's attempt at fusing everything from sex music and rhythms to centuries-old Gregorian chants couldn't have been more designed to tweak the nose of high art, a joyously crass stab straight at a mainstream, do not pass go, do not collect 200 dollars. The result is something that shouldn't exist, but in its own way results in as much of a cultural scramble and explosion as anything were doing around the same time, crossing over the Euro- and spheres with style. Credit for an open ear for whatever works, which is precisely why the first part of a longer track called turned into a fluke worldwide hit. Snippets of monks invoking the Almighty effortlessly glide in and out of a polite but still strong breakbeat, shimmering, atmospheric synth and flute lines and a Frenchwoman whispering in a way that sounds distinctly more carnal than spiritual (as her gasps for breath elsewhere make clear). Guitar and male vocals add to the album version's try-anything-that-works approach, as do attempts at shuffling beats and horns. If nothing quite equals that prime moment elsewhere on the album, still trips out on the possibilities as it can, right from the opening inviting all listeners to sit back, relax, and take a gentle trip. certainly isn't trying to hide anything -- goes right ahead and adds a sample of herself to the chirping birds and soft beats, while elsewhere the flutes, beats, monks, and French voices merrily go about their glossy business. About the only thing missing is the kitchen sink, making the entire album the of its day. ~ Ned Raggett