Perhaps the most original and short-lived of 70s concepts, Boston’s Orchestra Luna came, confused and disappeared almost as quickly, exiting stage-left, pursued by a bear.
This, the reissue of their debut (and only) album, is quite the eccentric way to introduce and sign off affairs. Ranging from the ridiculous to the absurd via something sublime, Orchestra Luna is as curious as it is frustrating. It’s the soundtrack to a film so painstakingly painted that its directors never got round to writing a script, leaving the meandering, three-pronged vocals, poetic rambling and nonsensical warbling drifting off into a beautiful nothing.
Jazz, blues, acid-rock and a thick slice of prog are served up on this most bizarre of platters, but it’s ultimately too much for even the most diverse of palates. Everything is done well, from the opening, scattered piano notes of Were You Dancin’ On Paper to Doris Dreams’ closing 12-minute ensemble, but nothing is done with such a panache to make you stop and listen in awe.
Its end product, therefore, is a weakened matinee; its full colour saved for a headline show. Ladies and gentleman of the Luna, take your final bow – just don’t be surprised if it’s met with a muted confusion.
