Not that you’d expect these notoriously good eggs to harbour the merest hint of bitterness or avarice, but Orange Goblin have always deserved a bigger platform, wider renown and heaps more love than they’ve been afforded in their almost two decades of existence.
Their delicious brand of stoner rock is just like mama used to make – well, Ozzy and Tony, anyway – sledgehammer heavy, as sludgy as going for a dip at a British seaside resort (but a billion times more pleasant and less likely to put you in hospital), with a groove that burrows under your skin and never leaves.
On Science, Not Fiction they’ve gone in on some weighty subject matter to match the weightier riffs, taking an unflinching look at the effect of religion, science and spirituality on the world, for better or, more often, for worse. And the sonic adventuring rides along with the subject matter, opener Fire At The Centre Of The Earth starting with a throbbing sci-fi pulse before powering into a doomy metal maelstrom. ‘We’re a virus lost in time,’ growls frontman Ben Ward (spiritual son of Lemmy if ever there was one), taking an unemotional, natural historian’s look at human nature in all its good, bad and ugly guises.
- “An ode to the litany of wankers we all have to deal with every day”: The Wildhearts prove once again they’re one of the UK’s greatest bands with The Satanic Rites Of…
- “Some bands would think such an unlikely chart-topping feat would require them to lurch into a new chapter. Instead, Mogwai retreat to their discomfort zone”: The Bad Fire is reassuringly blurry
Cemetary Rats, too, is pure filth, with a bell tolling to announce its arrival. Here they’re channelling bat-infested, Hammer Horror imagery that would be almost gothic if they weren’t so committed to the sheer joys of metal. And there is a lot of joy to be found on the album. For all the bluster there’s a sense of fun at the heart of it all, not least on (Not) Rocket Science, which conjures a Rocket From The Crypt air of punk cool with added grit, and a groove that won’t quit amid the high drama. The Justice Knife might have dark, violent imagery, but it floats on a bounce that radiates sheer love for the genre and those who hold it dear.
There’s not a note out of place here, the album crafted to perfection, every breath, every drum beat, every howling guitar line earning its place and building to a horn-flinging whole like a single ant playing an essential role in the success of the colony.
After all this time, Orange Goblin aren’t just keeping up their impeccable standards, they’re getting better with age. They’re the real deal, the embodiment of British heavy metal, and we should all cherish them as such.
