It also works as a summation of his recurring themes of escape from this ravaged world, this mortal body, to achieve a higher, purer level of feminine being. It's frustrating, then, that the album's only misstep is a long, rehearsed monologue in which he articulates his desire for the world to shift from patriarchal to matriarchal systems of governance. Although his lecture hits some thoughtful points, his casually self-important delivery and irritating rising inflections make it a chore to sit through. Great singer, dire orator.
Fortunately, the remainder of the album is a powerful, intimate, sumptuous delight in which the orchestra enhances the innate grandeur of Antony's music. His lyrics may betray a sense of offbeat irony, but there's nothing kitsch about these symphonic readings of his ecstatic piano ballads. This is deep soul music in excelsis: abandoned, heartfelt, utterly sincere. It sounds like a forgotten Hollywood musical written by a depressed romantic; a Disney Morrissey swathed in torch song and spotlight.
But ultimately it sounds like Antony and no-one else. The divine giant strikes again.