Jean Michel-Jarre returns like a stealthy goat with a whole hour of mindhurting electronic wob-wobba. The album dares you to like it and then demands that you ignore its inconsistencies. Yet it never touches you in a bad way or rifles through your pockets.
The music cannot be described simply as music because it goes beyond, and in many ways, underneath that. It’s a fruit-bowl of musical notes and………well……more musical notes.
The overall effect of the album is as if you were violated wrongly in the bum after eleven glasses of Absinthe laced with Rohypnol at a Christmas party then awakened with the acrid smell of smoke as your car burned furiously next to a disused sporting goods warehouse and children looked on wondering if you were Santa Claus or just some homeless with a collection of Commonwealth flags in a shopping trolley.
The whole thing just beggars belief - but you know it’ll gatecrash your party and never go home again. Ah - sweet poetry.