Orbital: Turn Off the Bright Lights

“Orbital are back? Aren't they really old now?”

Orbital aren't old. Not really. We think they're old because of what they've done for us. Twenty years ago, they started fighting for the dance scene we have now. The recognition and promotion of dance as a live act, as an intelligent, politically conscious entity - when it wants to be - didn't just happen naturally. War veteran appreciation analogies aside, at 41 and 45 respectively, Paul and Phil Hartnoll aren't ready to be packed off to the retirement home just yet.

In November last year, the Big Chill festival proudly announced that, after persistent bullying from organiser Guy Morley, Orbital would headline their main stage. “I've been badgering them for years,” Morley quipped excitedly. Four years, to be precise – in 2004, Orbital left the dance world stunned with a historic Glastonbury set. Now, having picked up where they left off, a full arena tour has been planned for September, as well as a handful of festival dates including Sonar, Global Gathering and RockNess.

Music and national press salivated alike: the legendary, pioneering, superlative-ridden duo were back, and conveniently it's 20 years since they first released Chime, a classic rave anthem still clocking up listens at after parties by people who were toddlers at the time. As Paul Hartnoll put it: “It's not an exercise in nostalgia, the time just seems right.” They nodded excitedly, forming their perfect press releases around Orbital's neatly symmetrical timeline.

Their ten-year golden period is notoriously bookended with two seminal Glastonbury shows – their first in 1994, and their last in 2004. There's even a greatest hits, simply called Orbital 20. Their comeback, then, heralds an appropriately timed and nicely packaged return to form; still having it, and ’avin’ it large, after all these years.

The thing is, it's not really a comeback. Paul and Phil do still ‘have it’, but they've proved so in their solo projects since the split. Paul has released two self-titled albums and recorded soundtracks for films and adverts, including the enviously clever Golf GTI ad with its techno soundtrack composed of car doors, horns, and squabbling spouses, a fond tribute to the now middle-aged rave generation if there ever was one. Phil continued DJing, and formed the acclaimed electronic act Long Range.

So, why now? Is it really all about the Chime anniversary? “To be honest, it was the Big Chill that got us back together. It was their fault,” Phil says. “They suggested it, and that got us talking about it, and we agreed to see what more we could do with Orbital.

“The idea came up last year really but Paul was doing his own projects and I was doing mine. We just didn't have time. I was always up for it, though - it just sounds like fun.”

Thing is, if reforming was always on the cards, why the fuss about splitting up? Details on their website concerning the ‘last ever’ gig at the Maida Vale studios, a seminal goodbye to the act, have had to be updated with a ‘2009 note’, stating the obvious: “This is not quite true now!”

“Looking back, maybe we shouldn't have made such a big deal about it,” Phil laughs. “It was never that we didn't want to do it any more. Nothing has changed really, we just had a break. To be honest, it was just an excuse for a big party...”

As Phil says, the act have always lived on a ‘leave it to fate’ philosophy. His catchphrase, “you never know”, litters his speech, and seems to follow any talk of his plans. There are no plans to make any more records, no promises of new directions, and no media-baiting collaborations. The shows will be indulgent affairs and, like the best parties, the aim is simply to have a good time.

It was the Orbital shows, rather than the recording, which Phil missed. “I DJ quite a lot and record with other people, so it was more working with my brother and the live shows that I missed. At the moment we don't have any plans to record new material, but we're taking it one step at a time. We're not against the idea, we just haven't thought about it yet. You never know...”

There was, however, an element of doubt. “When we actually sat down over a coffee, we realised we were both ready for it, which is important. Then I thought, do people actually want to hear us again? So we put some feelers out and people were excited about it.”

Despite the media hype and adoring fans’ reaction, his tentative, apologetic outlook is understandable. The brothers are doing exciting, and critically acclaimed, new work. It all feels a little... indulgent. But, muses Phil, that seems to be the stage they are at in their lives.

“I met a beautiful lady a couple of years ago. She's the love of my life. We've both got three kids from previous marriages, so we're like the Brady Bunch now. It's probably the most fantastic thing that's happened to me in the past couple of years. It's quite expensive with all these little mouths to feed so my lifestyle’s not exactly the same as it once was. Will we be partying on this tour? You never know,” he says. “Let's just say, we're not going to bed early yet. I really haven't changed a lot.”

After the Big Chill came the announcement of RockNess, a decidedly Scottish, relatively new knees-up. A strange choice of 'warm-up' gig, perhaps, for a band who profess an almost spiritual connection with Glastonbury?

“RockNess was arranged quite early on, but we had to keep it quiet, because we were the Big Chill's 'exclusive', really. It sounded like a really good festival, a right laugh. I've been up that part of the world a bit - I was in Inverness DJing with my partner [Miss Use] recently, and a mate of mine got married at Loch Ness about three or four years ago. We had a great time, so we just jumped at the thought of playing there.”

It's fitting, though, that the band are playing a festival which, without their influence, may never have even had a dance tent. When they released Chime in 1989, dance, and techno in particular, generally had no place at festivals. It wasn't seen as a credible live genre: it was club music, and associated with an under-class of 'revellers' and a very distinct drug scene.

“Glastonbury 1994 was huge because at that time, most festivals were about rock ’n’ roll. Dance was seen as unimportant, throwaway and unworthy.”

Paul and Phil poured their earnings into creating better and better live shows – and that included production, lighting and visuals. They worked to put on a spectacle as well as changing the nature of live dance acts by mixing and sequencing everything live. “I suppose we were pushing that idea for a long time, from 1990 really. We invested in our shows and pushed the production ethic. And it worked. It proved to a lot of people that techno bands can carry it off.”

The result was a legacy as a live act, and a sound so distinctive and of its time that just the first bar of Halcyon, say, can take you right back to techno's 90s heyday. After 20 years of pioneering and changing the face of music – an overused cliché which is finally deserved – they have earned their position as the “timelords of techno”. The one thing Phil isn't going to apologise about is having a good time.

“Just try and stop me! I might be a little bit older but I've still got a bit of life in me yet. It's the beautiful people who come along who make it what it is. It's not about them and us; it's like there's these big arms, hugging everyone. The energy from the audience is sucked in and bounced back. I do tend to get a bit over excited...”

If all goes to plan, a generation of nu-ravers will be joined by the people who first saw the brothers DJing in an acid house-drenched warehouse back in 1989. “There will be people who have calmed down a bit because they're older, who will go out and go crazy maybe three times a year. I know people who do that, I know it happens. I'm hoping one of those times will be our show.”

They've not returned to grace us with more music, a new direction, or cool collaborations. It's to “put some fun back into it”. After what they've done for us, we can only treat them with respect.