In the early 1980s, the term “New Complexity” was applied to a movement of British composers, whether they liked it or not, who packed their music with detail and event. Although their paths have diverged significantly since, Finnissy and Ferneyhough released melody, harmony, rhythm, timbre, dynamics and psychological drama into a state of perpetual flux, and a root-and-branch rethink of notation was required to contain simultaneous layers evolving at different speeds – so, six quavers moving over a five-quaver pulse – and Finnissy scores still abound with challenging rhythmic integers like 37 quavers put against 12, with the left hand, perhaps, running in 5.

This music sprinted faster than time itself, confronting the cosy British mainstream with rigorous intellectual mettle and reclaimed passion for the potential of musical material. These discs document the work of second- and third-generation composers associated with the fallout from New Complexity ideologies. A recurring criticism is: this is “paper music”, a metaphor for music, all theory and no soul. The James Clarke/Roger Redgate pairing shines revealing light on that supposition.

The Clarke pieces move off the paper with ease and elegant aural control. As soon as Red Skies starts, Clarke listens in to his material, isolating melodic contours for development, hearing beyond his systems. In “Landschaft mit Glockenturm” (the Sonata’s second movement) the febrile energy coalesces around a neurotically repeated chord, every repeat articulated slightly differently; Untitled No 3 teases with the paradox of a simple surface evolving over complex structural workings-out. Clarke’s expressive spectrum is so complex, it can also embrace simplicity.

Redgate’s music shares that exuberant surface but soon reveals itself as cod-modernist posturing. Redgate pays tribute to Thelonious Monk and Joseph Beuys, two liberating free-spirits, by paper-pushing patterns around the page. His solo harpsichord Residua appears on Jane Chapman’s NMC recital disc and, again, falls short of an intriguing programme-note that cites Samuel Beckett. Here I enjoyed Paul Whitty’s Seven Pages. This response to Ligeti’s solo harpsichord classic Continuum uses electronics to filter out Ligeti’s pitches, building around the near-industrial clatter of the instrument’s remaining mechanism. Dillon’s brief Birl leapfrogs off the page, while Mike Vaughan’s Eric Dolphy-based In memoriam encourages in-the-moment responses from an inspired Chapman to electronic assaults – ancient keyboard hardware meets state-of-the-art electronica.