"Music is not just the expression of a feeling – it is the feeling itself." – Claude Debussy

It is possibly the year's most preposterously pretentious title. Indeed, the presentation of the whole project is so lofty there is a fear that Art of Noise's 'comeback' will fall hilariously flat on its arse.

But as the adage goes, it’s what’s in the grooves that matters. This not a concept album, it is a record of tranced-out free-flowing beauty of a calibre you won't find this side of The Orb. What ostensibly appears as Art with a capital A is Music with a capital M.

These days, merging styles and genres is almost passé, but Art Of Noise make that kind of cavil redundant. Eclecticism for eclecticism's sake conjures up fears of self-indulgence on a grand scale but in the hands of Trevor Horn, what really shouldn't work becomes positively luminous. The credits read "produced by Trevor Horn for himself", but it’s music for everyone to live with, love and savour. It’s music from a film that never existed featuring John Hurt speaking, Sally Bradshaw singing, Claude Debussy ghosting, Rakim rapping and Charles Baudelaire tripping.

It’s been made so you can write your own script and at its best it is quite stunning.

Seduction may always be sweet, but it has seldom been sweeter than this.