Stephen Plews describes 
                  The Future of an Illusion as “an existential biography 
                  of an imaginary soul, from birth to death through a terminal 
                  illness”. It is laid-out into three movements : Benign, 
                  Malignant, The Possibility of Hope. The first 
                  movement opens with a weary, repetitive gesture that never really 
                  develops. It leads into a varied movement, in which some thematic 
                  material attempts to assert itself but with little success. 
                  The main mood of the whole movement is rather hesitant. Some 
                  melodic flights manage to brighten the prevailing mood, albeit 
                  episodically. There follows what may be regarded as the slow 
                  movement. The mood here is of sorrow and sadness, and the music 
                  “occasionally fades to almost nothing”. This movement is one 
                  of the most moving musical elegies that I have ever heard. Although 
                  it opens with some energy, the final movement fails to bring 
                  complete solace – all fully in accordance with its title “The 
                  Possibility of Hope”. Nevertheless this serves to relieve some 
                  of the tension accumulated in the course of the preceding movements. 
                  The composer’s rather factual notes do not entirely conceal 
                  an intimate, personal concern. This substantial work, beautifully 
                  scored for strings, is undoubtedly a deeply sincere utterance 
                  that I find quite moving.
                
The rather sketchy 
                  notes mention that Geoffrey Kimpton’s Concerto for Violin 
                  and Chamber Orchestra was composed as 
                  a tribute to Kathleen Raine. He had set some of her verse several 
                  years earlier. The Concerto is based on one of Raine’s poems, 
                  The Summit. The notes tell us that each of the five movements 
                  has a title using words and phrases from the poem. Unfortunately, 
                  neither the poem nor the title of the movements are printed 
                  in the insert notes. Much is left to our imagination and the 
                  music is left to be assessed for its intrinsic worth. In this 
                  respect, Kimpton’s concerto is a quite attractive, beautifully 
                  crafted piece, nicely contrasted and richly, yet often subtly 
                  poetic. The scoring for small orchestra - actually a wind quintet 
                  and a string quintet - is superbly done and quite imaginative, 
                  albeit in a fairly traditional way, by 20th century 
                  standards.
                
Kevin Malone (www.opusmalone.com) composed 
                  two pieces inspired by the events of September 11, 2001: Vox 
                  humana, Vox populi for bassoon and orchestra and Eighteen 
                  Minutes for two double basses and strings, the latter 
                  recorded here. The insert notes go into some detail about the 
                  way the piece is structured. It is in eighteen sections divided 
                  into six equal parts. In fact, the number 18 seems to play a 
                  considerable role in the structure. Moreover some of the ‘thematic’ 
                  material is drawn from words and phrases from witnesses and 
                  from radio broadcasters. “Most of the material directly follows 
                  the actual speed and sound of the voices”. Don’t let all this 
                  put any of you off. It is an impressive and entirely satisfying 
                  work. Some of the music may be slightly minimalist, but rather 
                  more like John Adams than Steve Reich. The composer brilliantly 
                  succeeds in varying his textures and in having the music move 
                  forward instead of simply repeating itself. I find this brilliantly 
                  realised piece entirely successful. In its conception and duration, 
                  it may seem less imposing than John Adams’ The Transmigration 
                  of Souls, but it undoubtedly is far more impressive 
                  in its relative concision. There are not that many concertos 
                  for two double basses; I have just reviewed Haukur Tómasson’s 
                  Skíma, another entirely satisfying concerto for 
                  two double basses. This one should be avidly taken-up by imaginative 
                  players looking for a worthy work for their instrument.
                
              
All performances are 
                as far as I can judge beautifully done. Certainly they seem strongly 
                committed and the recording is very fine. My sole complaint is 
                that the insert notes do not always tell you what you need. This 
                should not however deter anyone from investigating this unusual 
                but highly rewarding release. 
                
                Hubert Culot