Sure, there are worse composers in the world than Mark-Anthony Turnage. After all,
Karlheinz Stockhausen is still composing works for string quartet with obbligato helicopters and Michael Daugherty is still writing hymns to UFO's and
Liberace. But when it comes to sheer, pointless triviality, Turnage is down there among the very worst. Electrically bombastic and eccentrically bathetic, Turnage pilfers from here, there, and everywhere, sprinkling his atonal banalities with droppings of musico-ethno-anthropology. If his music were better composed, it would be an insult to those from whom he steals. As it is, Turnage's music is a waste of time. Every performance on this disc in Decca's The British Music Collection is splendid. From the
Chicago Symphony to
John Wallace to
John Scofield to
Bernard Haitink to
Peter Erskine to
Oliver Knussen, every musician seems dedicated to doing his/her best for Turnage's music. Decca's digital sound is crisp, clear, clean, and committed to present the best case for Turnage's music. If it weren't for Turnage's music, this would be a terrific disc. As it is, it's just a waste of time.