Review Summary: an utterly dreadful deluge of electrical fluid rendered upon the air
I must admit that I received this hideously misshapen lump of vinyl ... what others might call an album ... with exceedingly low expectations.
However, they were not disappointed in the least.
A very dear friend of mine, a fine arts dealer in Cambridge, sent me a dusty copy of
Switched-On Bach on my birth-day in jest. For those who may not be aware, the harlot behind this release, Wendy (née Walter) Carlos, is a provincial tinker, a mere
engineur, fit only to conjure the cheap tricks of the electrical fluid, and appallingly unsuited to the rendition of music for the discerning ear. Furthermore, she is a freakish transsexual, blaspheming not only against the Arts but against God Himself. Finally, she has also scored the unspeakably obscene
A Clockwork Orange, a motion-picture that sent me running from the theatre blushing and in tears no more than a mere ten minutes into its vile execution.
Nothing else need be said of the calibre of Ms. Carlos. Her foul record speaks for itself. As for the recording itself, I shall freely admit that I have never actually listened to it. While some of the more pedestrian minds on this reviewing site may scoff at such an audacious
a priori judgment, a refined and sagacious mind such as my own can arrive at universal truths in the total absence of examination, through the rigorous science of deduction.
To be brief: I had no need to offend my sense of decency to realize that this soulless mechanical dirge could be of no merit whatever. The noisome contrivances of one Herr Moog in the hands of a talentless manual laborer can never aspire to the awe-inspiring brilliance of the human soul, as mediated through the pineal gland which realizes its peerless intellect. And before any of the miserable plebeian hecklers incite me to listen to this horrendous cacophony, I should like to add that I have already reduced the album to shivers with a mallet.
