As beams swept the Point's pullulating masses like searchlights across a choppy sea, it seemed the ravers weren't waving, but drowning. Judging by their sets, there was no risk of DJs Basement Jaxx and Roger Sanchez upstaging headliners, Orbital. Braving frosty air in various states of undress, with whistles, day-glo body jewellery and "oo-aaars!" at the ready, these folk were ready to sweat, but it was hard work dancing to the erratic tunes getting washed off the heavy weather decks.
Soulful interlacings edged by brass, a touch of Latin oompa and some unexpected piano couldn't redeem the deadening, rather past-it house beats which frustrated the punters by repeatedly dropping them in the soup when they wanted the stars. It being the season of goodwill (and a £25 gig), many heads were determined to make the best of it, but the dearth of crescendos, laser sounds and height and a failure to sustain themes or emotional transport kept these DJs firmly on the ground.
Praise be, then, that Orbital were there to save the day. With their understanding of mass psychology and the art of dance ritual (some call it shamanism or ceremonial magic), Orbital provide church music for the modern age. And they know it, too.
Sepulchral organs played as the duo appeared wearing trademark double headlamps, like priests and captains of their technological ships. Visuals, as usual, were as integral as the sound. Abstract images from nature - like birds in flight across shimmering water - matched angelic female vocals floating slowly over heavy bass, forming the dead slow first movement of the symphony. Then came that note of menace - so characteristic of Orbital's vision - carrying images of clocks working at insane speeds, suggesting the mania and terminal velocity of our age.
The tempo began to reach high speed. Finally the ravers started to get what they came for - brave pauses encouraging anticipation and build followed by massive and communal emotional release. Responsible navigators, Orbital always put you down gently, never allowing a crash. At last the punters were waving, not drowning, and Cream 2000 proved its worth after all.
