In Britain, Paweł Szymański’s name began to appear a few decades ago, seeming to be a natural successor to such composers as Tavener and, particularly, Górecki, but to have taken such an aesthetic in a more overtly postmodernist direction. However, his interest in music of the past, and the way in which he interacts with it, was in any case perhaps closer to Schnittke in many ways. At all events, in his native Poland, and far beyond, he has continued to be a respected and innovative force, as this magnificent disc of four of his works for choir (and instruments) demonstrates.

Lux aeterna is the earliest piece included, dating from 1984. It is a strikingly beautiful work of ritual mourning, clearly structured and beautifully scored, making particularly effective use of bells and harps. If it ‘deconstructs’ its text, taking it far beyond its liturgical origins, it does so less than Miserere, from nine years later. A far longer work, it appears to begin in medias res, with the words ‘secundum magnam misericordiam tuum’, since the words ‘Miserere mei, Deus’ are only whispered, over a low cello drone. The music becomes progressively more embodied, as it were, suggesting elements of Baroque music, and quoting the Gregorian psalm tone. But the whispering is not done with, nor the glassy instrumental backdrop: the work’s (reluctant?) transformation into an alternatim setting of the text (Katarzyna Naliwajek-Mazurek’s detailed notes provide some interesting background to the work) is gradual, halting; the effect is, in the end, very unsettling – the work finishes with cadential fragments trying to establish themselves against a seemingly unending, siren-like, upward glissando in the cellos.

In paradisum is from 1995 and is scored for a cappella men’s choir. It is a massively impressive slow burn of a piece, and extremely demanding of the ensemble (it is hard to imagine a better performance than Camerata Silesia’s here), its tension never diminishing over the course of almost 11 minutes: that tension includes the final two minutes or so over which the music sinks back down to nearly nothing – it is not for nothing that Milton’s phrase ‘darkness visible’ comes to mind.

Phylakterion (2011) is a tour de force in quite a different way. Scored for voices and percussion, it sets texts relating to ancient Egypt, using Greek and Coptic. Its colours, both vocal and instrumental, are evocative of the distant past, buried under sand or the layers of later civilisations. Unfortunately, I don’t feel that the work goes much beyond those colours, sounding overall like an experimental score for a radio play, in spite of some arresting moments, most particularly the extraordinarily beautiful final four minutes or so.

These are minor reservations. Camerata Silesia are a choir of tremendous versatility and subtlety, and Szymański’s remarkable music, displayed here in all its variety, could hardly be better served.