Part of the golden era of his recording opus stretching across at least four albums. This is the moment he decided to sing and it fits in with the chime. A continuation of his big band themes; race, love, the 60's, jazz, beb bop, cool all wrapped in an Otto Preminger fur coat and dangling a cigarrete holder between its varnished nails.
Not as virulent as Oedipus, he holds the notes before launching into pure brass, whilst pumping the beats of the dispossessed into the bottomless bass. Barry floated on clouds of THC to chisel his psyche, then bring Barry White to John Barry in long drawn out musical converstations.
Take a listen, this was the last piece of continous soul he constructed.