If this album of contemporary songs by British composers does 
                  indeed reflect 21st century Britain, as the title promises, 
                  then Britain must be a rather sombre, serious place, with little 
                  warmth or contentment. 'Winter is a slow death waiting', as 
                  one of the songs has it. 
                    
                  One of the featured composers, David Power, provides introductory 
                  notes, in which he offers the following contextualisation: "In 
                  recent decades, the influence of the European avant-garde has 
                  receded, the influence of rock music has become ever stronger 
                  and British composers seem to have become more at ease with 
                  stylistic diversity as well as with their own national musical 
                  heritage." There are some very big assumptions in that statement, 
                  but Power - whose biographical note says that his "initial interest 
                  was rock music but the electronic instrumentals on David Bowie's 
                  album Low prompted a change in direction" - is more controversial 
                  when he reports an informal audience vote at a recent festival 
                  in England indicating the public's preference for the kind of 
                  new song featured here over the established masterpieces of 
                  Britten, Quilter, Finzi, Bridge and Butterworth.  
                  
                  If that is the case, sales of this CD should do very well, but 
                  given the predominantly conservative nature of 'classical' audiences, 
                  it does seem rather unlikely. The texts set here are all contemporary 
                  in character, chiefly elliptic or cryptic, with minimum or obscure 
                  prosody. Many range from the slightly pretentious to the very 
                  pretentious, and beyond that to the pointless. An example of 
                  the former is The Waiting by Jane MacNamee: "The waiting/ 
                  the waiting/ spilled into me/ The world is a stranger without 
                  you." (The end). The second verse of Instinct, a translated 
                  haiku by Kobayashi Issa, gives an example of pointless: "lightning 
                  flash -/ not giving a damn/ the toad's face". The best poetry 
                  is to be found in the three more traditional-themed texts - 
                  ironically anonymous - of Peter Reynolds' Adieu to All Alluring 
                  Toys, and in the eight by Don Walls set by Steve Crowther 
                  in Songs for Don, which are modern/urban but easily comprehensible. 
                  One of them, incidentally - 'Junkie' - is a rather graphic portrayal 
                  of a drug addict's lot, and does include the F-word.  
                  
                  However bad or good, in all cases the poems are improved by 
                  their settings, which, though often atonal and modernistically 
                  jerky, are full of atmosphere, adventure and bite from beginning 
                  to end. All these composers, on this admittedly scant evidence, 
                  seem to have something to say to 21st century audiences - provided 
                  they can find them!  
                  
                  Cardiff-born baritone Paul Carey Jones has a fine, powerful 
                  voice. He deals with the many technical and expressive difficulties 
                  posed by these composers very well, on the whole - as for example 
                  in the opening of David Lancaster's Memory of Place. 
                  His enunciation is impressively lucid, aided in no small part 
                  by some very thoughtfully written scores. His vowels are inevitably 
                  coloured Welsh, but not to any distracting degree. His Rs are 
                  nearly always heavily rolled, which comes across as something 
                  of an affectation after a while. He has also done his homework: 
                  in Reynolds' Adieu, he does not rhyme 'saith' (the archaic 
                  third person singular present of say) with 'faith', which is 
                  for the eyes only, and elsewhere he correctly pronounces the 
                  Austrian city Graz. Ian Ryan, like Jones making his debut recording 
                  for Meridian, follows the latter's lead attentively and cogently 
                  in what is at times rather unforgiving music.  
                  
                  Sound quality is very good, as it ought to be from a label who, 
                  in their own words, "continue to astound listeners and artists 
                  with our stylish and captivating recordings using our revered 
                  'natural sound' technique." 
                    
                  Those suffering from Seasonal Affective Disorder might do well 
                  to avoid this disc, but in other respects this is a decent product. 
                  Waverers can download the booklet for free from Meridian's website 
                  here. 
                    
                  
                  Byzantion 
                  Collected reviews and contact at artmusicreviews.co.uk 
                    
                 see also review by Rob 
                  Barnett