APOCALYPSE

Some albums transcend category: this is one of them. Let your ears approach this as they would any other classical music though, or jazz for that matter. This of course is much easier to do now with the CD version than it was with my well-worn scratchy old vinyl. Even when I did spin my LP of this amazing and innovative musical offering, I almost always played it in its entirety, sometimes twice. This is very "high" music.

Funk coexists with ethereal beauty. Fire and water somehow mix without canceling each other out. Apocalypse comes at you like a swimming sea of thought put into music. Jean Luc is the first officer here, propelling Johnny boy into a stratospheric quest for a unified field of sound. Narada drives them on with snappy snare and thunder.

Yin and Yang meet in perfect balance. Passion builds, but the growing intensity gives way to inter-dimensional excursions of never-ending love. The seemingly unending vibratory conflict resolves itself as a glorious intercourse of sound. Like electronic bees from space, this band is relentless in their pursuit of the sound of "ONE". Ralph is the darkness: the shadow of the ever-rising crescendo. The full body of the chorus sometimes regains control by going in many directions at once. The strings and horns do not solo, yet all act as a single instrument infinite in its discordant harmony.

Then the voice of an angel rings out and cuts the air like a great sword. The diaphanous mists of this mystical moment are soon blown away, and the architecture in the background becomes clear. A choir punctuates a righteous groove. This all takes place on a mysterious plane that few artists have explored, other than the likes of Alice Coltrane, Sun Ra, and Forth Way. Perhaps this is the Muzak on Heaven's elevators. Even having said all that though, it's nice to know on replay that Apocalypse is a treasure that resides slightly above my head.