Long works for percussion with Greek titles may lead you to expect Xenakis-style assault and battery, the performers acting out an Homeric struggle to tame a wide range of primitive and exciting instruments. James Wood knows his Xenakis well, not least as a performer, but his Stoicheia has the restraint of a long-meditated ritual, and its concern appears to be more with the stars in their courses than with human actions and agonies.
There is an archetypal modernism here that recalls Stockhausen's voyages in space and time. Yet, as Wood's title—meaning, in essence, ''Elements''—suggests, he wishes to keep the most natural form of human expression firmly in its place. The prominent vocal lines use what the notes describe as an ''embryonic language'', which ''grows into a rich (phonetic) language of great expressivity''. What is expressed, nevertheless, seems to me more primitive and aggressive than anything else, and the real, long-awaited drama of the music arises when dry, remorseless drumming engenders a feeling of menace. Whether this represents the active, potentially explosive energy of the cosmos, or some more human crisis, or both, is, I suppose, a matter of opinion. Given Wood's criteria, and the inconclusive outcome, the first association seems most likely.
This imposing performance by a large group of dedicated and expert percussionists is superbly recorded, each instrument crystal clear yet located in an appropriately spacious ambience. To get the full flavour of Stoicheia you need to be one of an audience, surrounded by the music, participating in the ritual and responding to the sight of human performers creating this stark world of sonority. On disc there is a lack of warmth, but it may well be that the best rituals (even artistic ones) are those in which a chilly austerity seems right and true.'