An excellent, general introduction to the music emanating 
          from New Zealand in the late twentieth century, excluding only the more 
          recent discoveries, e.g. Lyell Creswell (well represented on other Continuum 
          discs) and Jack Body (you may have heard his wonderful miniature Long 
          Ge on the Kronos Quartet's Ancient Music). 
        
 
        
The double CD kicks off with Douglas Lilburn (often 
          described, with good reason, as the doyen of NZ composers) and his early 
          Aotearoa Overture, named for the Maori name for NZ and translating 
          as "land of the long white cloud". An elemental piece, complete with 
          Sibelian inflections, it is nonetheless less granitic and more overtly 
          optimistic than the formidable symphonies (check the recent Naxos release), 
          a factor that gives it a more American, "wide open spaces" feel than 
          the later works, though think more in terms of David Diamond than Roy 
          Harris at this juncture. 
        
 
        
The short Anthony Watson piece (Prelude and Allegro 
          for Strings) that follows is an altogether more astringent affair, 
          although in the most listenable sense of the word, often evoking Bartok 
          or, if we are to pursue the Nordic comparisons, Vagn Holmboe. 
        
 
        
Ritchie's The Hanging Bulb is an introspective 
          tour de force that features a moody and drifting extended opening section 
          before exploding in a burst of nervous energy which turns into something 
          that could be perhaps described as quasi-minimalist in its Adams like 
          feel. Despite its rather grim origins (see the booklet note for details), 
          this work impresses with its deftness of touch and subtle yet strong 
          evocation of ambiguous feelings. 
        
 
        
Blake's Till Human Voices Wake Us is an extended 
          piece for tenor and orchestra that is reminiscent at times, both in 
          structure and feeling, of Kenneth Leighton's powerful final movement, 
          also for tenor and orchestra, to his third symphony. The texts, taken 
          from "classics of the NZ peace movement", in some ways belie the brooding 
          intensity of the music - uneasy but gripping listening. 
        
 
        
The first disc concludes with Gillian Whitehead's Resurgences, 
          a work inspired by the geothermal activities of her homeland. It seems 
          no coincidence that she studied with Peter Maxwell Davies in that comparison 
          of this music with some of the later of his more serious pieces (e.g. 
          the 5th symphony) seem entirely justified. The same, 
          powerfully distilled evocation of primal nature, again subconsciously 
          echoing Sibelius (?), is definitely present here. 
        
 
        
Disc 2 is a generally lighter affair but contains some 
          exquisite music. Jenny McLeod's spiky, bustling Little Symphony 
          sets the tone in one sense in that it brings Igor Stravinsky into the 
          frame of influence but the rest of the music on this disc is rather 
          less abrasive. Farquhar's suite from Ring Around the Moon is 
          not a thousand miles removed from some of David Lyon's recent efforts 
          but with some additional acidic barbs to liven things - the composer 
          mentions Mahler and Schubert (presumably the martial pastiches) as influences 
          but the burlesque side of Stravinsky and the film music and jazz suites 
          of Shostakovich also loom large. In terms of memorability the jaunty 
          Polka takes the prize, coming on like a lost piece from Berners' 
          The Triumph of Neptune. The suite as a whole is, I'm sure, something 
          that connoisseurs of ASV's White Line imprint would lap up. 
        
 
        
Pruden's beautiful Harbour Nocturne could well 
          be my favourite piece on this recording. It is a gentle but evocative 
          and atmospheric coastscape that would not appear inferior alongside 
          Copland's less ebullient but still accessible moments (Quiet City, 
          New England Countryside etc.). Carr's ballet that follows couldn't 
          be more different but is also an eminently listenable piece - Stravinsky 
          (again!) and Tchaikovsky as influences are again evoked and, unsurprisingly, 
          thoughts turn to Jeu de Cartes and Fairy's Kiss. The booklet 
          quotes his disdain for the "decadence of European art" and I am sure 
          that we all understand the subtext of this comment and would concur 
          or disagree according to personal preference. As far as I am concerned, 
          I wouldn’t want to listen to it every day (there are not many things 
          I would!) but it is far preferable to many more "serious" 
          pieces, both past and present. 
        
 Neil Horner