Why call an album Orange? Yuji Oniki isn't here to answer, and his press materials don't provide any background, so I'm going to suggest my own interpretation.
Orange is a warm, friendly album. And orange is a warm, friendly color. It's the color of sunsets and heat lamps and optimism. It's a color that makes you comfortable, in much the same way that Orange makes you comfortable. Because make no mistake -- this album will leave you warm and contented inside. You'll start with the tentative friendliness of "Tokyo Clover", growing gradually more relaxed as layers are added to the mix. By the time the horns come in, you'll be basking in the song's friendly glow. When Oniki switches from English to Japanese vocals, it'll be nothing more than a blip on your radar.
Nothing about Orange is jarring. Oniki's vocals are straightforward; bereft of vocal trickery or surprises, he comes across as honest and conversational, and listening to him is like chatting with a friend. Musical accompaniment, courtesy of Guided by Voices' Doug Gillard and Beulah's Bill Swan and Steve St. Cin, veers from quintessential pop to jazzy experimentalism, though Beach Boys-styled harmonies are never more than a measure away. The impression, always, is of lightly fleshed-out tunes that could blossom into grand, orchestral epics at any moment. The lush-on-a-budget "Observation" hints at the fruits of such an expansion.
Oniki sings about his memories, giving Orange the bittersweet glow of reminiscence. Like Belle and Sebastian, he likes to rummage through his personal past, lingering over the idealized memories of halcyon days. The tone is clearly wistful; Oniki knows he can't go home again, but has chosen the warm orange glimmer of memory over stark present-day reality. With this sort of lyrical past-dwelling, there's always the risk of becoming cloying. Oniki mostly eludes these difficulties on the lyrical side, but sometimes falls prey to them on the technical side -- particularly in his reliance upon vocal reverb, which at times gives Orange a "home with a head cold" feel.
Orange is a modest album with limited scope, intended for lovers of warm, thoughtful pop. It's completely wrong for a crowded bar, and absolutely right for an intimate cup of coffee with an old and treasured friend. Don't set your expectations too high, for like most albums based upon the artist's personal life, the intent seems less to convey specific concepts to the listener than to encourage his/her own daydream recollections. It's a soundtrack for a sunset, and all you need to do is spare a thought for the days you've left behind you.
