Vangelis' El Greco

Everyone's got a special place in their heart for the cheesy but heartfelt itle march from Chariots of Fire, Vangelis' most famous work. I mean, what would all those overzealous high school track coaches play during pep talks without that famous overdriven synth? "The Gambler"?

On this concept album, Vangelis trades jocks for smocks by focusing on the artist formerly known as Domenikos Theotokopoulos, with some mixed results. Apparently, changing chiseled torsos for, er, painted torsos loses some of the palpable melodrama Vangelis needs to make art.

Not that he doesn't try. Vangelis uses the first few pieces on the album to "paint" a picture of the artist at work by exploring all the aspects of creation: struggle, grace, insight, inspiration, and the thrill of success. Somber-sounding bells ring in morose angst as the artist struggles for inspiration to create another masterpiece. Woodwinds capture subtle triumphs as images spring to life on canvas. Sudden rising crescendos and soaring (sometimes grating) pitches juxtapose the realization of vision with the pain inherent in creating a work of art.

But this strategy falters in the middle of El Greco. The fourth movement uses a soprano to alternate between high emphatic notes of triumph and lower tones of tragedy in a blend of schmaltz and annoyance. In the fifth movement, simplistic piano patterns begin and repeat, begin and repeat ad nauseum. (For a while, I thought the CD was scratched.) Synthesized strings and winds lend a pleasant end to the sixth movement, but the damage has already been done.

The final few movements are a sort of thematic bookend, with a brisk, hard-pounding military march beat (Chariots at the Tate, anyone?) leading to an eighth track that's almost a carbon copy (though not an unpleasant one) of the first track. As the album closes, Vangelis punishes his ivory and ebony canvas, showing his grasp of his own art by pushing the limits of creativity through sheer violent will. When transcending its synth pop pedigree, El Greco stands as a fitting tribute to the artistic spirit. (Atlantic)

—Alex Bamiagis

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