Review Summary: A captivating continuation; wistful, delicate and hugely respectful of the original's legacy
If there was one thing that Mike Oldfield's 1973 magnum opus didn't need, it was a sequel. Fast forward thirty years beyond its release date and we have three diverse but compelling sequels, and a shiny remake of the original epic that takes full advantage of modern music recording and production techniques. The third and fourth sequels in the Tubular tetralogy were comparatively modern in their sound, with III heavily inspired by Oldfield's exposure to electronic influences whilst residing in Ibiza, and The Millennium Bell a new-age odyssey refracted through the lens of world music. II is somewhat different, in that it is the closest in sound and even scope the original masterpiece, but also in its ambition, with sci-fi overtones and a generally cosmic preoccupation sprinkling the song selection both in melody and instrumentation. Having refused to record II for many years whilst still signed to Virgin, Oldfield eventually set to work on the album under Warner Music, who afforded him greater support to realise his vision in contrast to the interference and poor promotional effort he had received from Virgin. The writing process was painstaking, and involved constant reference to the original record to make it a sequel in the truest sense of the word, rather than a mere thematic continuation. The eventual LP demonstrates clear effort and passion for the project, and although it doesn't reach quite the same epic level as its precursor, it doesn't really aspire to- it feels more contained, but exhibits just as much focus and depth to its compositions, with modernised surprises and eyebrow-raising callbacks to the original throughout.
The central motif of 'Tubular Bells', that instantly recognizable piano melody, is introduced with rich texture against the new musical landscape, and its integration amongst the modern production on the opening track is simply wonderful. As on the original album, the compositions on II form a gargantuan single piece that clocks in at just under an hour in total, but are divided by movement through the track listing. All of these parts are individually fantastic, but as a single piece they are leant an entirely new sense of cohesion and wonder. Opener 'Sentinel' begins with a soothing piano melody, before ascending into the distinctive hook, gradually introducing human voice, guitar lines and bass into the mix to rich effect. The melodies intertwine with blissful élan, and the effect of their textured layering is nothing short of transcendent. It is on moments like this that the space-age preoccupations of the album come to the fore, with the twinkling keys reminiscent of cosmic constellations- the vocal patter an invocation below them. 'Blue Saloon' has a psychedelic quality to its humming, high melody, as the bass plods in the background and a threatening synth looms and then retreats intermittently. It calls to mind star showers and the impending sense of nature overall, but as the soundscape feels so sparse, it emulates a space setting in a startlingly adroit manner. As the shrill guitars pick up pace and the electronic punctuations become gradually more pronounced and forefront to the experience, the tone begins to take on a fantastical quality, replete with swaying banjo hook. This feeds directly into 'Sunjammer', enlisting heavy electric guitars into the experience and expanding on the framework previously lain, evolving it to almost space-opera levels of dramaticism. The development within the tracks is astonishing; ascending and building without ever feeling like Oldfield is treading water.
The grander compositions on the release serve as rapturous crescendos that reward attention during the more considered pace of the slower tracks. 'The Bell' is a gradual and beautiful instrumental demonstration that rises in excitability as each element of the orchestra is introduced. Alan Rickman serves as the master of ceremonies on this number, calling upon each component with the modulation that is so distinctively his. As he announces, the song increases in musical complexity like the sun bursting through the clouds after a summer storm. The individual aspects grandly and deftly weave their way around each other, and present a startling and head-bobbing display of progressive musicality. On a less impressive scale, but no less beautiful, are the cosy melodies and fireside geniality of 'Sunset Door', which paints a richly colourful portrait of a gorgeous, sunbeamed landscape. Although it feels grounded in its composition, it has the air of fantasy clinging to its songwriting, with tinkling keys and charming strings forming a breathtaking duology against the soft strains in the background. More in-line with a typical prog-rock aesthetic is the rousing and creatively penned 'Altered State', which marries psychedelic surrealism with progressive composition. It feels like a sidestep from the movements that surround it, but it works due to the anchor of the musical choices which lightly bind it to the body of work as a whole. Similarly, closer 'Moonshine', a banjo-led bluegrass thigh-slapper, is an intriguing and subdued hoedown showstopper that feels like a moment of levity and closure following the experience of the album. Lively, intricately penned and entertaining, it's a fitting finale with a pleasantly out-of-pocket style.
It's impossible to assess Tubular Bells II without holding it up against the original, and this is where a lot of critics appraising the album following its release found their niggles and issues. It certainly doesn't feel quite so trailblazing or as grandiloquent as its forebear, but the intricacy of its songwriting and its willingness to expand upon the framework of the original recording whilst still forging its own path is undeniably impressive. From a musical standpoint, the release is inspiring, rife with melodies that range from poignant to exhilarating, all underscored by a sense of cosmic scope and warm, intoxicating harmonies. The instrumental choices, from strings and synths through to banjos and bagpipes are all superbly arranged and exude a radiant musical glow that feels in-keeping with the atmosphere of the 1973 release, but with a honeyed, modern tinge. Aspects from Oldfield's post-Tubular Bells releases are evidenced to one degree or another, with Ommadawn a notable touchpoint, but the clarity of the release's vision renders it quintessentially part of Oldfield's Tubular strain of sound, and this aesthetic is notable virtually every second of the record; whether bouncing of the walls or meditatively pondering, it keeps the natural, ordered nature of the established style. II is lush, and acts as a modernised counterweight to the virility of the original instalment, and a mature big brother to the chromatic sheen of III.
