For Plato, the term ''Anima Mundi'' meant ''the animating principle of matter''; in fact, the CD leaflet (there are no notes as such) carries a quote from Plato's Timaeus, which reads ''... this world is indeed a living being endowed with soul and intelligence.'' A big jungle cat stares at us from the box cover and the few visual images that lie in its path suggest that the parent video (available from Miramar Productions) is something of a wildlife extravaganza. I haven't seen it, but then if the CD is to reach beyond the relatively small band of people who have, it'll need to survive on the strength of its musical merits. These are inevitably tethered to the missing visual images, so that although Glass's thundering simplicity is instantly recognizable, one constantly wonders just who (or what) is screeching, muttering, panting, drumming or acting to the theme of the moment. The dark, story-book opening (echoes of Wagner) suggests panoramic vistas, but it's not long before we're 'on the road' to an itching pulse and the half-veiled yawping of invisible tribesmen. The third track, The Garden has a Messiaenic flute warble atop fairly conspicuous primal grunting: I don't know what they're doing, but whatever it is, they certainly sound as if they're enjoying it. Organ and chorus soon take over and we eventually reach some relatively static Living Waters (a particularly evocative piece of writing), plus more journey-mode music in Perpetual Motion and, to close, The Witness—a haunting retreat that seems to end with a question. The score calls for 20 instrumentalists (strings, woodwinds, brass and percussion) and eight singers (SATB), all of whom have been vividly recorded. If you like Glass, then you'll almost certainly like this; if you don't, then reserve judgement until you see the video.'