Orange Deluxe : 90's Guitar Gunslingers
- bjtaylor1975
- Sep 29
- 4 min read
First up in my dive back through forgotten gems: Orange Deluxe.
They landed on Dead Dead Good, the indie label that first unleashed The Charlatans, run out of Northwich by their manager Steve Harrison. Not a bad pedigree to start with.
Paul Bassett pulled the band together in ’92 after splitting from Five Thirty—a mod-styled outfit that had a flicker of chart action during the Madchester haze. He roped in his brother Rob on bass, Ian “Cope” Copestake on guitar, and Keith Mcgubbin on drums. What they built was a psychedelic rock beast—massive guitar sound, duelling leads, funk-driven rhythm section, and Bassett penning razor-sharp songs with hooks for days and a sly twist in the lyrics.
But the real story? Live. That’s where Orange Deluxe burned brightest. Between ’93 and ’96 they were relentless—gigging hard, tight as hell, and more often than not blowing the so-called headliners clean off the stage.
Which is why I’m zeroing in on this live recording. It’s them stripped to the bone, no polish, no pretence—just Orange Deluxe at full throttle, and absolutely on fire.
This live album surfaced only recently, thanks to Steve Harrison’s decision to resurrect the Dead Dead Good label and excavate its archives. For those fortunate enough to catch Orange Deluxe in the ’90s, the band delivered an unfiltered rock ’n’ roll onslaught—and this lucid recording captures that intensity in full. The songs are taut, dynamic, and charged with a ferocity that feels as though the players’ very lives hinged upon each note. The set opens with King Apathy III, a track never committed to studio tape, making this its sole available recording. It’s a razor-sharp distillation of Hendrix and The Who: searing guitar breaks, driven by a buoyant bassline and whirlwind drum fills, all crowned with Paul Bassett’s fluid, soaring vocals. A flawless introduction to the band’s formidable strengths.
Follows Memoirs of a Troubleshooter, a showcase of Paul Bassett’s sharp lyricism, the band dive straight back into their Hendrix-infused, high-octane rock ’n’ roll. After the opening track it’s a heavier proposition—verses fractured by squalling guitar breaks that tear through the mix. Echoes of T. Rex ring through the riffing until the song collapses into a taut, funky groove, its elastic bassline keeping the verses buoyant before erupting into a storming, full-throttle chorus. It’s an undeniable highlight of their set. Next comes Bewitched, a glam-stomp bristling with swagger. While it reveals the band’s poppier instincts, it still carries a fierce punch, reminding us why they were musically leagues ahead of many who later rode the Britpop wave. Yet, determined to cling to their independence—and wary from Paul’s bruising experiences with major labels in Five Thirty—they never quite received the exposure their talent merited. A label would surely have nudged them toward more radio-friendly fare like Bewitched, rather than the song that follows: Angelique, a slow-burning guitar epic. Here the band prove they can downshift without losing intensity, layering swathes of monstrous wah-wah over rolling drums to summon a brooding, hypnotic climax.
Next up is Love 45, perhaps their most immediately accessible single. Driven by a buoyant Motown beat, it’s irresistibly catchy—proof that Paul Bassett never lost his knack for penning a killer pop tune, just as he had in Five Thirty. The track bounces with effortless charm and deserved far more recognition in an era when far weaker songs were climbing the Top 40. Hot Lung follows, opening like a long-lost Led Zeppelin cut with its slinky slide guitar before slipping into a funky verse and a swaggering chorus. Shades of the Second Coming-era Stone Roses are unmistakable, with guitarist Cope effortlessly matching John Squire’s blend of Hendrix/Page-inspired chops, while the rhythm section locks into a deep, unshakable groove. A sharp breakdown midway through highlights the band’s explosive live dynamics—reminding us this was an act built to blow both heads and roofs off. The cramped venues they tirelessly gigged in could barely contain their intensity, let alone their sheer ability.
A deeper cut, Ghost Dance, made its way into the set—a slow-burner compared to much of their catalogue, but one that sustains its intensity through a taut performance and a climactic flourish of guitar theatrics. From there, the band pivoted back to material from their debut with Atomic Junkie, a straight-ahead rocker that fuses Hendrix-style psychedelia with Bassett’s undeniable pop sensibility. The result: another infectious chorus riding atop a blaze of six-string fireworks.
The penultimate number, Anti Gravity Blues, was the true showpiece. Here, the dueling guitars tore into each other with ferocity while the rhythm section locked into a towering groove. Stretching to nine minutes, the track—also the closer on their debut Necking—proved itself a worthy finale. It opened with languid slide guitar and hushed vocals, simmering with restraint before erupting, after several teasing feints, into a full-blown maelstrom of guitar heroics from Cope and Bassett. A fitting high point for the set.
And yet, they returned for an encore: a cover of Stereo MCs’ Step It Up. After the sheer magnitude of what came before, it landed a touch anticlimactic, though it remained a spirited, good-natured rendition of a classic in its own right.
Taken as a whole, this live performance arguably captures the band at their fiery best. The debut album Necking showcases many of these tracks and is well worth exploring, while their follow-up album pares things back with a more direct, less jam-oriented approach—both available on Spotify.
It’s raw, urgent, and alive in a way studio tracks almost never are—especially with today’s watered-down, radio-polished production that squeezes the life out of rock. If the genre’s ever going to jolt people again, it won’t come from another over-compressed single; it’ll come from audiences opening their ears to the sweat, grit, and fire of musicians feeding off each other in real time, whether in a studio or on stage.
This live recording isn’t just a performance—it’s a reminder of what rock is supposed to feel like. The sweat, the chaos, the sheer voltage of a band locked in and firing on all cylinders. Rock matters when it’s raw, when it’s dangerous, when musicians are bouncing off each other in the same room and you can hear the sparks fly. That’s the sound that grabs you by the throat and won’t let go—and it’s the only way this music is ever going to mean something again.
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