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.
