Anyone used to the dazzling synthesized trickery of Momus's more recent recordings will be surprised by this album. It depends mainly on the guitar, which Momus turns out to play beautifully, although he also subtly incorporates everything from saxophones to xylophones to build up his beguiling harmonies. Many of the songs make use of biblical characters. In "The Lesson of Sodom", for example, Momus offers the view that Lot's seduction by his daughters may not have been as one-sided as Genesis would have us believe, whilst "King Solomon's Song and Mine" is the complaint of a foreigner press-ganged into mining for the Man. However, the songs aren't just clever re-interpretations of old stories; there is warmth, wit and often confusing emotion running throughout this album. Perhaps the best example is "Little Lord Obedience", a very odd look at the time-honoured "sex and sailing" theme, where Momus seems to be lamenting the insufficiency of love to protect us from the harsh realities of life.
Having heard the album once, one feels compelled to stick it on again; one of the reasons for this is the way fascinating little tunes are brought in, but never allowed to resolve themselves, or develop into a whole song, as they might have done in the hands of a less productive composer. Apparently Momus, in all his early albums, was engaged in a search for "the chord that would break people's hearts". Whilst "Circus Maximus" won't leave you sobbing (unless you feel a great deal of sympathy for Lucretia), it will certainly achieve that hallmark of all great music - to make you homesick for somewhere you've never been, and never will go.