Thinking back, this may have been close to the first ambient album I ever bought. I'd still recommend it as a good place to start if you still think that ambient = shimmering noodling new age nonsense. Mind you, it does shimmer quite a lot. But it's got all those core ambient values (it's OK, I'm joking) like the attractive surface — pretty but not too pretty — that draws you into the depth of field; the shifting relations between figure and ground, alternately sparse and lush; the occasional one-off interventions that pop up incognito and somehow rebalance the picture.
Turn it up. I used to listen to records like this very quietly, so that they would mingle with the knives, forks and passing traffic. It works OK. But nowadays I turn it up, and get a different effect. The nature of the music is such that it never sounds loud (unless you really do a Spinal Tap on it). So you can still use it as an accompaniment to the bedtime story — Jez Alborough's Hug
is the current favourite. However, as you turn it up, you hear more depth.
Which bits are Budd and which Eno? Does it really matter? I suspect not, but Wikipedia gives an account anyway (citations needed!).
MusicBrainz entry for this album
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