I remember a couple of years ago-- well, before Bush-- people used to reward artists who came up with wacked- out, often plain- silly ideas. Remember the pet rock? What about leisure suits? Hair food? As our lives are carefully packaged and homogenized, it seems that fewer goofball ideas get loose any more. There's that fucked- up new guy on MTV, but even that's tainted with focus- groups and target marketing. Anyway, friends, my point to you is this: Acid Brass is indubitably a kooky idea whose time has come. It's "A collection of 10 Acid House Anthems played by The Williams Fairey Brass Band."

It's a doozy, I'll admit. I had to laugh when I read it on the cover. I remembered the first time I heard about the Judgement Night soundtrack; the air around me seemed filled with the scent of neigh- sniffed exotic flowers of unknown pedigree and endless possibilities. To be sure, it turned out most of the mismatched duos turned in their most forgettable performances-- three- legged genetic lessons in bad hybridization. Unfortunately, the people who do these things (compilations and soundtracks, that is) refuse to leave the idea alone, so we're currently assailed with Burt Bacharach covers by weak-ass indie bands and we revel in the bickerings between the Sneaker Pimps and Marilyn Manson. Yawn. Could acid house and brass be the secret combination-- the rosetta stone of genre- hybrids?

I think not. I'm no jazz connoisseur but I knows a good horn when I sees it. It's usually shiny and makes a loud noise. I sees some good horn moments in here, especially throughout the opening track "Can U Dance," but this shining introduction is just a teasing appetizer for the shit omelette. Much of the record could pass for junior- high school band exercises, the repetition of dance- house not exactly suited to the urgent burping of a tuba or the chirping of those other instruments that are made of brass, too. You know what I mean, don't deny it. So here's the word. Parents, reach out to your pierced and drugged youngsters. You there, in the big pants, make the gesture. Let them in for a peek at your groove. Let acid brass be the ambassador of hope between the ravers and the aging boomers. Let it erase the stigma from Gen-X and mend the misconceptions of the laboring middle- class heads of household. Let everyone be happy! Bong hits for everybody! Dance, be merry, have sex! And please excuse my episode.

-James P. Wisdom