Tubular Bells is an absolutely iconic record. It’s a staple in almost any collection. It is also a hokey, sprawling mess.

However, it’s also one of the first records of its scope to have been recorded largely by a single person using overdubs. This isn’t quite an impressive feat anymore—there are legions of solo artists making ambitious music on their laptops (I’ve even done so myself), and a lot of them are more listenable than this.

But there is a charm in Oldfield’s initial opus, burdened as it is by ambition and lack of focus. After all, he was only nineteen when he released it.

Tubular Bells is practically the poster album for throwing too many ideas into a single project. There are two tracks, each of which takes up the entire side of the record, named “Tubular Bells, Part (number).” It is largely instrumental, with the exception of a narrator introducing different instruments at the end of Part One and a bizarre Muppet-like growl in the middle of Part Two.

Through multitracking, he creates an orchestra of pianos, glockenspiel, organs, timpani, pennywhistle, and several variations of electric guitar that are listed in the credits with things like “speed guitar,” “fuzz guitar,” “electric guitar that sounds like bagpipes.”  There are a few outside players providing violins, flutes, and a wordless choir. Oh, and of course, Oldfield provides the titular tubular bells.

This anything-goes sonic palette is used to traipse boundlessly through a cavalcade of different genres, from neo-classical to noodly progressive rock to honky tonk to bluegrass. There are moments of inspiring beauty, such as the opening movement that found life as the theme for The Exorcist, but they’re often interrupted by playful passages that feel almost impish in their juxtaposition. The best example is the final minutes of the record, where an airy, serene organ passage is interrupted by a jokey hoedown.

That said, knowing a bit about Oldfield gives some grace for the sloppy smorgasbord. He came to music as a young child to escape the trauma of his home life, becoming skilled at guitar and a prodigious composer. As a teenager, he joined some bands and got exposed to the equipment available at various recording studios. He became fascinated with the technology, eventually modifying a simple tape recorder to allow for endless layering, where he recorded demos of the compositions he started as a boy. These demos laid the foundation for Tubular Bells.

And with that story in my mind, I have a much bigger appreciation (if that’s the right word) for a lonely, shy young man who was finally able to put his earliest ambitions onto tape in a way he felt did justice. In a way, it serves as an inspiration for other artists for whom music offered a similar escape. And while, like many “important” records, its influence far outreaches its quality, it is emblematic of the solace that creating music can bring—which is a message I can agree with wholeheartedly…even if I probably won’t listen to this again.