Looking at the chronology alone, the first installment of Oxygene arrived at a time when the record buying world was probably least interested in grand thematic gestures, particularly of the synth kind. But while still in the throes of all things spiky and anarchic, the British somehow still put the record at the number 2 spot in the charts and other international acclaim was not far behind.
Twenty years further along Jarre, probably getting more than a faint whiff of the electronica atmosphere, returns to the bins with seven more meditations on his original theme. Somewhat canonized by the current electro-stocracy (The Orb's "Toxygene" being the principal nod to his legacy), this is probably a sound move.
Having just heard the original, for the moment I'd probably opt for the reconstituted version. 7-13, also composed and performed largely on classic equipment (2600 ARP, Theremin, Mellotron), maintains the sonic flavour of the original while also having seemingly benefitted from being conceived in the wake of the all techno/ambient/house revolutions that have recently preceded it. Jarre eschews the orchestral impulses of the first for the weight of more pronounced hooks and grooves on the second.
While Oxygene did the business, the sound is closer kin to the backdrops used in the sci-fi thrillers of the 50's than the exercises of his Krautrock contemporaries that causes Julian Cope to lather so. More Georgio Moroder and less Florian Schneider, 7-13 plays more like very hip Doctor Who-isms with added structure and verve. The four note intro of "Oxygene 7" proclaims that from the get go, and by the time you arrive at "Oxygene 10" the promise remains fulfilled. The beats are consistent, but not quite dance-floor ready. The big name remixers of the day, who often work with much less solid content, could probably launch Jarre into further infamy with little effort. The only faux pas appears during the final cut where Jarre, probably looking for a minor chord exit to the opus, accidentally pockets some melody from the godawful Leo Sayer hit "When I Need Love." But the more epic moments, like the effective Theremin passage that sits five minutes deep into "Oxygene 9," more than atones.
55 million lifetime sales and twenty years more savvy, the man who once recorded an album, pressed one copy (which was auctioned off to charity), and destroyed the masters, has probably a fair amount of intrigue and musical aplomb to dispense to whippersnappers and afficianados alike.
