Much of what we term New Music has a discrete but loyal following and understandably so, since, to average listeners, it is intellectualised, difficult on the ear and exists poles apart from the music with which they grew up. Little does the listening public realise how much new music they hear when watching, for example, a film, or, for that matter, how effective it can be. Take Bernard Hermann’s masterful score to Psycho; the Ligetian stabbing of the strings is, to a cinema-going population, an unforgettable part of the action; but its association with horror precludes their seeing it as music in its own right and one wonders how successful its reception would be were played it in a popular concert outside its original context. Obviously, the analogy of the film score is rather a facile way of viewing contemporary genres, but is a useful one, since it demonstrates that music, which is influential in one situation, is disregarded, if not ridiculed, in another.

Accessibility is a problem of which many composers are aware, but tied to their own concepts of rhythm, harmony and timbre, their styles become quintessential. No one can question their sincerity, even when, as I found in a recent conversation with an up-and-coming composer, their concepts of beauty rely on a carefully-devised mathematical formula. Although it is up to the listener to decide what s/he likes, one is sometimes still left wondering if an emperor’s-new-clothes syndrome is prevalent at many of the new-music concerts we hear today since, in trying to break new technical barriers, composers create ugly, harsh pieces and appropriately title them. Thus, we are provided with myriad works that celebrate the reproductive cycles of squid or examine the id of lunatics. Where has all the beauty gone?

Anthony Gilbert's music does not fall into this category. From the outset we are provided with accessible works that are imaginative, cliché-free and are certainly some of the most beautiful to have been composed in the last fifty years; NMC's Dream Carousels & other works confirms his ability. It contains five chamber pieces, Dream Carousels, Quartet of Beasts, Igórochki, Six of the Bestiary and Towards Asavari, all written within the last thirty years. The first, a triptych for wind orchestra, is as intriguing as it is beautiful. Written for its conductor Timothy Reynish, its opening movement contains what Gilbert refers to as 'a procession of shimmering chords revolving around a sustained, almost inaudible melody for muted trumpets.' The imagery is powerful and hypnotic, with a Varèse-like language and a metrical scheme in which even time and motion seem to take on new dimensions. The toccata-like '… moths… batter the dark… orbit the skull…' that ends the work is a hocket, a frenzied display of tight cyclical rhythms. Such rhythmic exactitude is an important element of Gilbert's music: the third movement of the cycle Quartet of Beasts, 'Those which are mythological or fabulous', opens with basse-dance-like figuration that requires performers of the highest agility. This is nervous music and the listener is propelled along with its anxious rhythms, both finally resting, exhausted, in an explosion of colour. Igórochki is a remarkable work: commissioned by its recorder soloist John Turner in 1991, it is described by Gilbert as a tribute to Igor Stravinsky. Its five movements combine to form a concerto, the first of which, Lullaby, has little in common with a cradle-song; contrasting sections of rhythmic grounds with refrains in which a tenor recorder incants a haunting (yet thoroughly attractive) melody, and one is reminded of the forthright, simple, but emotive music of Eastern Europe. The final work on the disc, the four-movement Towards Asavari, for piano and chamber orchestra, seals Gilbert's mastery of this genre; one perceives the eloquence of India, capturing the essence of its poetry, painting and music through its melodic strains, tight cyclical rhythms and hypnotic pedal notes. But here the polyphony is complex and more than one listening is required to hear its full effect. Again, time is suspended and, picture-like, the music becomes a tableau of sounds.

It is appropriate that Gilbert's music finds a voice amongst the remarkable young musicians of the Royal Northern College of Music where he has taught for a considerable period. Both their New Ensemble and Wind Orchestra are renowned for a maturity expected of experienced professional musicians. Under the batons of Clark Rundell and Timothy Reynish respectively, we are treated to tight performances in which musical awareness, clarity and instrumental control are evident from the outset. In addition, the recorder player John Turner's mastery of his instrument belies the many years he spent devoted to a somewhat different profession as a lawyer. Particularly noteworthy is his control of pitch through the careful manipulation of microtones in Igórochki: for too many years his instrument has been regarded either as little other than a musical toy or one that belongs squarely to the open-toed sandal brigade. Turner proves them wrong: his playing is full of life and nothing short of virtuoso.

Overall, this disc is one of a kind: Gilbert's music is not as well known as it should be and, even for the most conservative listeners, is accessible and attractive, with rarely a moment passing without a surprise.

Ian le Prévost