time, granting the album a concept aura, while Dressing Up in Other People's Clothes is another nod to Snivilisation; quality electronics suspended between old and new and dominated by a truly memorable melodic composition. Monsters Exist sounds like Orbital's conclusive album, as if the duo wanted to concentrate their entire soul into a breathtaking collection of tracks, aiming at the essence of things without getting lost in the details. Always suspended between the dance floor and contemplation. It's time to return home.